Things I Want to Say (3 page)

She ran to me and threw her arms around me. The first thing I noticed was how strong she was. Her hug squeezed all the breath out of me. The second was how skinny she was. I could feel the ridge of her ribs outlined beneath her shirt.

She pulled back first and held me at arm’s length. “You look fantastic,” she said, shaking her head. “Almost good enough for me to forgive you for running out on me all those years ago.”

I hung my head, shame engulfing me. “I’m sorry. I meant to get in touch, but it never happened.” We’d left town so quickly, and Frannie had said it was best to make a clean break. I felt terrible about that now.

“Come on. Let’s talk.” She slid onto the bench on the opposite side of the table. “Here’s your chance to tell all, and I’ll think about forgiving you. But first you have to tell me—did you have the baby or not?”

“Baby?” I stared at her, suddenly having trouble breathing. “What makes you think I had a baby?”

She shrugged. “The last time I saw you, you were puking your guts up in the funeral parlor ladies’ room. When you and Frannie hightailed it out of town after that, I thought for sure you were pregnant.”

I almost laughed out loud, the idea was so absurd. I shook my head. “No. Just…stressed, I guess.”

“Losing your daddy when you’re only sixteen will do that, I guess.” She patted my hand. “I forgive you. Life’s too short for grudges, right?”

I nodded weakly. This was the Alice I’d known and loved. Older for sure, with fine lines around her eyes and her brown hair all silver. I bet it wasn’t a half inch long all over her head, but it looked good on her. She had three piercings in one ear and four in the other, with silver rings in each hole, more on each finger and a dozen bracelets on her wrists. Her pale blue T-shirt and denim capris were faded and comfortable, just like the woman herself.

“If your name isn’t Alice Weston anymore, what is it?” I asked.

“Alice MacCray. Are you back in town for the reunion?” she asked.

I nodded. “And you? Are you here for the reunion, too, or do you still live here?”

“I live here, but not for much longer. After the reunion, I’m going back to California.”

“I’m from California. I mean, Frannie and I both live there now. Bakersfield.”

“I’m in Ojai. Or was for ten years. I’ve been out here for the past ten. I came home to take care of my mama when she got sick. She got better, but then I ended up with breast cancer and she took care of me.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, I almost missed the meaning behind the words. My gaze drifted to her short, short hair.

“Oh yeah, it’s grown back in now. I had a mastectomy, chemo, the works. The one thing I got out of it was a good hairstyle. Easy to take care of.” She ran her fingers through the cropped locks and smiled.

It was the smile I remembered from when we were girls, a look that welcomed you into Alice’s corner of the universe,
a place where curfews were restrictions to be gotten around, homework was a ten-minute inconvenience and dessert was always to be eaten first. Amazing after all she’d been through she still had the same attitude.

My own life seemed a picnic in comparison.

Alice’s food was ready, so she retrieved it and joined me again at the table. “So what have you been doing with yourself?” she asked, pointing a chicken finger at me.

“Not all that much.” I sipped the last of my Diet Coke. “I own a flower shop in Bakersfield. I do flowers for movie and television sets. I went on a diet last year and lost a hundred pounds.”

“A hundred pounds? Holy shit, that’s amazing.” She grinned. “And you look amazing. Really great.”

I sat up a little straighter, the dark mood that had threatened earlier gone altogether. “Thanks. What have you been up to?”

“Besides being sick?” She swabbed a French fry through a pool of ketchup. “Not much. I ran the snack bar at the bowling alley until a couple of weeks ago. Took my vacation time to pack up the house.”

“So you’re really moving?”

She nodded. “Are you married? Any kids?”

I shook my head. “Not yet, but I’m still open to the idea. If the right man comes along.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve had two husbands and I’m not so sure the right man exists.” She pushed her half-eaten lunch aside. “You’re going to be at the reunion tomorrow, right?” I nodded.

“Great. We’ll talk more then. In the meantime, I have to go see about renting a moving truck.”

I reached over and impulsively took her hand. “It was so good seeing you again,” I said. “Really.” The plane ticket from California had been worth this moment alone.

