Page 7 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
Lance Turner staring into my eyes, so close to me, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, is surreal. My heart missed a beat or two.
I haven't been focused on my work ever since Lance Turner came into my life, and even now, as I was walking across the crossing, I was still thinking of the man. He consumes my thoughts as badly now as he did back when I was in high school. But now I’ve seen him, and this makes things worse. It’s bad enough that I know he lives here, but for him to know that I’m here too?
No good can come of this.
I don't want to go there, back into the past again. I haven't seen him since that night when I turned to him in my hour of need, when I needed him so badly and then he disappeared. Without a word, he'd slipped away and now, he has the audacity to ask me to wait for him.
He almost has the same build. There’s no excess fat, no middle age spread. He’s still as lean and tall as he was back when I was in high school. Funny how I only must have glanced at him for a few seconds, but my mind has absorbed so much about him.
As I struggle to regulate my breathing, as the enormity of who I have seen dawns upon me, a car pulls up alongside me.
It’s him. I continue walking, then hear a car door close, then footsteps. In the next few seconds Lance Turner is beside me, so close to me that I am forced to turn and acknowledge him. A million angry thoughts fly through my mind and my emotions tear through me like a raging hurricane.
What now? What could this man possibly have to say to me now? I have no words for him and my breath stalls when he stops in front of me.
“Megan.” He frowns. “Why are you rushing away?” It’s a voice that sends shivers down the entire length of my body.
“Why are you hunting me down?”
His eyes stare at me from a face I have never forgotten. Lake blue eyes with skin that was once so smooth against my fingertips. Now he has wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His once dark hair is now speckled with grey. He's still slim with the lithe body of an athlete. A body forever burned into my memories.
I try not to notice these things and yet, I can't help but absorb the essence of him. He looks every bit the hero from the TV screen, and he's smiling at me, curiosity in his eyes. It was bound to happen at some point now that I know we live in the same city, the same town. It’s a miracle it hasn't happened earlier, the two of us meeting at some random place, at some random time.
The way he looks at me now transports me back to another place and another time to another Megan, and I find myself back in the stuffy school classroom on a hot, sweaty summer's afternoon.
He grins and it takes me back a decade. I loved that smile, and I see the teacher again. Mr. Turner, forbidden fruit. I blink and it’s him, now. It’s like his past and present selves comingle.
“I can't believe it's really you.” He places his hands on his hips and looks at me as if I’m a piece of art he’s admiring. “It's so good to see you again.” He makes it sound as if he's been away for months and has only now come back. As if we are friends.
“Have you recovered?” I ask, nodding at his shoulder. It would be rude not to mention the story that is still fresh on everyone’s mind in Boston.
He sighs heavily as if the topic irritates him. “I'm getting better. It's amazing how quickly a clean shot can heal.”
“You're quite the hero around here.” I shift my weight from one foot to the next, juggling the groceries in my arms. The handle broke so now I have to hold it.
He frowns. “Hero? I don't think so.”
“But you saved that student’s life.” Now that I think of it, he seems to be good at the role of saving others; of being there just like he'd been there for me. He shakes his head refusing to accept this accolade, but I don’t miss the way his eyes scan over me quickly. “You look older, but good. You look really well, Megan,” he says, his voice soft and tender.
Self-conscious I touch my hand to my hair. “Older, yes.”
“I mean that in a nice way. You look so grown up.”
“Iamall grown up,” I retort, wondering where this conversation is going. “People usually change over time.” My skin turns warm, and I’m sure I can feel the rush of blood pounding in my ears. My emotions surprise me. I expected to be annoyed at him because I've been angry with him for so long, but instead I feel a sense of ease.
I'm almost happy to see him.
It’s ridiculous that I feel this way when I’ve had such pent-up anger for this man for so long. But the anger has melted away. My body reacts to him in a way that lets me down; it’s the way I usually react to a good looking guy who shows me some attention.
I can’t make that mistake here. I won’t let my mind go there.
When he glances away, I sneak a peek at his face. Because I’ve already seen him in the newspapers, his appearance is not a big surprise to me and being this close to him in person merely confirms that the years have been kind to him. He is still as sinfully good looking as ever, and I wonder if his students think the same of him; whether they are as mesmerised as us high school girls were. A twinge of jealousy courses through me, the emotion puzzling me with its immediacy and sadness.
“I never meant to startle you.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the bag in my arms. “I was driving too fast when I came around the corner.”
“This isn’t because of something you did.” I lift a shoulder, and stare at the ground, because I don't want to keep staring at him. It throws me off. Makes me lose my focus and forget what to say. Keeps me revisiting the past when I shouldn’t go anywhere near there. “The handle broke.”
“I wasn't to blame?”
