Back to You (3 page)

“Of course I’ll behave,” I mumble. I awkwardly slam the heavy door of the pickup shut, causing a rain of dried mud to fall onto the wet sidewalk.

I keep staring at him, wondering just where he lives now, whether his house is in the countryside or near a forest. That mud under the car had to be a clue.

“Good,” he laughs, before sliding his warm hand through my arm and leading me to the bar. His dark jeans, black top, and trendy leather jacket make him look even wilder than he already is.

Vuk gives me a peck on the cheek, unaware of Scott’s watchful eye. He releases his grip on my arm and mingles into the mass.

“Just in time, Ella May! That was one hell of a wait, I thought you’d never come.” My eyes widen as I scan the crowd and drop my jaw in disbelief. Vuk chuckles at my reaction, but keeps his distance.

I recognize the harmonious tone of that voice right away, the most trustworthy and comforting male voice I have heard since my childhood. The safe harbor in those rainy nights when I’d hide my head under the covers, scared of the thunder.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea, like the wrapping peeling itself off a magnificent gift, and I see before me the huge sign, in shining gold, with the name of the bar, while Jeff appears at the entrance. When he smiles, I can see the man that Monica fell in love with almost 30 years ago.

I rush toward him, all dark thoughts washed away momentarily, replaced by joy. He walks toward me in beige jeans and a light-colored shirt, his splendid smile framed by the same fine hair he bequeathed to me.

“Happy anniversary, Stella!” Jeff’s voice chimes like a bell.

“Jeff,” I breathe, relieved, my voice strangled with emotion. I throw myself into his arms so enthusiastically, I almost knock us both over, but he holds on to me. I let myself melt into his familiar and reassuring embrace.

“Great to see you again, Ella May!” he says, laughing at the rebound, which has thrown my head backward, a supporting arm around my waist to stop my fall.

“And it’s great to have you back, Jeff,” I reply. At that instant, Scott appears by my father’s side.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he exclaims good-heartedly.

I can still hear Vuk’s loud laughter echoing in the entrance of the bar, and I can’t help but smile.

A silky voice cries out from behind the door.

“Vuk!” It’s Ronald Riley, Scott’s Scottish neighbor. “I need some advice.” He points to a pile of CDs, then notices me. “Hey, Stella! Happy anniversary!”

“Thanks, Ronald,” I smile.

“Should we play some classic rock or something a little more alternative? Or…” Ronald points to another pile of CDs. “Maybe we should calm the masses with something more mellow.”

“I’d say something chill for now,” advises Vuk.

Ronald nods and begins to sort through the CDs, throwing some into a box.

“See you inside,” Vuk mouths to me.

I nod and watch him slip into the bar. Jeff smirks as he watches me watching Vuk.

“How’s Monica? I haven’t spoken to her in more than a week.”

“Mom’s fine, thanks. She’s in New York right now. Still busy editing some film or another.”

“I thought as much,” Jeff replies, glancing at Scott, a twinkle in his eye. He is holding a small, square, flat package in his hand, wrapped in white paper with a silver bow.

“Oh, Jeff, not you too!” I exclaim in astonishment. He lowers his eyes as I say this; he’s always felt uneasy showing his emotions.

“I found a car I thought you might like,” he smiles. “It was a real bargain. The keys are in the parcel.”

The light catches the silver bow.

“It’s for you, missy.”

He turns his reserved, introverted eyes back to me, and it’s easy to understand why he and my mother left each other so hastily after my birth. The romantic, carefree, expressive man he had been at the time disappeared before I got a chance to really know him. He was replaced by the indifferent guy standing before me now. I take a deep breath.

“Thanks, Jeff. You shouldn’t have.”

I guess that I inherited that side of his character, because when I reply, I stare straight ahead into space.

“Well, I thought that we’d need two cars, seeing as I’m staying here in Medford for a while.”

“I would have bought a car with my own cash,” I object, embarrassed. This was obviously all planned. In our earlier conversation on the sofa, Vuk obviously knew that Jeff was already in Medford, waiting for me at the bar. Thinking about his comments on my car, I shake my head, incredulous.