“It was good seeing you again, too.” She flashed another brilliant smile. “See ya.”

I stared after her, an odd mix of hope and regret churning my stomach. Alice. I’d avoided thinking of her for years—feeling guilty over the way I’d left town without saying goodbye. I’d never had another friend like her, one to whom I felt so close. Closer at times even than I felt to Frannie.

Seeing her today, finding out she was moving to California, not all that far from where Frannie and I lived, opened up the possibility of having that kind of friendship once more. I could actually come away from this reunion with a new man
and
a new best friend in my life. And Frannie thought coming here was a bad idea!

I checked my watch, amazed to see it was already after two. I had time to get back to the hotel, exercise, shower and get ready for my date.

A date. I almost giggled at the word. After talking with Alice, I felt young and beautiful and more carefree—more ready for
romance
—than I had in years.

To think I could feel that way in Ridgeway, Virginia.

It was proof that anything really is possible.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting ready for my dinner with Marc that evening. I checked my appearance from every possible angle, all the while imagining how blown away he would be by my stunning self. Of course, an annoying little voice in the back of my head reminded me that perhaps I only seemed stunning to myself, based on the fat version of me that had stared back in the mirror for so many years. I told the voice to shut up and applied another coat of mascara, slicked on lip gloss and told myself the poor man wouldn’t know what hit him. I was going to get lucky this weekend or sprain something trying.

When we met in the lobby of the Captain’s Table, he clasped my hand firmly and shook it. I didn’t miss the way
he subtly checked me out, and the extra wattage added to his smile when he was done. I figured all those hours of exercise were worth that look alone.

“So, Ellen, it’s great to see you,” he said when we were seated at a table for two near the back of the dining room.

“You, too, Marc.”

Marc was as good-looking as the photograph on the reunion Web site had indicated; the classic features hinted at in boyhood had matured into true handsomeness. Big sigh of relief on my part. I would have hated to find out the picture he’d posted was a lie and I’d wasted all my effort for nothing.

I tried not to grin at him like a Cheshire cat, though a ridiculous smile felt in danger of bursting forth at any moment. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.”

It was an innocent enough remark, the prelude to any number of pleasant conversations. This, unfortunately, was not to be one of those.

“As I told you on the phone, I’m in real estate.” He unfolded his napkin and spread it across his lap. “I don’t like to brag, but I have the biggest agency in Ridgeway. I was named Realtor of the Year in 2001. If you’re serious about buying a house in town, you’d be smart not to waste your time with anyone else. Now, what kind of place are you looking for?”

“Place?” I blinked, having already forgotten the pretense of wanting to buy property that had lured him here. “Oh yes. Well, I’m not really sure. I mean, if the right house came along…”

“You’ve got a home in California, right? Prices out there are ridiculously inflated. You cash out your equity in that and you could buy a mansion out here. I just listed a perfectly restored antebellum estate on the north side of town. Three other Realtors were fighting for this listing, but of course, I
ended up with it. You wouldn’t believe the competitiveness in this town. Everyone is jealous of my success….”

He continued in this vein through our drink order, the salad and on through the entrée, alternating descriptions of houses he thought I’d like (all sounding outrageously expensive to me) and his own accomplishments. I learned about his marriage to a beauty queen—
Miss Virginia 1995. Every man I knew would have given his right arm to be in my shoes when we tied the knot
—that had ended in divorce.
She couldn’t stand that I was more successful than her. Plus, as she got older she started losing her looks and there wasn’t much else there, if you know what I mean.

The torrent of words spilled forth like lava from a volcano. I stared at him in sick fascination. Nothing more was required of me than an occasional nod.

So much for my fantasies of wowing him with my looks, charm and wit. Clearly the hot sex and instant romance I’d envisioned were not going to happen.

As pleasing as he was to look at, the man I’d carried the torch for all these years was a deadly bore. I couldn’t believe my luck. I fought to keep from yawning and spent most of the meal with fake interest painted on my face. As the waitress cleared our entrées, I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room, and thought about walking right out to the parking lot and driving back to the hotel.

