Heart's Desire (30 page)

Chapter Sixty-one

BRANDT AND I WANDER OUTSIDE INTO THE FULLNESS OF SUMMER. Under an enormous dome of blue sky and bright yellow sunlight mingle the scents and colors of wisteria, honeysuckle, clematis, and trumpet vine. The thick leaves of a twisted oak tree provide shade, while the trunk offers us something to lean against. Eventually we turn toward each other, and from the look on Brandt’s face I’m suddenly worried that we’re embarking on a
Scotty, beam me up
moment. In other words, that he’s going to propose.

“Hallie, you know I’ve always felt that our relationship is special. . . .”

“Sure, me too, Brandt,” I say. “But more in the special-friendship sort of way. You know, like Frodo and Sam.” I attempt to explain it in
Lord of the Rings
terminology so there’s a better chance he’ll fully comprehend.

“Exactly,” agrees Brandt, to my great relief. “So, Hallie, I was wondering . . . do you believe in true love?”

Uh-oh. Maybe he misunderstood me and I should have tried for a Carl Sagan reference instead.

“No.” At least not for Brandt and me I don’t. “Well, yeah, sure . . . for
some
people.”

“I believe in true love.” He has the same glassy-eyed look as Frodo when the power of the ring starts getting to him. “And also that because human beings are capable of complex thought and emotion, they should mate for life.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I say. “Like my parents.” But all I can think of is what a
total slut
I am, spending the better part of my summer scheming to lose my virginity.

“Anyway, I hope you won’t be hurt or anything, but I’m in love with Louise.”

“Oh.
Oh!
” I’m halfway between shock and cardiac arrest. “Wow, isn’t that
something.
”

Brandt starts to explain, “You see, I’ve been looking for some sort of signal from the universe, and when Louise said that about Abe Lincoln and the Vulcan leader . . . I honestly think it’s a sign that we were meant to be together.”

“Meaning you and Louise?” I just want to be completely clear on this.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges with absolute conviction. “Me and Louise.”

Knowing that Brandt is one of these wacky scientists who believe in the lost island of Atlantis and life in different galaxies makes it easier to understand his obsession with “signs.” Like Olivia says, when people are searching hard enough for something, they tend to find it. Although from the perplexed expression on my face Brandt apparently senses my concern with using a TV character to facilitate a love connection.

“You know, Hallie, in real life Mr. Spock has published some very insightful love poems.”

I’m encouraged that Brandt is now delineating between Real Life and Spock World. “Uh, Brandt, does Louise know anything about this? I mean, have you said anything to her?” Or is this like my two-week romance with Josh, the one Josh never knew about?

“We held hands,” says Brandt. “Down at the lab.”

Oh my gosh! How did I miss this one? A good gambler is supposed to observe the behavior of all the players, and to be on guard for any changes, no matter how small. Is it possible that I was so wrapped up in Ray and Auggie and then getting Bernard and Gil back together that Louise and Brandt had managed to slip under my radar screen? And is he actually a secret dude? Or has my sister been scientifically transformed into a Trekkie down at the laboratory?

“Holding hands counts,” I hear myself saying. “I guess you’re well on your way. But, um, Brandt, there’s something you should know . . . I mean, you need to be careful, because . . . I don’t know if I should be the one to say anything, but Louise had a bad experience. . . .”

“Yeah, don’t worry. She told me all about it.” Brandt exudes a self-confidence that I have to admit does make him seem rather attractive.

“Okay, then, I was just sort of worried that if anyone pressured her, you know, she might have a flashback and go berserk, or something.”

“Actually, I, uh, I don’t believe in premarital sex.”

He
what
?

“Sure,” I say, as if maybe I don’t, either. Meantime, I’m wracking my brains to remember his family’s religion. Or possibly he took some sort of abstinence pledge after his sister got knocked up senior year of high school.

But it’s as if Brandt reads my mind.

“I’m not just looking for a mate. I’m searching for a
soul
mate. The soul is what divides us from the animal kingdom. Species in the wild are only following the laws of nature that are necessary for their survival. They’re not even cognizant of their own mortality.”

Now the proof is in, I’m obviously a species destined to live in the wild, incapable of ever finding a soul mate. Maybe working as a yard person for so long has put me
too
in touch with nature.

“My behavioral sciences studies also lead me to conclude that you produce better offspring from monogamy,” Brandt continues to explain his theory. “Take birds, for example. Some of the most famously faithful are penguins, cranes, pigeons, and parrots. In fact, geese, swans, and doves, and albatrosses are generally believed to remain with one partner throughout their entire lives. You see, one bird is needed to incubate the eggs in the nest, keeping them warm and safe from predators, while the mate gathers food to bring back to the nest, a task that may require flying a great distance out to sea to catch fish. In contrast, mammal mothers have the required milk and so the father is free. What contribution to the family is made by an animal constantly in search of a new mate? Though a female preying mantis eats the male after mating, and so she of course needs a fresh partner every time.”

“Of course.” It sounds as if maybe
I
should start researching the lifestyles of creatures that need a new partner for every date, since that appears to be my future. “Well then, I’m sure you two will have a terrific time together.”

“Hallie, I’m so glad there are no hard feelings about, you know, us not ending up together.”

“Oh, sure, life has lots of disappointments,” I say. “But I guess you really do have to be like Abraham Lincoln, and never give up. I’m sure Mr. Right is out there somewhere. Maybe even on Jupiter, and it’s only a matter of getting there.”

Brandt appears doubtful about finding life on Jupiter. I probably should have said Mars. But then he suddenly looks happy again. “Actually, this is even better because, who knows, you could be my sister-in-law, and you could be the aunt to my children! Isn’t the universe amazing?”