“I know, Stella, but I wanted to buy it for you as a surprise anniversary present.”

“But the party itself is the surprise!” I mutter. But in my head I’m totally shocked.

“I gave you the Corvette four years ago, now I’m taking it back and giving you another beauty.”

The terrible tomorrow that awaits me somehow seems less frightening. I would no longer have to choose between taking the train, walking five miles in the freezing cold, or begging a ride from my dad to go to college. But returning to class will still be a nightmare, I know!

“What kind of car is it?” I ask, brimming with curiosity.

“Well, it’s a sports car.”

“New?” My eyes never leave Jeff’s face as I peel the ribbon off.

“Well, no. It was new sometime in late 1969.”

The way he said ‘late 1969’ triggered my suspicions. I get the paper off and open the box, my eyes still on my father. “When did you buy it?”

“A week ago. In Vegas.”

I pull the key out.

“It’s the ‘69 Pontiac!”

“Yup, the GTO,” he specifies. “The same model we used in that race car driving course we did in South Boston.” Jeff had gone on about doing that course as soon as I got my driver’s license, and I’ll never forget the terror I caused on the track that day. My father gave me a few lessons.

“It’s a few years old, sure. But Tyler took a good look at the engine and says it’s in great shape. Seriously, Ella May, this toy drives like the wind, and they don’t make such solid bodywork anymore.” He knows how accident-prone I am too. “I was on the phone with you when I was bidding for it at an auction. Remember that call?”

“Of course I do!”

“Scott picked it up at the station this afternoon, so you can’t refuse it.” As he speaks, I glance down the road at the cars parked along the sidewalk, seeing if I can spot my present, but nothing doing.

“Thanks, Jeff,” I repeat still looking vainly around, “But maybe I need glasses to see it.” It should be easy to spot, I think to myself.

“Whoa, Ella May, it’s not time to open the big present yet. With four wheels, power steering and an accelerator that’ll have you burning up the road. First we have some partying to do.”

“Right. Let’s get down to it, then.” I turn the box over to read the inscription. It’s from Scott, too. He comes up to me, in expectation of his ‘thank you’ hug.

I plant a kiss on his overgrown beard. “Thanks for the great gift, Scott. You really shouldn’t have.”

“My pleasure, kid. I just want you to be happy.” His words are almost choked, and he kisses the top of my head, his big belly crushing my ribs.

“So what brings you back here?” The sudden change in Jeff’s expression tells me that he hopes this is the last question I’ll ask tonight.

“Well… there’s this surprise party for someone tonight.” He winks at Scott. “And as I was in the neighborhood…”

“Jeff?”

“Ok, you win.” He shrugs. “You’ve been through a lot lately, Ella May, and I want to be close to you for a while.”

“I’m grateful, I really am. You’re the best present ever!” It’s pointless to add that being happy in Medford at this moment in time is an unrealistic dream. No point dragging him down to the depths of my despair.

I slip through the space between Jeff and Scott’s belly to head into the bar, still ready to run for cover if I need to.

Scott pulls open the door.

“Shall we go in? Tyler says it’s going to rain. And you know that my nephew never misses a trick with the weather. He’s always spot on.” He steals a furtive glance at me, hoping I’ll forgive him for the unwanted party.

I pout accusingly at him, and put a foot inside the door, still on my toes, ready to make my escape.

My eyes widen in surprise and for a moment I’m speechless. Then I shake my head.

“Incredible!”

Scott shrugs, the wide-eyed innocent. “You know Jeff!”

He weaves his bulk through the crowd, guiding me along. I look at him. What a trickster! He won’t get away with it that easily. He’s wearing the same expression that cartoon cat Tom has when, caught red-handed, he hides Jerry the mouse behind his teeth. He has the expression of someone who knows he’s in deep trouble. It’s the same look as when he told Jeff about the time I jumped into the ocean from some rocks onto the reef last summer, or the time he blabbed about Vuk sleeping in the storeroom for months.

He had promised not to say a word to Jeff about what I was going through. But at least he didn’t blurt out every detail about my being in hospital after the accident last month.

