One True Loves (17 page)

“Is he home yet?”

“He will be soon. He's supposed to land in fifteen minutes.”

“Jesus,” she says.

“Tell me about it.”

“What can I do?”

This is Olive's go-to mode of function.
What can I do?
It's a wonderful quality in a friend. It means that she is always the one that is clearing the plates when she's staying at your house. She is always the one sending thoughtful gifts and checking in on you at opportune moments. But in a situation like this, she's not in her element.

Because there is nothing for her to do.

There is nothing to be done.

All of this just . . .
is.

“Can I at least send you flowers?” she says.

I smile. “I don't think flowers are going to help me deal with
the fact that I have a husband and a fiancé at the same time,” I tell her.

“What you're describing is completely absurd,” she says. “Flowers help with everything.”

I laugh. “Thank you,” I say, “for managing to be funny right now.”

“And thank you for thinking that joking about intense things is appropriate,” Olive says. “Tracey does not agree.”

Tracey is Olive's girlfriend. I have to say that their pairing makes absolutely no sense to me. Tracey is serious and erudite and corrects other people's grammar. She's regal, thin, and gorgeous. Whereas the best part of Olive, to me, has always been that she says whatever pops into her brain, eats whatever is in front of her, and will try anything you propose.

Sam easily explains it away by saying that opposites attract, but I'm still digging for some piece that I'm missing. Sam must say to me, “Do we really have to keep talking about Olive and Tracey?” at least once a month.

“Do you think he is OK?” Olive says. “I mean, I know he's alive and they say he's healthy enough, but do you think he's going to show up and have gone mad? I mean, wouldn't you? Three years alone? He was probably living off of coconuts and talking to volleyballs.”

“This isn't helping,” I tell her. “This is the opposite of helping.”

“Sorry. I'll shut up.”

“No,” I say. “Don't shut up. Just stop talking about how my husband is probably mentally unstable. Talk about something else. I have time to kill until everyone gets here and I'm afraid if I have to kill it alone, I'll be the one that's mentally unstable.”

Olive laughs. “Like I said, you keep a good sense of humor in a crisis.”

“I wasn't joking,” I tell her.

And then we both start laughing because that's the funniest thing of all, isn't it? How serious this is, how unfunny it is.

Just as I'm laughing my hardest, I see a white SUV pull into the parking lot and I know, even before seeing the driver, that it is Jesse's parents.

“Ah,” I say to her. “I have to go. Francine and Joe are here.”

“Oh, my God,” Olive says. “This all sounds so uncomfortable.”

“A bit, yeah,” I say as I turn off the car.

“I mean, when was the last time you talked to them?”

“I basically haven't since he disappeared,” I tell her. The three of us kept up the pretense of family for a few months, calling one another on holidays and birthdays. But that faded quickly. To be honest, I think it was too painful for all of us. For the past few years, we've lived in the same town and not seen each other except for the occasional run-in at the grocery store.

“All right, wish me luck dealing with this. I gotta go.”

Olive has a very bad habit that I never noticed until we moved away from each other and had to conduct our entire relationship over the phone. When you say you have to go, she says OK and then talks for another half hour.

“OK,” she says. “Good luck. I'm here for you. Is Sam okay? How's he doing?”

“Sam is . . .” I don't know how to finish the sentence and I don't have time to. “I don't know. I really have to go,” I say. “Thank you for calling. I don't know how I would do this without you.”

“I'm here anytime, you know that,” Olive says. “If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

“I will,” I say. “I promise. All right, I'll talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon. Are you and Sam definitely going through with the wedding? I mean, at this point everything is up in the air, right?”

“Olive!” I say, losing my patience.

“Sorry,” she says, realizing what she's doing. “I'm being such an Olive right now.”

I laugh. “You kind of are,” I say.

“OK, I'm going. I love you. I'm here for you. I won't even ask how Sophie and Ava are because I know you don't have time.”

“Great. Thank you. I love you. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

When she hangs up the phone, I realize how alone I am. For a moment, I thought the problem was just that I needed to get Olive off the phone. Now, I remember what the real challenge is.

I get out of my car. Francine waves as she sees me.

I wave back and start walking over to them.

Francine is wearing a fitted burgundy dress with a navy peacoat. Her wavy dark brown hair just grazes her shoulders.

She hugs me, firmly and passionately, as if she's missed me all these years. I pull away from her just as Joe puts his arms around me. He looks like he's dressed for church. Gray slacks, light blue button-down, navy blue blazer. I notice that he has started losing his hair. His face has low valleys in places that used to be plains.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says to me.

“Emma,” Francine says, putting a scarf around her neck. “It's like a breath of fresh air to see you.”

“Thanks,” I say back to her. “You, too.” I don't know what to call her. When I was a teenager, I called her “Mrs. Lerner.” When I was married to her son, I called her “Franny.”

“Look at your hair!” she says, moving her hand toward my short hair but not actually touching it. “It's so different.”

I am stronger than when I knew them. I stand straighter. I am more patient. I hold fewer grudges. I am more thankful for what I have, less resentful for what I don't. I am less restless. I read a lot more books. I play the piano. I'm engaged.

But, of course, she can't see all that.

The only change she can see is my short, blond hair.

“It's very gamine.”

“Thanks,” I say back as if I am confident this is a compliment but, by the way Francine says it, I'm not.

“How are you?” she says.

“Um,” I say. “Good. You?”

“Us, too,” she says. “Us, too. The Lord works in mysterious ways but I am stunned, humbled really, at what a gift today is.”

Jesse wasn't raised with any religious instruction and in high school I once heard Francine say she didn't “care what you think God wants” to a proselytizing Mormon who rang their doorbell. Now I'm wondering if that's changed. If losing Jesse made her a born-again Christian and if getting him back serves as all the proof she needs that she's on the right track.

