The One That I Want (10 page)

“Talk to me, honey. Please. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

She sniffled and gasped for air. “I—I—”

I was aware there was another conversation going on between Analise and someone else who was next to her. As my heart continued to pound, I could hear an adult voice asking her, “Do you want me to talk to your mom for you?”

Analise mumbled something to that person and then said, “Mommy, here’s Shannon.”

“Mrs. Crane?” the young camp counselor said.

“Yes, yes! What’s going on up there, Shannon? Please tell me what happened. I’m so worried.”

“Everything’s okay. Analise isn’t sick or hurt, just very sad. She really wanted to talk with you, and even though it’s before our regular cell-phone time, I thought it would be a good idea to let her call you. We were just starting an evening art project, when Analise panicked. She realized what we were doing and started weeping.”

“Because of an art project?”

“Yes. It involved wrapping silver-colored thread around nails that had been hammered into a piece of wood. If the campers followed the directions exactly, it would make a pattern. A pretty design. But Analise got very upset with this activity.”

And suddenly I knew exactly what had gone wrong. “It’s string art,” I told her, feeling the tears beginning to pool in my eyes.

“That’s right,” Shannon said, surprised. “You’re familiar with it?”

“I am.” I swallowed. “Analise’s father had a number of string art designs hanging up in the patient rooms of his doctor’s office. He always—” My voice broke and I had to stop for a moment. “He’d promised her that they’d make a few pieces together sometime, when she was on vacation. But they never got the chance because…well…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Shannon whispered. “We had no idea.”

“I know. I know. There’s no way you could have known.” My heart was bleeding for my sweet, sensitive daughter, having to deal with the onslaught of such memories alone, hours from home. And it was aching even for me. Having to be so far away from her. “Please let me talk with her again.”

“Of course,” the counselor said, giving the phone back to Analise.

“I just couldn’t do it, Mommy,” she told me. “I just couldn’t make that project.”

“I don’t blame you, my love. I couldn’t have done it either.”

And the two of us spent the next few minutes on the phone, crying together.

Finally, I said, “Do you want me to come up and get you tonight? Was everything else okay today?”

She sniffled a few times and blew her nose. “We did some fun things today. Before
that
project.” She sighed. “Tomorrow, there’s supposed to be a play. I’m in it.”

“Really? What’s your part?”

“I’m the sun.” She sniffled again. “It’s kind of important. There are only three characters. Me, the wind, and this guy with a jacket.”

The storyline rang a bell. “One of Aesop’s fables?”

“Yeah.”

I wasn’t sure if I felt more relieved that she seemed to be looking forward to the next day at camp or disappointed for myself that I couldn’t rescue her from the land of rolling hills, quaint cabins, and sparkling waters, if only so I could have her back with me again. But I was the grown up here. I had to ask the big questions. Do whatever was in her best interests, not mine.

“So, you probably don’t want to miss that, huh? I mean, how would they put on the play without you?”

“Right. I suppose I should stay here for that, but—” She paused. “It was a tough day for missing Daddy.”

“Oh, Analise. I’ve had those, too.”

Shannon got back on the phone a minute later and told me that my daughter seemed pretty tuckered out. “She’s yawning, her eyelids are drooping, and she looks like she needs a good night’s sleep. I think we could relax the rules again and have her call you in the morning. Would that help, Mrs. Crane? To see how things feel for her when it’s a new day?”

I agreed that this was a good idea. After talking with Analise one more time and telling her that I loved her, I reluctantly hung up, feeling every single mile of distance that separated us tonight.

Finally, once I’d gotten myself together, I returned to Kristopher, who was still sitting contentedly at the table, playing with the last of his crispy fries.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I briefly told him about my conversation with Analise and her counselor. How I was glad she was, more or less, all right, but how the worry had left me feeling drained. Sad. A little helpless.

Kristopher said, “Well, I’m glad you don’t have to drive up to the camp tonight. That would’ve been a tragic end to our dinner and movie date.”

I squinted at him and forced a slight smile, but his reaction puzzled me. I knew he was trying to make light of the situation (maybe a misguided attempt to cheer me up?), but it was a self-centered comment. Not the kind of thing another parent would have said in this situation.

“You know, Kristopher, I’m really not in the best mindset for a movie after that phone call. Maybe we can skip that for tonight and just talk a while over coffee?”

He looked crestfallen. “That’s not quite what we did on our first date, though.”

“Well, we’re not quite high schoolers anymore, are we?” I said, a little too fast and with a little more of an edge than I’d intended. I hadn’t wanted to insult him, but my irritation with his inflexibility and his persistence in pushing this “recreated date” on me, given what had just happened, was rising.

He seemed to sense that something was amiss and backpedaled a bit. “I’ve heard lots of great things about Camp Willowgreen. Neither Tricia nor I ever went there, but it always sounded like heaven with that big lake and all the games the campers got to play during the day.”

“It’s a very scenic environment, yes, and they do have—”

“Plus, the routine has to be a good thing for the children. You know, it’s kind of like the military. Everyone knows when to wake up. When to eat. When to play or to talk to friends or to go to sleep. There’s no time for wallowing. Kids need structure and rules or they’ll stay too soft.”

Wallowing?

“Perhaps,” I said slowly. “I have the highest respect for the military but, remember, my daughter is ten. I’m not worried about her being
too
soft
.”

I wasn’t liking the turn the conversation had taken. Not at all. It was almost as if Kristopher was suggesting that Analise lacked discipline, and that I should be taking a harder line with her. He wasn’t acknowledging the depth of her loss—or mine, for that matter. It was as if he expected me to forget that I’d experienced nearly two decades of life without him in it. He seemed to assume that we could just pick up where we left off as teenagers.