We continue toward the windows at the far end of the bar, but I can’t make out what’s there. The lights are dim, rock music is playing in the background, and there are flashes of light from people taking photos. The stage is lit up, awaiting tonight’s performance.

On the counter, near the door to the storeroom, is a tablecloth with flowers and a cake cut into slices, a pile of paper plates and a small mountain of gifts from my closest friends wrapped in colored paper. I lose sight of Jeff, who has stopped to chat with a friend who I imagine he hasn’t seen in a while.

The Party

I’m having fun.
Who knows, maybe it’s another step toward coming out of the haze, but that doesn’t seem enough of an explanation. I think it might be thanks to Vuk. It’s certainly not my doing. Scott puts his arms around my shoulders and, with a smile and friendly words, helps me shake off the over-enthusiastic band of friends that are gathering around to wish me well.

I must admit that Vuk helping me avoid the mountain of well-wishers and the subsequent embarrassment they’d cause me means I’ve practically forgiven him. At the end of the day, it was he asks Jeff to come home because he cares about me and never misses the chance to show it.

He pulls me into a tight bear hug by the window and pats me heartily on the back.

“I can’t breathe!”

He releases and nudges me, with the delicacy of a bull, toward a tall, slim guy who is looking out the window. It’s his nephew.

Tyler turns to me with growing impatience. His golden eyes reflect like a setting sun in mine. The soft curve of his lips reveal a bright, open smile. He is already walking toward me.

He quickens his pace, his long legs striding quickly toward me. He stops a few inches in front of me.

The easy grace of his movements strikes me. Tyler has grown up so fast. He used to be as gawky as me. When did this change come about? But the shyness and embarrassment are still palpable.

“Um, hi,”

I stand still and look at him. His topaz-colored eyes burn bright. It’s incredible to see eyes that are of that color and his smile is of a warmth I can hardly imagine.

He’s shot up at least a foot and a half since I last saw him. Plus, he’s hardly condescending, as people usually do with borderline cases. Scott smiles, satisfied.

“Do you remember my nephew who used to come here to Medford for the summer? He’d come camping with us in the woods.” That’s why I don’t remember him well. The only thing that leaps to mind is that his family is from Siberia. I’m very good at erasing any painful or pointless experiences. Almost. “He’s just moved in with me at Cape Cod,” ads Scott. “He’s a forest ranger in the Green Mountains in Vermont. He used to live with his mom in the Rocky Mountains.”

I wave at him. Tyler says ‘hi’ again and smiles, but looks embarrassed. I’m glad he’s over the idea of trying to shoot me with his wooden sling, the only awful memory I have of my childhood friend and camping buddy.

“Right, kids, I gotta get back to work,” says Scott. “I’ll let you finish talking in peace.”

I roll my eyes and think to myself, “As if we’ve even begun a conversation!”

Scott heads behind the bar with that benign uncle’s smile on his face. I can’t stay mad at him when he’s like this.

“Hi,” says Tyler again in a friendly tone. It feels like my first day in Medford again. He’s wearing such a sunny smile on his face that I bet that’s what his second name is. Sunny.

“My name is Tyler Holden-Bradford,” he says anxiously, turning to see where Scott has gone. He’s still nearby, and Tyler’s gaze lingers on him a moment longer before he turns to me.

It’s weird that he introduces himself with two family names.

“I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself properly on the phone. You must be Ella May Whitely,” he continues eagerly, distracting me from my thoughts.

I have to talk to him, I have to say something. And I can tell that he’s waiting for me to do just that. “How do you know my name?” I ask. Dumb question.

I can see Scott out of the corner of my eye heading into the storage room. He’s carrying a paper plate with a slice of cake on it. He holds it up to me to offer it to me, but I shake my head.

Tyler relaxes and a light, enchanting laugh escapes him. “Oh, I think everyone here knows your name. The whole bar was waiting for you to get here.”

I grin, knowing that this is more or less true.

Scott is behind the bar and Jeff is watching me, perched on a bar stool, smiling. He continues his chat with Scott. They haven’t seen each other in months, they must have a lot to say.