I might have done it, except I knew I’d see Marc the next day at the reunion, and I figured explaining my behavior would be worse than enduring a few more minutes of his company tonight.

By the time I made it back to the table, I had manufactured a suitably ill expression. “I don’t know if I ate something bad or if it’s just jet lag catching up with me,” I said, “but suddenly I feel awful. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our evening short.”

“But I haven’t finished telling you about the Delaney
estate,” he said. “I know you’re going to love this place. And only seven hundred and forty-nine thousand.”

Dollars? Did he think I had that kind of money? Or maybe just that good a credit rating. “I’m sorry, I really do have to go. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Only if he saw me before I saw him, though.

By the time I got back to the hotel, my annoyance at Marc had morphed into anger at myself. I must have been nuts to think I could hook up with a high school crush and create instant grand passion. Who was I kidding? Even if Marc hadn’t been a bore, why would he have been interested in me—a woman he hadn’t seen in twenty-two years, a girl he’d scarcely said ten words to in high school?

I’d wasted all this money and time on a fantasy. How could I have been so stupid?

As I sat alone in my room, my stomach felt empty and hollow. Despite the meal I’d just had, I was ravenous. I sat on the edge of the bed and took deep breaths.
You don’t need to eat,
I told myself.

The cravings grew stronger. Not just for food, but for sugar. Chocolate.

I looked around the room, hoping in vain to spot some suitable substitute—an after-dinner mint or a single truffle on my pillow.

But this wasn’t that kind of hotel. Desperate, I grabbed my key and hurried out the door and down the hall to the vending machines.

The soft drink and ice machines hummed a low tune and gave off a greenish glow. I bypassed them and headed for the snack machine that squatted in the back corner of the alcove. With shaking fingers I inserted my change, then pulled the handle for the six-pack of cookies. Three hundred and twelve calories. Fourteen grams of fat, forty-six grams of carbohydrates.

I knew the counts by heart, but reciting them didn’t do anything to beat back the hunger gnawing at me now.

I tucked the cookies into the pocket of my jacket, like a convict hiding contraband, and scurried back to my room. Once there, I sat on the edge of the bed and took more deep breaths. After a minute, I slid the cookies out of my pocket and set them on the nightstand.

I stared at them a moment, then started bargaining.
I’ll eat them after I’ve gotten ready for bed.

I’ll eat them after I’ve done twenty-five—no, fifty—sit-ups.

I went into the bathroom and began to take off my clothes. The memory of the way Marc had looked at me when we first met came back to me. He’d liked what he’d seen. So why had an evening that had started so well turned out so badly?

I sat on the toilet, pondering this question. Marc had spent most of the evening bragging about his own accomplishments. Could it be that he was trying to
impress
me?

I laughed out loud at the thought. But maybe the idea wasn’t so far-fetched, after all. Though I didn’t always feel like it, I wasn’t fat Ellen anymore. I was a sexy, attractive woman. One any man might want to impress, especially one who hadn’t seen me in over two decades. Maybe all that bragging had been Marc’s attempt at
flirting
.

If nothing else, he’d certainly wanted to impress me enough to sell me a house.

I slipped on a nightgown, removed my makeup and brushed out my hair. My earlier panic had been replaced by Zen-like serenity. Maybe it
had
been a little silly to entertain the idea of a romance with a man who was really a stranger to me. Maybe other people would laugh if they knew I’d come all the way across the country to fulfill such a fantasy. But who said anyone would ever know?

I returned to the bedroom, where the sight of the Oreo
package on the nightstand surprised me. I’d already forgotten about them.

I grabbed up the package and stuffed it into my suitcase. Emergency rations. Then I locked the suitcase, stowed it in the closet and climbed into bed.

I turned out the lights and lay back, my eyes still open. Here in the darkness, I could admit that Marc was not the real reason I’d returned to Ridgeway. He was a convenient excuse and a pleasant fantasy, but he alone would never have been enough to convince me to leave my safe, if not always happy, haven in California and come back to the place that had been the source of no small share of pain for me.