I could see only his feet, which gave the atmosphere an aura of a confessional cloaked in such darkness. “We did that all the—” I stopped. He was referring to a specific day. “My first kiss. A first kiss for each of us, I assume. We were ten, so probably a safe bet.”
I’d done a good job of hiding. I played a trick on him, surreptitiously moving to spots he’d already checked. He looked for twenty minutes and began to sound panicked as he called for me, while I lay flat against a long fallen tree, the organic scent of dirt and leaves surrounding me. Then, he stopped calling, and I heard only the resounding silence, the occasional call of a bird, and a woodpecker incessantly tap-tap-tapping in the distance. I stood and crept through the woods. I found him at the edge of my yard, sitting on the rock wall with his head in his hands. I tiptoed up behind him and grabbed his shoulders. When he whipped around, his mouth was open as if about to speak, but instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine in a chaste childhood kiss that both intrigued and disgusted me. Vaguely aware of the underlying power of being female, I had laughed and run away.
The memory, dusted off from the catacombs of my mind, felt surreal, as though it had happened to someone else. Is that how long you’ve been in love with me? I didn’t have the courage to ask.
“I’ve fallen out of love with you a hundred times since that day,” he said from the darkness of the chair. “Sometimes by choice, a forced break. Sometimes, especially in college, because you were just so damn infuriating and I was so sick to death of you.”
I tried to remember college: hazy nights of drinking, crackling chemistry when I visited, coy advances I’d later retract. All in good fun. I’d been sure of that. I recalled my piercing jealousy when he’d answer the door, girlfriend in tow, and the drunken fight that would ensue later. Those fuzzy recollections seemed so silly as an adult. I felt embarrassed by my nonchalance, the ease at which I’d dismissed those days.
“I wasn’t nice back then, I guess,” I said finally. “I didn’t know, really.”
“There’s a difference between not knowing and not wanting to know.” His tone was soft, unaccusing, and I wished I could see his face. “This is pointless, you know? We’ve had years to talk about all this and never did. So why now?”
Even I couldn’t miss the answer, so blatant and obvious. Because I chose to. Unable to bear the truth in that, I stood and crossed the room. I stopped in front of his chair, and he held my gaze with a small smile, sad and wry at once.
He reached out and grabbed my hand. “It’s water under the bridge, Claire-bear.”
But my bridge was crumbling.
Chapter 15
Christmas Day, we had moments of melancholy, but the celebration was mostly joyous. Drew did that—well, along with the overabundance of material things. Bikes will make kids forget what ails them. I had taken the easy way out, but what other options did I have? I promised myself that the next year would be easier, and we wouldn’t need all the overindulgence.
Mom and Dad came for dinner, and I served my pre-prepared elaborate spread. Everyone stuffed themselves sick, and even Leah said her belly hurt after the meal. I felt warm, loose-limbed, and content.
I thought of Greg often, but only in small vignettes—Greg in the kitchen on past Christmases, announcing the carving of the “Roast Beast,” his surprising ability to give fantastic and thoughtful Christmas presents. He always had at least one gift that I never knew about, even for the girls.
After I put the kids to bed, I pulled out a small wrapped box and placed it on Drew’s lap.
He grinned. “A present!” He tore into his gift. I had gotten him a macro lens for his camera. He’d mentioned in passing that he wanted to get into macro photography. “Wow, these things are like five hundred bucks! Why would you do this? That’s great. Thank you, Claire-bear.”
I shrugged. “Call it my Christmas of buying everyone’s affection.”
He held up his finger, then went to his bag. He returned with a square velvet box.
“You didn’t have to,” I said.
He rolled his eyes, and I opened the lid. A white gold bracelet was nestled inside, formed like a three-strand braid, smooth on the inside. At each end was a solid ball.
“This is beautiful, Drew. Where did you get it?”
He waved his hand as if my question didn’t matter. He turned the bracelet so I could see the engraving. All the strength you need is inside of you. My eyes welled with tears. As usual, Drew had said and done the perfect thing.
He took the bracelet and, sliding it on my wrist, said, “A braided rope is over a hundred times stronger than each strand individually. And it’s ten times stronger than steel. No one strand bears all the weight.” He held my hand, and I understood his message.
I am never alone. I closed my eyes. “Thank you,” was all I could manage.