I look around.

“So everyone knows about my anniversary?”

“Sure, you’re the prom queen tonight,” he says uncomfortably, in the same tone of voice I used. His voice is pleasant, friendly. I’m not used to laughing too much; it seems like the right thing to do, but at the same time, totally wrong.

“Ah.”

I let the conversation fade to nothing. We both start looking around.

“Anyway,” I begin again, hesitantly. “I meant, why did you call me Ella May?”

Tyler seems confused. “Would you rather I called you Stella?”

“No, Ella May is fine. I like it. But Scott, I mean your uncle, when he talks about me to other people. I think he calls me Stella. That’s all.” I try to explain, but feel like a total idiot.

“It seems that everyone here knows you by that name except for me,” he replies.

“In theory, I should remember you,” I begin, uneasily.

“No, really,” he interrupts, “Don’t worry about it. Even if you were older than me.” He looks amused and offers me his hand.

“Yeah, my head was probably somewhere in the clouds,” I reply, relieved, shaking his hand.

“Right,” he laughs. “We’ve practically known each other since we were born. We used to go camping together in the summer. Then I lived with my mom in the Rockies in Wyoming, and you moved to Italy to Seborga with Monica’s family. I hoped I’d see you again one day,” he winks. He seems determined to wipe away all the lost years.

As the minutes tick by, Tyler doesn’t talk about the party anymore and I start to relax.

“You know, I haven’t seen you around in these past four years. Do you come to Medford often?” I ask, even though I can probably guess the answer. My right hand flickers involuntarily and he stares at the point on the index finger where J. bit it.

“Not really,” he admits, distracted, his attention focused on my hand.

“How come you’re here tonight?” I fake enthusiasm. “It’s a long way from Wyoming.”

He smiles comprehendingly. “Would you believe me if I said that my uncle asked me to come to your anniversary party?”

“Sure, I guess,” I sigh, patiently. “But why would Scott ask you to come here?” I’m not sure I really care to know. I can guess. Bryan recently left to work at The Rise in Boston, a bar on Stuart Street. I have just come out of the hospital and am about as full of life as a zombie. It’s been a lot for Scott to handle on his own. Tyler smiles cautiously and raises an eyebrow.

“He thought it would be a good chance to spend some time together and to get to know you,” he says shyly, making air quotation marks. “I guess my old uncle needs a bit of a rest.” There is a trace of irony in his voice, as if he thought the exact opposite. I laugh along with him, indifferently.

“Well, at least I hope you’re having a good time.”

“Sure,” he says, looking around. “Weird scar there,” he spurts out, grabbing my wrist to examine it. He lightly fingers the wound on my skin with his warm fingers.

“I know,” I mumble. I wait for the memory of how it happened to come over me, but, strangely enough, Tyler’s presence seems to hold me together.

“How did you get it?” he asks cautiously, his finger circling the barely visible hole on my wrist. His skin burns hot as it touches mine.

“Jeez, I can’t remember how I got all the scars I have,” I reply vaguely.

As he moves his hand away, I reach out to touch it again. It is incredible how warm he is, and his body heat seems to have risen dramatically. But then he seems to be making fun of me.

“You’re cold,” he sniggers. His face turns serious. It wasn’t a question. There’s a knowing in the way his eyes linger on me. I examine his face, suspiciously, then tear my gaze away and clear my throat.

“So, have you seen anyone you like?” I nod toward a group of girls hanging around the stage.

“No one yet,” Tyler admits awkwardly. “I’m with and old friend right now.” He lowers his eyes and then meets mine again. “For now that’s good enough for me.”

“Jeez, Tyler, you’ve grown so much!”

He breaks into another of his huge smiles. “Yep, I’m much taller than I was last time we saw each other. Over six feet, and skinny as a bean pole.”

He’s bulked up, too. “How old are you now?”

“I just turned 27.”

“Really?” I reply, surprised. I didn’t think he was just a year younger than me. He must have been born in 1986. “I thought you were older.”

“I’m taller than average,” he winks. Then his voice turns a little high-pitched. “So, do you like your car?” His breath-taking smile warms me like the sun warms the earth.

