Page 80 of Summer After Summer

My throat tightens. “You did?”

“I did.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet bag. “I never forgot about you, not for a minute. I hoped that someday we’d find our way back to each other.” He opens the bag and tips its contents onto my hand. It’s a charm of Big Ben, an enamel flag where the clock face should be. “I loved London most of all. I wanted you to be there, to show it to you. So I got you this.”

I run my finger over it. “I love it.”

“I love you.”

I lift my head and stare into his eyes. “I love you too.”

“That’s lucky.”

“It is.”

I kiss him and we seal our words, gently, slowly, like we have all the time in the world. “Happy birthday,” Fred says when we pull apart.

“Thank you,” I say, my hand closing around the charm.

I’m so touched that Fred has done this, but that small dark cloud of doubt is there too.

The bracelet was supposed to represent our future together, not the time we spent apart. When I add this charm to the other, their weight will be equal, a reminder that there was a gap between our time together where there shouldn’t have been.

And though we still have most of our life before us, it feels like a bad omen.

Like seeing high, thin clouds in an evening sky, knowing that tomorrow they’ll bring rain.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

July 2023

My thirty-sixth birthday morning starts with a call from Wes.

I hold the phone in front of my face, watching his name flash there along with a photo we took years ago, back when we were happy.

I don’t answer it, but I don’t send it to voicemail either. I don’t want Wes to know I’ve seen his call, and so it rings and rings, then eventually stops. I breathe out a sigh of relief, but then the phone starts ringing again, Wes trying a second time. I ignore this call too, and finally it also stops. A moment later, I’m alerted that I have a voicemail. I’m surprised because Wes never leaves voicemails. I wonder if it’s an emergency. But if it were, Wes would text me too, and when he doesn’t, I know I can ignore his message.

I’d like to ignore today too, but no one lets you do that when it’s your birthday. Between Facebook and calendar reminders, I know I’ll be getting a steady stream of alerts and Happy Birthday texts, balloons floating up along the screen when I check them.

I don’t want to deal with that, so instead I get up and put on some tennis clothes and head to the club.

“What are you doing here, Birthday Girl?” Matt asks when I walk on court. “I thought I told you to rest today?”

I shrug. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“How’s the rib?”

“It’s fine.”

He gives me a look like he knows it isn’t, and I stare right back. No professional athlete plays pain-free all the time. And though it’s been a minute since I could feel every muscle in my body, I prefer this version of myself.

“All right,” Matt says. “But take it easy.”

I walk onto the court where Cindy’s waiting for me. She’s happy I’m here, I can see, thinking she’s going to beat me today since I defaulted yesterday. And maybe she will. But this old girl still has some tricks up her sleeve, and Cindy shouldn’t count her wins just yet.

When I get back to the house, having split sets with Cindy, much to her frustration, I shower and then come down for a late breakfast. Aunt Tracy’s set a place for me at the kitchen island, and I can see my favorite pancake mix sitting ready on the counter.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s your birthday. I always make you pancakes.”

---