Page 17 of Dream a Little Dream

“It’s Instagram gold. You need a camera crew.”

“We’re not like that.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?” He was making a gentle point. I sighed. I tried not to think about the answer to his question too often, but the reality was a lot could go wrong. After a glorious weekend with Kyle a year ago, I knew we had thepotentialto be fantastic together. But that’s all I knew. A lot could have changed between then and now, and when I saw her, she might not be the same person. I hated that possibility and tried not to dwell on it. I’d waited too long, held on to so much hope.

When I’d returned home from Charleston last year, I wasn’t the same. I saw the world differently and found light in the most mundane tasks, wondering why that lettuce suddenly looked incredibly leafy green and gorgeous. How lucky we were to have lettuce! Kyle had done that for me, flipped the world sunny side up. As a side effect, I’d become exponentially more aware of the calendar, watching one day fold into the next as we rounded one holiday after another. But I also feared the moment I’d head to Charleston. The moratorium would be up and we’d see, once and for all, if Kyle and I were meant to be. In my heart of hearts, I was hopeful. Lies. I was way beyond hopeful. I’d clung to nothing but unaltered hope since the moment we said goodbye and held on to each other for far too long, my face pressed into her watermelon-scented hair. I’d not allowed myself to live in the memory of that weekend entirely, but I did take it out on occasion and revisit glimpses.

This week was different, however.

We were scheduled to meet up on that bridge on Saturday, and now that the time was here, I allowed myself the luxury of uninhibited revisits to that time and what it meant to me. My heart squeezed when I thought about Kyle, how much I liked her, how worthy she’d made me feel. I wondered what her year had been like, how difficult the final throes of residency had been for her. Had she been looking forward tothis weekend, too? Did she think of me? I entertained short fantasies about walking straight to her and kissing her again, holding hands in the park, spending long mornings in bed, discussing the headlines and getting to know each other at a slower, more luxurious pace. To my credit, happily ever after was a thought I reserved for down the line, but only because I wanted to be conservative in my expectations. The easiest way not to get hurt, after all. Because it was wholly possible she’d say she still wasn’t in a place to get involved with someone, or worse, she wasalreadyinvolved with an amazing woman she’d unexpectedly met. Her name was probably Ella and they would get married in France beneath the Eiffel Tower with plans to live the most exciting life. I had to be ready to hear her out and also realize I might not like the words.

I met Jonathan’s solemn brown eyes. He was worried for me, which was what Jonathan did. Neither of us had been dealt the best hand in life, and we looked out for each other. I swallowed and faced him. “Well, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll wish her well.”

“It’s a risky move, but I’m proud of you for going there and making it.”

I shrugged. “Kyle and I are just two people trying to make our way in the world. Maybe she’s already in love, maybe she has no room on her plate, maybe she’s a different person now. Who knows?” I sucked in air and pretended to check in on something on my phone. The stakes felt incredibly high, and it was so much easier to deflect.

Now, sitting in my office staring at inventory, I had only four days between me and my journey to that suspension bridge. I needed to keep my head down and focus on the here and now. The rest would sort itself out sooner rather than later. Who was I kidding? I threw myself back in my leatherette executive chair and grinned the happy sigh of someone with birds and hearts flying in a circle above their head.Four short days.

* * *

On Thursday morning, I let myself into Lindy’s house, correction,my Airbnb. I was still getting used to the sound of that. Wow. I did a casual walk-through a few hours before my next set of guests was scheduled to arrive. The complimentary bottle of cabernet was out, and I added my handwritten note. A small platter of assorted cheeses wasnestled in the fridge with a welcome sign on a toothpick. Elizabeth and her odd jobs company were doing a fantastic job turning the place over between guests, even picking up the cheese from my deli. We’d struck up a reasonable deal, and the whole thing was now functioning like a well-oiled machine. I quickly checked the guest book I kept on the end table and saw that my recently departed tenants had left a wonderful note of thanks with some recommendations for future visitors.

Do not, I repeat, do not miss the oversized glazed donuts at Amazin’ Glazin’.

I grinned, because it was sound advice. With donuts bigger than my hand and a wonderfully messy glaze, no one would forget the little shop that could. They’d recently expanded their space, overtaking the dry cleaning business next door when it went out of business.