“Did you want to finish your burger?” he asked me.

I shook my head. I’d made a serious dent in my meal, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to eat another bite. My stomach was roiling uncomfortably. “It was delicious, though. Thanks.”

We stayed at Sloppy Joe’s for only a few minutes longer then strolled around Harbor Square, window shopping and chatting about light, superficial things. It was pleasant enough, all things considered, but I couldn’t say I felt bonded to Kristopher as a result. And when he walked me back to my car and asked me out for another date this weekend, “So we can finally see a movie together,” I found myself making excuses. Delaying.

“I’ll call or text you next week, then,” he said, undaunted. “I’m going to be doing some recruitment work in the city, but I’m sure we can find a time that suits us both. You can’t be busy every night, right?” He chuckled at the improbability of that.

I was decidedly noncommittal in my response.

And this time when he moved in to hug me, it was a tighter and more insistent gesture than the one after our coffee date. I could tell he wanted a kiss on the lips, too, not just a peck on the cheek. I turned my head away before he succeeded at either and stepped back immediately, breaking the connection between us.

“Sorry, Jules. Maybe I’m moving too fast, but I’m a passionate guy, and I’ve missed being with someone like you,” he said, beaming at me. “We can take things slow.” With a wink, he waved and backed away, utterly confident that I saw our burgeoning relationship as he did.

Someone
like
me?

The phrase struck me as odd…and not complimentary. As I got in my car and drove home from downtown Mirabelle Harbor, I couldn’t help but think that Kristopher had mixed up his words, not merely the signals I’d been trying to send him. His behavior felt less to me like
passion
and more like
possession
.

Worrisome that he didn’t seem to know the difference.

Chapter Nine

The next night, ten seconds after walking into the reception room where the Franklin College reunion was being held, I knew I shouldn’t have come.

Vicky Bernier, the young high-school French teacher I’d met during the Quest group’s wine outing, wasn’t the problem. We’d driven down to the event together and had a fabulous time singing along with the radio in the car. She was friendly, very smart, and had a great voice—not to mention some hysterically funny dance moves to accompany the songs we were listening to. If I’d known what was ahead of us for the evening, I would have insisted that we just stay in the car and drive around Chicago, blasting Maroon 5 and Fall Out Boy.

Vicky squinted as we entered the dimly lit room, glanced around, and then pointed to a table weighed down with drinks, appetizers, and some sweets. “Punch?” she asked me.

I began to nod, but then I saw a distinctive figure standing by the table and staring right at us.

Ben Saintsbury, of course.

“Um—” I said to Vicky.

“What?”

A leggy blonde joined Ben by the refreshments table. She invaded his personal space with the cool assurance that this would be welcome. From what I witnessed of Ben’s reaction, she was more than correct in her assumption. He splayed both of his hands across her ass and pulled her closer than the skin-tight spandex she was wearing.

I winced.

“You go ahead, Vicky. I have to use the ladies’ room.” I raced out of there, puzzled at the oddities of my own reaction.

I’d been the one to break up with Ben. I’d felt guilty about disappointing him, but I’d never
missed
him and I’d never had any interest in getting back together with him once we were apart. So, I knew what I felt wasn’t jealousy. But, in a strange way, perhaps it was longing. Like when I watched Chance and Nia together.

I sighed, adjusted my makeup, and smoothed down a few stray hairs, studying my reflection critically in the bathroom mirror. Not terrible, considering I was now thirty-six and the mother of a pre-teen. Not a young sexpot either, though.

Just as I was thinking these very thoughts, who should walk in?

The blonde, of course, in her body-hugging blue…er, dress? (Not quite sure what to call her attire. It was part skirt, part scuba-wear.) With her spiked heels, she was at least five inches taller than me in my old black flats and, up close, I could tell she was at least ten years younger.

I hastily slipped out of the ladies’ room, but who was waiting just outside the door?

Ben, naturally. I should have guessed.

Cursing my lack of premonition, I was reminded of that classic saying,
“You often meet your fate on the path you take to avoid it.”

He looked at me expectantly. He knew he had me trapped.

“Hi, Ben,” I said weakly. “How have you been doing?”

“Great!” he exclaimed. And, indeed, even up this close and in brighter lighting, he
looked
great.

“Glad to hear it. Well, you have fun. Enjoy the reunion.” I took a few steps away.

He laughed. “What? Wait! You can’t just run away like that, Julia. I need a moment of glory here.” He angled his torso and puffed his chest out in the direction of the bathroom door. “I’m fit. I’ve still got all my hair. And I’m here with a hot babe. You’re supposed to be impressed, dammit.” He crossed his arms and grinned.

In spite of myself, I grinned back at him. “Okay, yes. I’m very impressed, Ben. Well done.”

He bowed slightly. “Thank you. I finally feel vindicated. All you need to do now to complete my sense of victory is admit that you’re sorry you ever broke up with me during college and that your husband can’t compare to my awesomeness in any way. Although, I noticed you didn’t bring him tonight. So, maybe that means you’re on the market again, hmm?”

I knew he was being flippant—that was just Ben’s particular style of humor—but I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering. Even though I’d come a long way toward the acceptance stage when it came to Adam’s death, the jab of pain that accompanied the memory of losing him still hurt like hell. But there was no way I’d let myself get all teary-eyed in front of Ben.

“That’s, um, an interesting theory,” I said, weighing whether or not to tell him the truth. Not only would it lessen his sense of triumph, which he was clearly reveling in, but I didn’t want to be Julia Crane the Sad Widow tonight. Not in his eyes or in anyone else’s. I’d had more than seven months of that already, and it had grown tiresome. I always appreciated empathy and even sympathy, when genuine. Pity, however, I didn’t need.