Chapter 3 #2
I rubbed my eyes, feeling defeated. She was so difficult these days, and I didn’t seem to have the answers. In fact, she totally befuddled me. She needed a mother, not some bumbling guy like me.
“It’s okay, Dad. She’s just sad today.”
I looked up to see Peter watching me.
“I know,” I said. “But I wish she could be a little kinder to me. I’m hurting too.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “Maybe she’s just going through a stage.”
“Yeah. Hopefully.”
“And if you want to start dating, you should. As trite as it sounds, Mom would want you to find someone.”
“She told me that. You know, toward the end. But the thought of anyone but her was impossible at the time.”
“But now?” Peter asked.
“I might be open to the idea. I did put my profile up today.”
“No way. Have you had any hits?”
Should I tell him who I’d seen on there? If I did, I’d have to tell him the whole story.
“What is it?” Peter asked. “Just tell me.”
I chuckled. My boy could read me all too well.
“I was browsing through profiles and I came upon someone I know. An old girlfriend. From before your mom. The summer before my senior year at MIT. We had this innocent romance and then something happened and she had to leave New York very suddenly. I never saw her again. And this is the even stranger thing. She’s here. In Willet Cove.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.” I got up from the table to pour myself a glass of wine before returning to my seat.
“Does she have a kid? Like someone I would know?” Peter asked.
“She has a daughter. Bella’s age. Her name’s Grace. Grace Horton.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. “I know Grace. Everyone does. She’s like the star of all the school plays. Do you remember when you took Bella and me to the play at the middle school last March? To see Beauty and the Beast? That’s Grace. She played Belle.”
“The pretty blonde?”
“Yep. That’s her.” I sat there, stunned for a moment.
The night of the play, Grace had reminded me of someone but I couldn’t place who.
Now, it was clear. She reminded me of Gillian.
Although they didn’t share complexions, their faces were similarly shaped and there was a quality about her—sweet but smart and completely vulnerable.
I’d once teased Gillian that absolutely everything she felt or thought was reflected in her face.
“Are Grace’s parents divorced?” Peter asked. “I’ve never seen her father around.”
“There isn’t one, as far as I can tell.” I told him the story then.
About how in love I’d been with her. About our magical summer.
And about the fateful phone call. “I was with her when they called to tell her that her sister and brother-in-law had died.” I told him that Gillian had adopted Grace, dropping everything to do so.
“That’s the last thing I knew of her life.
We said goodbye, and I never saw her again. ”
“Dad, this is such a trip. Are you going to reach out to her?”
“I already did.”
His eyes widened. “And?”
“I haven’t heard back. I suggested coffee. Just to catch up. That kind of thing.”
“She’ll write you back. She’ll be too curious.” He glanced out at the setting sun over the Pacific. “I wonder if she ever searched for you? If so, it wouldn’t have been hard to find you.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“And you never looked for her?” Peter asked.
“No. It wouldn’t have been right. Not when your mother was alive. And even now, it feels a bit like a betrayal to her.”
“Why?” His question was asked in his typical gentle way, like, whatever my answer, it was fine.
“We were married a long time, and I loved her very much. It’s not so easy to let go.”
“She’s gone, Dad. And you’re still here.”
I was still here. Waiting for my phone to ding like some kind of college kid.
“Check your phone,” Peter said. “Maybe she wrote back.”
I didn’t mention that I had the notifications turned on and heard nothing. Instead, I got up and grabbed it from the counter, pulled up the app and there it was. A message from @DancingQueen.
“She wrote back,” I said, more to myself than Peter.
“Read it.”
I tapped the message, and it opened on the screen.
Hi Alex. I can’t believe it’s you! Or that you live here.
I’d love to have a drink and catch up on the last fourteen years.
From a Google search, I can see that you’ve been busy.
I’m sorry to hear about the loss of your wife.
But congratulations on your successful company.
It doesn’t take too much insight to know what drove you to build that particular product.
You always said you’d do something to help kids like your sister, and it looks like you’ve done it.
I’m available for a drink after my last class tomorrow. I could meet you at The Pelican at six? Or another day of the week would be fine too.