Joe looks at me briefly and then looks away. I can't tell what he's thinking. But he appears to be much more conflicted about everything. Francine seems to think that life is going to be perfect again, just as soon as Jesse gets off that plane. But I think Joe understands that everything is going to be a lot more complex.

“All right,” Francine says. “Shall we head in there? I can't believe he lands soon. Look at this, the three of us on our way to see our boy.”

She pulls out her phone and checks it.

“Looks like Chris, Tricia, and the boys will be here with Danny and Marlene in a minute.”

I knew Chris and Tricia had kids not because anyone told me but because I saw Tricia in T.J. Maxx last year, many months pregnant with a toddler at her side.

I don't actually know who Marlene is. I can only assume she's Danny's girlfriend, fiancée, or wife.

The simple fact is that I know almost nothing about the Lerners anymore and they know almost nothing about me. I don't even know if they know about Sam.

Joe and I follow Francine as she walks confidently in the direction of the terminal.

“It is hard to predict how he'll be feeling,” Francine says as we walk. “From what I've heard and the advice that I've been given by professionals, our job right now is to make him feel safe.”

“Of course,” I say.

Right before we get to the door, Francine turns and looks at me. “In that vein, we have chosen not to tell him you've moved on.”

So they do know. Of course they do.

“OK,” I say, unsure how else to respond other than to acknowledge that I've heard her.

The wind picks up and I find myself wishing I had brought a warmer coat. The air here is sharper than I expected. I button up tighter and I watch as Joe does the same.

“You can tell him if you want,” Francine says. “I just don't know if he can handle finding out you are already engaged to someone else.”

It is the “already” that bothers me. The “already” nested firmly in the sentence, as if it's right at home between “you are” and “engaged.”

I resolve to stay quiet. I tell myself the best response is stoicism. But then, before I realize I've done it, I've let the feelings in my chest become words out of my mouth.

“You don't need to make me feel guilty,” I tell her. “I feel plenty guilty all on my own.”

Even though I know she hears me, she pretends she's heard nothing. It doesn't matter; even if she did acknowledge it, I know there's no way she could possibly understand what I mean.

I feel awful for giving up on Jesse. For thinking he was dead. For moving on. For falling in love with someone else. I'm actually furious at myself for that.

But I'm also really angry at myself for not being loyal to Sam, for not remaining steadfast and true in my devotion, like I have promised him I would be. I am mad at myself for being unsure, for not being the sort of woman who can tell him he's the only one, for not giving him the kind of love he deserves.

I'm mad at myself for a lot of things.

So much so that I barely have time to consider what anyone else thinks of me.

“OK,” Joe says abruptly. “Let's go. Jesse's going to land any minute.”

I
watch through the plate-glass window in front of me as a plane flies low in the sky and lands on the runway.

My heart starts beating so hard in my chest that I am afraid I am having a heart attack.

A man on the ground wheels out a staircase. A door opens. A pilot walks out.

And then there is Jesse.

Worse for wear and yet, somehow, never more beautiful to me than right now.

P
ictures never did his smile justice. I remember that now.

He's also thin and frail, as if his body is made only of muscle and bone. His once-gentle face is sleek, hard edges where soft cheeks used to be. His hair is longer, shaggier. His skin is mottled light brown and pink, looking very much like a three-year sunburn.

But his mannerisms are the same. His smile is the same. His eyes, the same.

I stare at him as he gets off the plane. I stare at him as he hugs Francine and Joe. I stare at him as he comes closer to me, as he looks me in the eye with purpose. I notice that the pinkie on his right hand stops at the first knuckle. He lost a finger somewhere along the way.

“Hi,” he says.

Just hearing that one word makes me feel as though I have gone back in time, to a part of my life when things made sense, when the world was fair.

“Hi.”

“You are a sight for sore eyes.”

I smile. I bury my face in my hands. He grabs me, holding me. I can feel my pulse beat erratically, as if it isn't sure whether to speed up or slow down.

I wonder if this is all real.

But when I open my eyes again, he's still there. He's right here in front of me, surrounding me.

I grieved him as if he were dead. But here he is.

It's almost terrifying, how much it defies logic and reason. What else do we know about the world that isn't true?

“You're home,” I say.

“I'm here.”

You know how every once in a while you look back on your life and you wonder how so much time has passed? You wonder how each moment bled into the next and created the days, months, and years that now all feel like seconds?

That's how I feel.

Right now.

In this moment.

It feels like our entire past together spans eons and the time I've spent without him is an insignificant little flash.

I have loved Jesse since the day I saw him at that swim meet.

And I'm having a hard time remembering how I lived without him, how I could bear to look at a world that I thought he wasn't in, and why I thought I could ever love anyone the way I love him.

Because it has been him.

My whole life.

It has always, always been him.

How have I spent all of my time forgetting who I am and who I love?

T
he last couple of hours have been a daze. I've stood by, saying barely anything, as the whole family embraced Jesse's return home. I watched as Francine cried her eyes out and prayed to God at the sight of him, as Chris and Tricia introduced him to their son, Trevor, and their baby girl, Ginnie. As Danny introduced him to his new wife, Marlene.

My phone has rung a number of times but I have yet to bring myself to even look at the caller ID. I can't handle real life right now. I can barely handle what's happening right in front of me.

And I can't even begin to reconcile what is happening right in front of me to my real life.

There is so much for Jesse to process. You can tell there is a great deal that his family wants to say, so much they want to do. I find myself wanting to tell him every thought I've had while he's been gone, wanting to describe every moment I've spent without him, every feeling I have right now. I want to plug my heart into his and upload the past three and a half years right into his soul.