Page 35 of Second Dance
“That’s right. Even Grace. She might think she wants a stepfather, but what about step-siblings? What about our whole life changing? Then how does she feel? She’s had me all to herself. I don’t know if she could adjust to that kind of change.”
“Is that why you haven’t dated?” I asked.
“I guess so. And no one ever held a candle to you. I quite possibly cannot imagine anyone but you. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Given it’s our second date.”
“But it’s many more than that if you count those months we had together.” I smiled, and this time I reached across the table to take her hand, just briefly. “Seeing you again has reminded me of what I lost when I had to put you on that train.”
“I cried all the way to California. I ached with missing you. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over losing you.”
“And yet, here I am. Showing up like a bad penny.”
She smiled, her eyes soft. “You could never be anything bad. Penny or otherwise.” She took a sip from her wine, as her gaze drifted toward the window. “Do you know what I hate? I hate when people say—well, it was meant to be. Everything worked out as it should. But how can that be when I lost my sister? And you? Losing your wife. Her life cut short just when her children needed her. How can that be meant to be?”
“I don’t know. But I do know we’re here now and fate’s brought us back together. Maybe there’s no meaning in any of it, just good or bad luck. And we’re simply supposed to get through it all with as much integrity and grace as possible.”
“Without losing faith that what we’re doing with our lives matters to those we love,” Gillian said. “Our children will always give us structure and purpose.”
I thought about my mother. Her life had been hard and uncertain, raising me alone, sacrificing everything for me and my sister. And to lose her daughter? Because she was poor? How did it not make her bitter? She would tell me, if she were sitting at the table right now, that she’d not have changed a thing. But was that true? Was she young once, as Gillian and I had been, dreaming big dreams? Ones that didn’t include raising a son on her own and losing her daughter to some rare heart disease?
Then, something my mother said came back to me, clear as if she indeed was sitting at the table. “You were my purpose, Alex. You gave me a reason to focus my life on something greater than just myself. And look what you became? All the people you’ve helped? I get to claim a little part of that. Because I am your mom.”
“What is it?” Gillian asked.
“I was thinking about my mother.” I told her what I remembered her saying. “It was a few months before she passed away. I don’t know if she was in a reflective mood because she knew her life was coming to an end or if I’d asked her if she had any regrets. Regardless, it stuck with me. During these hard years without Mattie, trying my best with the kids, I thought a lot about how she conducted herself. How giving she was. I’ve tried to emulate her, but I fall short. Pretty much every day.”
“Welcome to parenthood.” She raised her wine glass in a mock toast.
“It’s true. But we get to claim a little of the credit too,” I said. “Even though Bella’s breaking my heart right now, I know she’s going to be a remarkable person and I get to be her dad.”
Gillian nodded, eyes brimming with tears. “That’s how I feel about Grace too.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t have something for ourselves too,” I said. “Love. Someone to grow old with.”
“That’s just it, though. We don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. We have only right now.”
“Right now is pretty nice,” I said.
She smiled, her eyes glistening in the soft light. “It certainly is.”
After dinner, I wasn’t ready for the night to end. When Gillian suggested walking around town, I jumped at the chance. I left my car parked near Tidewater Grill and we headed down Willet Cove’s central street, aptly named Harbor Avenue. Many folks were wandering around town, licking ice cream cones or nursing coffees, stopping to look in storefront windows. Others sat in groups on the public benches. A small crowd had gathered around a young man with a guitar singing the blues.
“It’s such a nice evening,” Gillian said. “Do you smell the jasmine?”
“Is that what I’m smelling?”
“Yes. I never tire of the scents of summer, especially on a night like this, when the jasmine blooms.”
I wanted badly to hold her hand but wasn’t sure she would welcome it or not. This was a small town. Maybe she wouldn’t want to be seen with the mysterious billionaire dude who built the house upon the hill.
As we walked along, she pointed out various businesses. Some of the storefronts had gone dark, but those attractive to tourists remained open, including the ice cream shop, toy store with its display of kites in the front window and the bookstore, Ink & Anchor.
Gillian walked close enough that our shoulders almost touched. We stopped in front of the art gallery. One dramatic spotlight cast shadows through the front windows, turning the glass into a mirror for the bruised pink sky.
“Delphine opened this before her husband’s death,” Gillian said. “Thank goodness, or I don’t know what would’ve happened to her.”
“How long ago did he pass?” Sometimes I felt like the only young person who had lost a spouse too early, but sadly, I was not.
“The kids were nine, so five years ago now. He took a bottle of sleeping pills.”
