Chapter Eighteen Rose #3
“How’s it going over here?” my daughter asks, looking between the four of us, as if trying to solve a murder mystery. “Everyone behaving?”
Tommy cracks a smile, but William doesn’t. “Of course we’re behaving,” William says. “What kind of question is that?” He wraps his arm around my waist again and squeezes.
I look around at our misfit group, taking notice: Tommy looks annoyed, Rachel seems confused, and I suddenly wish that the tent would collapse on all of us, so I can make a quick getaway.
“William,” says Lily. “Would you mind joining me to grab a drink at the bar? I’d feel more comfortable if I’m with someone who knows the wedding party.”
“Sure,” he says, but he seems reluctant to leave me.
Rachel jumps in. “I’ll go, too!”
They disperse into the crowd, William glancing back a few times at Tommy and me, until we’re left alone. We stand a few feet apart, unsure of what to do next.
The band changes pace again, decelerates back into a slow song.
Tommy shrugs, gesturing to the crowd, which is now pairing into twos. “Shall we?”
“Why not?” I say, feeling my heart get staccato. It’s like the music has crawled under my skin, making everything inside me hum.
He cups my hand in his and we begin to dance.
“I didn’t realize you were seeing someone,” he says.
I can’t tell if he’s bothered by the information or simply commenting.
His eyes are the steady brown they’ve always been, and I realize how much about him I’ve memorized.
Despite the distance between us, I’ve kept a “Tommy folder” in my brain, chronicling every inch of him, so that now it all rushes back with urgency.
“I’m not,” I tell him. “I mean, we’ve been on a few dates, but we never decided it was serious.”
Everything has remained strangely chaste with William: a kiss on the cheek goodbye after dinner, and once, even a handshake. It’s like I’m in a job interview, stuck forever in the final round.
Tommy doesn’t respond; instead he dips me to the beat of the song.
Where before I felt unsteady on the dance floor, with him, everything is certain.
I let him guide me, trusting him to catch me if I slip.
He has always possessed a certain commanding resoluteness.
When he tells you to follow him, you do, because you trust he’s thought it out.
When he makes a decision, he sticks with it, even if it’s the wrong choice, even if everything would be better if he just turned against his word.
I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Is he disappointed? Does he wish I was still the girl of my youth? I adjust the dress again, wanting to cover myself from his inspection.
“Tommy,” I ask him. There’s a thoughtful look on his face, a line between his brows. “Why did you come here?”
“Tonight?” he asks, but I know he knows that’s not what I mean.
“To the island.”
He looks behind my right shoulder to where the bride is slow dancing with her groom. There’s something pained about the expression. “I don’t know,” he admits.
“Was it really a coincidence that you rented out the cottage?” I can feel my hand vibrating in his, every nerve ending on high alert for his response. It’s like every cell in my body is leaning in.
“No,” he admits, and I hold my breath. “I mean, yes.”
For once, he appears flustered. “I don’t know,” he continues.
“Rachel didn’t tell me it was your place explicitly, but of course, I recognized the address when she eventually sent over the paperwork.
I wasn’t sure if you were still here, but I—I don’t know.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping we’d run into each other. ”
I force myself to take deliberate breaths. “And why did you want to run into each other?”
He looks at me, and those brown eyes seem to melt, turning liquid.
I can see every color in them, and I can see the past. I see the miracle of him being here, in front of me again, hand on my hip, everything changed but also somehow the same.
All of the years that stretch between us reduced to nothing in the single crush of an instant.
That’s what it always felt like when Tommy and I were together—like a collision.
The music stops. We remain holding each other. He starts to speak, but instead of words, there is the crack of fireworks. Not the crackle of chemistry-induced metaphorical fireworks, but the actual, real-life shotgun sound of fireworks exploding outside on the beach.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the singer croons onstage. “Everyone please gather outside to celebrate the everlasting love of Mr. and Mrs. Martinez!”
Then, before I can do anything about it, William is by my side, taking my hand and pulling me along with the crowd. I try to turn to say something to Tommy, but I’m swept away. Maybe I should fight it, break free of William. But what would that do? What are we to do now, thirty years too late?
Outside on the black beach, I see the first rays of color against the reflection of the cold, indifferent sea. When I turn around to look back at the now empty dance floor for Tommy, he is nowhere to be found.