Gillian
“She wants to meet for a drink tomorrow night,” I said to Peter.
“You have to say yes.”
“I kind of do, since I suggested it,” I said. “I’m now wondering if it was such a good idea.”
“You won’t know unless you go,” Peter said, grinning. “Who knows what could happen?
That was exactly it. Who did know? Certainly not me.
Wanting to make a good impression, I’d arrived at The Pelican a few minutes early and had planted myself at a corner booth. It was dinner hour, and the place was packed with tourists and locals, but I’d lucked out and arrived as a few tables were being cleared.
As I waited, my mind kept circling back to the night she’d come to tell me that her life was about to change forever.
Nineteen years old, sitting on the edge of my mattress in my cramped New York apartment, her knees pulled to her chest, she told me Shelley and Daniel had put in their will that Gillian was to take the baby should anything happen to them.
Tissues pressed against her red-rimmed eyes, she whispered, “I have to go. Grace has no one else. She’s my family.”
The urge to beg her to come with me, to Boston, to let me take care of her and the baby somehow—it had nearly overwhelmed me.
But what did I have? A scholarship I’d fought hard for and still a year left before I had my degree.
No way to support a child. She knew it. I knew it.
So I’d had to let her go. Had to drop her at the train station and watch her walk away.
Penn Station’s crowded platform—I could still see her there.
The whistle shrieking over the garbled crackle of the departure board announcements.
Her slim silhouette was outlined against the steel cars, her suitcase at her feet, the scuffed floor vibrating with the rumble of engines below.
She’d had on a red coat, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting her in a harsh glow, but even that could not dim her beauty.
I’d kissed her one last time. As if my life depended on it.
I’d memorized the softness of her lips, the way she tasted of strawberry candy.
The warmth of her breath against my mouth, the slight tremor in her hands as they found my chest. A kiss that would have to be enough to last a lifetime—though I already knew it could never be.
When we finally broke apart, it felt like pulling away from gravity itself.
She backed away, the space between us growing inch by torturous inch, cool air rushing to fill the void where her warmth had been.
Her hand lingered against my chest for one suspended heartbeat, two, before sliding away, slender fingers trailing across the fabric of my shirt.
“Goodbye, Alex. I’ll never forget you.”
“I’ll always love you,” I said, sure it was so.
She’d climbed the narrow steps into the car, her suitcase bumping behind her.
For a heartbeat she’d paused in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame.
Then she turned, and our eyes met across the crowd.
Her lips trembled, her gaze fierce and unflinching, as if she were burning the memory of me into her mind. I tried to do the same.
And then she stepped inside. The door slid shut with a final clang, and the train carried her away.
I didn’t move from my spot until the whistle faded and the platform was empty.
Fourteen years. Sitting here now, it felt both like a lifetime and no time at all.
Then she appeared in the doorway of The Pelican, and everything in the room disappeared.
Time fractured. She moved toward me with that same unhurried grace I remembered, wearing a simple tank top and a long skirt that caught the evening breeze.
Her face was more mature now, the roundness of nineteen replaced by sharper cheekbones and a stronger jawline, making her even prettier than she’d been all those years ago.
Her hair was different, cut shoulder-length, brushing her toned shoulders.
When I’d known her, she’d had long hair that was often in a bun on top of her head.
I remembered how her scalp had ached after a long day at the dance academy.
She’d lay her head on my lap, and I’d caressed and massaged the pain away.
Now, I rose on unsteady legs, blood rushing in my ears. She lifted her hand in a small wave, that sweet smile and those soft green eyes the color of new leaves, and I was twenty-two years old again, watching her board a train.
When I extended my hand—some ridiculous attempt at formality—she stepped past it and pulled me into a gentle hug.
Her scent was exactly the same as I remembered and made my knees nearly buckle.
That familiar sweetness of vanilla mixed with gardenia that used to cling to my shirts after she’d fallen asleep against my shoulder.
I felt that same magnetic pull toward her that I’d had then, deep in my bones.
For a few seconds, she was solid and warm and real against me, and it was as if no time had passed.