“I
love
it!” I say, emphatically. “Even if I haven’t actually seen it.”

“Myco,” he whispers.

“Didn’t people used to call you Myco or something like that?”

“You used to call me that when we were kids. I think it’s short for
amico
, the word for friend in Italian.”

“No way!” I exclaim. “You’ve got a good memory.” I look at his golden eyes with an incredulous smile on my face.

Scott’s less than graceful comings and goings behind the bar catch our eye and I can’t help but laugh out loud. He’s not used to being overworked like this. He seems more like a bull in a Wyoming china shop than a bar owner. The work pace at the bar is not usually frenetic, as it would be in a big city bar, so when The Pats gets over-run, he goes into automatic overdrive and the results are comical.

“I’d better go give him a hand,” smiles Tyler. “See you around, Ella May.” He winks as he wanders toward the bar.

It’s no effort to ignore the music. Even though my mind isn’t as fogged up as it has been lately, I’ve got too many thoughts in my head to try to follow the lyrics of the songs. Vuk’s return, Jeff’s arrival, Tyler’s appearance. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten, but my head is spinning and I dizzily make my way to the nearest table. I sit as I glance around, then I close my eyes and slide down further into seat, trying to relax.

I hear a chair at a nearby table being pulled out, but keep my eyes closed in deep thought. Then someone sits at the table. Maybe Jeff forgot to say something earlier.

The chair pulls up next to me and I feel an arm around the backrest of my seat before a hand touches my shoulders, which feels small and fragile under that touch. The smooth, cold hand awakens my skin with a caress, the long fingers sliding down to the hollow of my shoulder blade. I open my eyes and turn quickly. I muster my strength not to hyperventilate. It’s amazing to feel so electrified. But the charge seems to come from somewhere deep within him.

Time has not made me immune to the perfection of that face, and I’m sure I could never take the godlike quality of his looks for granted. Against my predictions, Donn Brooks is sitting by my side, as fixed as a statue turned in my direction, wearing a dark suit and a gray tie, with the usual white shirt.

I look up, stunned by his presence, and see his smile, so beautiful that it knocks me off my feet. But I also see caution and an expression of restraint on his face.

“Looks like a long night ahead,” he says as he stretches out his long legs, making himself comfortable. He slowly moves closer to me.

“How are you?” he whispers tenderly into my ear. His eyes search my face, the question being more than common courtesy.

My excitement subsides a little and I shiver, as his sweet breath makes me a little dizzy. “Not great,” I confess. “But getting better.” I swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Really?”

I nod automatically. It’s not really a lie, I always feel good when he’s around. Better than good.

I feel as if I haven’t seen such a striking face in an eternity. I’m strangely pleased to be contemplating the perfect contours of his face. Donn curls his lips.

“I’m glad,” he says. No, no, I can’t believe my thoughts. I’m embarrassed by what I’m thinking. But his voice melts me. It has the consistency of velvet. But I don’t understand if he’s replying to my question or my unspoken thoughts.

I study his face, holding my breath, saving his eyes for last. I know that gazing at them for too long makes me speechless. They are intense––a warm, liquid turquoise framed by thick lashes and hooded eyebrows. He’s staring at my face, his eyes narrowing a bit. Looking at him takes me to a place I’ve never been. I feel so lightheaded I can no longer feel the seat beneath me. My head spins, maybe because, once again, I have been holding my breath. He seems determined to break down any boundaries that exist between us. I tear my eyes away from his. They are too hypnotic, mesmerizing. I catch my breath back and whisper, “Donn.”

His smile fades. He’s obviously wondering if I’m all there. His arm falls from my shoulder, he sighs dramatically and sinks deeper into his seat. His hand unexpectedly caresses my back again and he grips my shoulder with more conviction. I study the smooth, white skin of his neck where it meets his muscular, marble chest. Shivers pervade my whole being, and I blush. Donn notices, and I feel his lips widen into a smile on my neck, right below my ear. His hand squeezes mine and I try to pull mine away but he holds on. How can he be so persistent after I have turned him down so clearly?