I climbed the pull-down ladder up to the attic, which was now only a quarter full of Lindy’s belongings, a work in progress. Each time I stopped by the house, I made it a goal to take one box with me to sort through. Today’s box had the wordRachelwritten in faded black marker. Lindy’s handwriting. I’d been sidestepping that box for weeks, unsure if I was in the right headspace to open it and handle and explore items that had once been my mother’s. Her hands had touched, if not treasured, the things in that box. My stomach flip-flopped with nervous excitement. Today felt like the right day. I scooped up the box and carefully carried it down the ladder, protective of the contents inside and how sacred they felt.

I waited until after dinner, a huge blackened chicken salad, to explore the box. “All right, Mom. You and me,” I said quietly, as I placed it on the table in my kitchen. There were so many odds and ends crammed inside that I took my time, to not overwhelm myself. A small makeup bag, still with a few lipsticks inside. Surreal. A couple of romance novels that looked like they’d been read multiple times. I smiled and pressed one of the paperbacks to my chest—a girl after my own heart. This was fun, getting to know my mom in a whole new way. Several trophies and certificates she’d won over the years. One for entrepreneurship in high school, making me wish Lindy was here so I could ask for more details. My mom was a businesswoman at seventeen? I loved it. At the bottom of the box, I found several basic-looking file folders. The first one contained a hodgepodge of paperwork: her birthcertificate, greeting cards from my grandparents and Lindy, as well as a handful of photos from her college years. I loved going through them, my eyes welling with wistful tears as I took in her youthful, smiling face. Everything in me wished I’d had the opportunity to know her at the age I was now, that she’d know me, as well. What would she think of my job? Of Jonathan? Would she attend Pride parades at my side? There was no question. I knew she would have.

I opened the second folder and dropped my brows. The papers inside were all the same. A thick stack of handwritten letters she’d saved from what looked to be my dad. I skimmed the first. They were figuring out their summer schedules, apparently, during their college years. I flipped through the thick stack of pages, paragraphs upon paragraphs from him, pouring his heart out. He was telling her he loved her. I felt the warmth spread out in my chest. I snuggled into the soft part of the chair. He wanted to be there for her. He’d raise her child as if it was his own. Record scratch. I sat up. Rocked.Hold on. What child? I set the page on the table and blinked at the wall with my framed daisy photos. A whoosh of nausea descended like a lightning strike. I swallowed and rushed back to the page, infused with adrenaline, my eyes searching the words, but the letters failed to make sense in their order. Nothing did. “Okay, just hold on a second,” I said to the empty kitchen. “Pause. Breathe. Look at the dates.” The sound of my own voice helped center me and calm my scattered thoughts. I went back to the letter and found the date, which was just seven months before I was born. I didn’t have a long lost sibling. They were talking aboutme. The letters were one hundred percent from my dad, which meant only one thing. “He wasn’t my biological father,” I murmured. The colors I’d meticulously picked out for my home began to fade from the edges. The panic was replaced by a strange, and almost welcome, numbing sensation. The buzzing sound in my ears was less helpful.

“I think I need wine,” I said, continuing my streak of speaking out loud to no one. It’s apparently what I did now. “And maybe a pet so I don’t have to launch into soliloquy to an empty room. A sweet puppy to lick my face and tell me that this didn’t exactly change anything. Fuck.” I slid my hand into my hair and gripped as hard as I could, the physical pain taking center stage over the mental anguish for a much-needed moment. “He was still my dad. Right? Dammit. He still raised me for every second we were together on this Earth.” I poured a hearty glass of cab, stared at it, thought better and added even more.“Hell, in the letters, he was an absolute supportive gem. So, what’s the problem?” I took a long swallow of wine. “Except that you’re not at all who you thought you were.” I stalked back to the table, harnessing new determination. A fire stirred within, born of a need to know and a sense of betrayal at having not been told. Had Lindy known? I couldn’t imagine her keeping something this important from me. I was up again and moving. My father was not related to me by blood, which ushered in a question I had yet to consider: Then who the hell was? Who was the man I shared DNA with? The idea that I potentially had a living parent out there about knocked me over. I was an orphan. In fact, that status had become an integral portion of my identity, my plight in this world. But it wasn’t necessarily the case? No. Another gulp of wine. I put on loud music, whatever Alexa picked out for me, and walked circular laps around my kitchen. My watch notified me astutely that I’d hit my steps for the day and more. Damn right I had. “Thank you,” I said pointedly to it, because it felt like the only friend I had nearby.

Now what?