As if we were still those kids who had fallen desperately in love.
Then she pulled back and looked directly into my eyes. The same clear, unguarded gaze that had always seen my heart.
“Hello, Alex,” she said softly. “Is it really you?”
“You’re beautiful.” I hadn’t meant to say that, but the truth just slid right out of my throat.
“Do I look old?” Gillian asked. “I’ve been vainly worried about that.”
“Like I said in my message, I’d not thought it was possible for you to be prettier than the last time I saw you, but you are.”
“You’re looking very well yourself,” Gillian said. “Time’s been kind to you.”
“As it has to you.” I gestured toward the booth. “Please, sit. We can order a drink.”
She set her handbag in first, then slid to the middle of the bench. When she was situated, I sat across from her.
“I forgot that about you,” Gillian said.
“What’s that?”
“Your impeccable, old-fashioned manners.”
“Ah, well, my mother raised me that way.”
“How is she?”
The familiar stab of grief came when I thought about my mother. “She passed away five years ago.”
“I’m so sorry. I always wished I could have met her,” Gillian said. “I felt like I knew her from all your stories.”
“She was one of a kind.”
“I’m sorry about your wife too.”
“Too much loss these last five years,” I said. “It’s brought me to my knees.”
“Oh, Alex, I’m sorry. How are your children doing?”
“They’re all right. My son, Peter, has coped with his mother’s loss better than my daughter. Bella’s very sensitive and emotional. And she’s fourteen, so she’s difficult to read. I never know what version of her I’ll see at the breakfast table.”
“I have one of those too,” Gillian said. “She’s a song and dance girl with a bit of diva in her.”
We were interrupted when the server came by to take our drink order. I ordered a glass of red but Gillian asked for a pinot grigio. She’d said on her profile she liked crisp white wine on a hot day, so I wasn’t surprised.
“Are you hungry?” I asked. “We can order something to share.”
“They have a great hummus plate here,” Gillian said.
“Great. We’ll have one of those,” I said to the server.
She nodded, and off she went, promising to return with our drinks.
After she left, Gillian and I were quiet for a moment. I wasn’t sure where to start.
“It’s been a long time,” I said, feeling lame.
“Yes, it has. A lot’s happened to both of us. Where do we begin?”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. “Tell me more about Grace. Strangely enough, we all saw her play Belle at the school play. I had no idea she was yours. Although something about her had felt very familiar. Isn’t that odd?”
“Completely.” Gillian’s mouth curved into a smile, her eyes shining. “I’m so proud of her. She’s fearless when it comes to performing. I’ve had her in singing and acting lessons from an early age. Her request. And she’s taken dance at my studio since I first opened.”
“How did you find your way to Willet Cove?” I asked. “You grew up in Sacramento, right?”
“That’s correct. Good memory.”
I remembered everything about Gillian Horton, but I kept that to myself.
“I’d been here as a kid and never forgot how beautiful it was.
When I came for Grace, I decided it would be a great place to raise a child, and I saw potential for a dance studio—children and adult classes.
My sister and her husband left me a nice nest egg.
My brother-in-law was a patent attorney—and quite a bit older than my sister—so he’d had everything in order.
A trust fund for Grace. Their life insurance money came to me so I’d be able to take care of Grace.
Between that and the sale of their house, I was able to buy a cottage here and open my studio.
I earned my Pilates certificate, thinking it would be a great combination with dance classes. ”
“And you’re doing well?” I asked.
“Remarkably so. I mean, I’m not a billionaire, but we have a wonderful life.”
I smirked, embarrassed. “So you know about that?”
She shrugged, smiling. “There are a lot of articles out there about you.”
“Did you know about all of that before I reached out?” I asked, curious if she’d ever Googled me.
“No. I had no idea what happened to you.”
The server brought our wine, interrupting the flow of our conversation for a moment. But Gillian got it back on track quickly when we were alone again.
“In fact, the first I learned of your presence in Willet Cove was just a few nights ago. Grace suspected you were my Alex.”
“How in the world did she know?” I asked.
“It’s kind of a complicated story.”
“I’ve got all night.”