Holy Hobbits! Brother-in-law Brandt? The next forty Thanksgivings together! I think my contribution to science will be changing the longest day of the year from the Summer Solstice to the third Thursday in November.

Actually, starting
immediately,
I have to forget about middle-school Brandt. Brandt is okay now. He’s more than okay. He’s tall, cute, sweet, smart, and he has a brilliant future ahead of him.

“Yeah, the universe works in mysterious ways,” I agree.

Yet deep down I realize that I might miss the Brandt infatuation. Or, alternatively, if I’m suddenly categorizing his defection as a lost opportunity, this could serve to prove that I’ve indeed turned into a sex maniac. But there’s no denying that Brandt had been a constant in my life. I mean, The Crush has been going on since fourth grade, when he’d sent me a whole box of cut-out valentines, the kind meant for the entire class. We were fast approaching our tenth anniversary of unrequited love. I wonder what the suggested gift is for that—night-vision goggles? No matter, it feels as if a cold autumn wind has just blown another page off the calendar of childhood. My frog had suddenly turned into a prince. Only I’m not his princess.

Chapter Sixty-two

“HALLIE!” GIL CALLS OUT TO THE BACKYARD. “THERE’S A FedEx for you.”

Nobody has ever sent me a FedEx in my life. It must be the signed copy of my apartment lease for fall. Then I remember the detergent contest and go racing inside.

Sure enough, on the outside of the big envelope is clearly printed:

THE MARKUM CORPORATION.

Gil and Bernard and Brandt surround me as I tear it open. “You must have won the competition!” enthuses Bernard. “We’ll cook a celebratory dinner—I have a new recipe for pork tenderloin that would be perfect with a three-bean salad, and sautéed root vegetables in contrasting colors. I’m thinking turnips, purple potatoes, kohlrabi, parsnips, sweet potatoes—”

“Bernard, how about she reads the letter before you start flambéing kohlrabi?” Gil chides him as I unfold the letter and start to scan the contents for anything about a scholarship.

“Look who’s talking—Mr. How to Lose Fifteen Pounds by Living on Your Own in Cleveland,” retorts Bernard.

“I was exercising more then,” Gil defends himself.

“I won second place,” I say rather excitedly, because even though it’s not first, it’s thrilling to win
something.

“Congratulations!” Gil and Bernard both hug me.

“Mother, Ottavio, Louise—Hallie won second place in the contest!” shouts Bernard.

They all rush into the kitchen to congratulate me.

“What did you win?” asks Louise.

While I flip through the attached pages, Brandt the Brain deduces, “If first place is a scholarship for an entire year, then maybe second prize is half of that—a free semester.”

I finally locate the paragraph on the back about my prize. “A pen,” I say gloomily. “They’re mailing me a calligraphy pen.”

“That’s all?” asks Louise.

I read aloud from the letter: “Your prize of a Stephens calligraphy pen will be mailed to your home address following receipt of the attached waiver. . . .” My voice trails off in disappointment.

Bernard persists in being upbeat. “I can sell it for you down at the shop if you’d like. I’m sure it’s worth fifty dollars or so.”

I feel like crying and hurry back outside to drown my sorrows in weed whacking. What rotten luck. I should have taken that job running Cappy’s sports betting operation when I had the chance, worked for a year, and then gone to college with plenty of money in my pockets. Where am I going to find six thousand dollars by the end of November, when tuition is due for second semester? And I’ll have no way to pay for housing starting in January, either. On top of that, the day after my car was finally fixed, my secondhand computer began exhibiting psychotic tendencies.

While refilling the birdfeeders I lecture the impatient sparrows on how easy they have it, flying around all day and then rocking up at the birdfeeders for free meals. Eventually Bernard calls me inside for dinner. He’s had a recent fascination with Belgian cooking and tonight there’s a salad of Belgian endive, meatballs baked in beer, fries (which he informs us all did not originate in France, but Belgium), and for dessert he’s planning Gaugres Bruxelloises—crisp waffles topped with sweetened whipped cream and strawberries.

Olivia’s favorite lyric pieces by Edvard Grieg play softly on the stereo while Bernard lights the candles on the table as well as the ones in the gold sconces on the wall, giving the room a warm glow.

Louise stays for dinner and Brandt actually joins us instead of returning to the lab. The conversation flows as easily as the music and everyone laughs and enjoys their food and seems to be in love. Except for me, that is.

When dinner is over and the dishes are cleaned and put away I head back to the summerhouse. There was a thunderstorm while we were eating so I tramp through puddles and under showery trees while breathing deeply of the air that’s now gentle and cool. Above me the sky is a deep crystalline blue and the stars are few and faint. It’s the time of day when most creatures head home, and as the shadows deepen and converge, the yard seems very still. Meantime, everything inside me feels so very wide-awake.

I stretch out on the bed and rethink my entry for the competition. Maybe I should have used hip-hop music, or created a dishwasher rap number with all the pots, dishes, and silverware taking different parts and dressing like they’re from The Hood. But it feels as if everybody has already done that in one way or another. However, I can’t help but wonder what sort of idea took first prize and how the storyboard looked.

My thoughts eventually turn to Ray, and all the other guys I briefly dated during the school year. And then to Auggie, whose heart yearns for Svetlana. And finally to Brandt, who is so certain that Louise is his soul mate. Why haven’t I ever felt that way about anyone? Is it like Olivia said, that I’m just not reaching out enough?

Finally I give up and lie back on the bed and stare into the darkness. Drifting through the windows comes the scent of apple and cherry trees after the rain, a sort of bitter sweetness.

Closing my eyes I touch myself in secret places and in that foggy courtyard between dreams and consciousness I imagine my hand is his hand and the pillow I kiss is his face. And even though I don’t know who
he
is, my shipwrecked heart pounds with impatience and longing like African drums.