I was scheduled to drive to Charleston in two days to meet up with the potential love of my life, and my place on this Earth was just run over by a Mack truck. What was I supposed to do now? I wanted to call Jonathan but I also didn’t want to say all of the words out loud because doing so might make them real. With a deep breath, I returned to my kitchen table once again and started reading, consuming every detail. If I knew everything, I could figure this thing out and put myself back together again. If desperation had a name, it would have been Savanna. There had to be a hundred letters, all one-sided, of course. I’d never know for sure what my mother wrote back, but there were clues. She wanted to move away from Dreamer’s Bay and start somewhere fresh, and he’d agreed. That made sense. They’d apparently gotten married several months before my birth and were planning on getting jobs and making a go of it. They’d sorted out the details back and forth, professing their love and excitement for a time they could fully be together. It was actually incredibly romantic, and I took comfort in that part, using it to soothe what felt like a gut punch. I headed to their wedding album that I’d stashed in the drawer of my end table. I exhaled in satisfaction when the dates on the back of their smiling, happy wedding photos confirmed the timeline I’d established from the exchanges. After they’d married, the letters stopped, which made sense. After poring over every word, I sat back on the couch and blinked at theempty room, floating back to the present. My eyes were full of gravel. It was after midnight, and I needed to be back at the store before the sun was up. The thought nearly made me weep.

I didn’t waste time with pajamas, allowing the cool sheets to press against my skin as I let go of my thoughts, hoping, somehow, someway I’d wake up to discover this was all a dream.

Chapter Six

The Bridge

It was the day I’d been waiting for, and yet it didn’t feel real. The idea that I was going to lay eyes on Kyle for the first time in twelve months hadn’t fully hit me yet. I sat at the outdoor café around the corner from the park, unable to touch the chicken salad sandwich I’d ordered for dinner and instead had requested a cappuccino. The heat radiating from the white ceramic mug in my hands helped anchor me in the moment. I smiled at the couple at the table adjacent to mine, enjoying how in love they seemed and wondering if that just might be me someday. I could admit to feeling rattled after what I’d learned two days ago, and I very much needed today. I needed to see Kyle and I needed to anchor myself in the here and now. Focus on the future like a lifeline and press pause on the past. Today was a bright spot.

I checked my watch.

Ten minutes.

Butterflies swarmed, but my smile could not be dimmed. I signed the credit card slip and stood. I’d selected a green and white dress and added a cropped denim jacket because the combination felt very much me. With my heart pounding rapid fire in my chest, I took the short walk to the park, hyperaware of every human, pet, insect, and breeze that came my way. I just needed to relax and remember how at home I felt around Kyle.

The park was everything I’d remembered and more. Even the ice cream truck was tucked in its same spot. I took a minute just to soak it all in. Finally, I found my way to the suspension bridge with two to three minutes to spare. A quick scan up and down told me Kyle wasn’t on the bridge yet. I was first and that was okay. It would giveme a moment to catch my breath, smooth my dress, and run my fingers through my likely windblown hair that I’d had trimmed the day before. I found a spot midway from one side to the other, as close to where I remembered us standing together as I could manage. Not sure which direction she might come from, though, every few moments, I scanned both, looking extra closely anytime a brunette appeared in the distance. We’d agreed on eight p.m. because the sun would be going down. Watching the brilliant colors on display now, it had been a good call. Wow. I took a breath as I saw a woman about her height walk toward the bridge from between the trees. She paused. Hugged someone.Oh, God. Here we go. Deep breath. Then the woman turned and went back the other way. Not Kyle.

Ten more minutes passed. Twenty. I didn’t understand. Maybe she’d been called into the hospital. She’d made it clear that that kind of thing happened all the time. Thirty minutes. I walked to the end of the bridge and back again, still searching the faces of everyone I passed. An hour. I pulled the jacket tighter around me as a sense of dread began to settle. Ninety minutes. She hadn’t been called into the hospital. Somehow, I knew that much. I stayed on that bridge anyway, quietly trying to understand. My feet were hurting because the shoes were new. I wasn’t sure why I stayed, except I needed to see this thing through, to bear witness and understand without any doubt that Kyle stood me up and left me there alone.

Dusk eased gradually into night. The stunning lights illuminated the bridge’s suspension wires in such a striking manner that a painful lump formed in my throat at the stark contrast of the beauty in front of me and the sadness within. I was supposed to be swimming in happiness tonight, anticipating all that was to come. I didn’t want to take any of this personally, but honestly, it was the most personal thing ever, being stood up, especially for something as big as this was. I flashed on myself singing happily in the car on the way here, searching down the hall for my hotel room. The stupid café in which I practically vibrated with excitement. I laughed quietly, shook my head, and stared down at my fingers as they grasped the railing. My legs ached. I needed to get the hell off this bridge.

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