Souvenir. Therese Fowler
they have, haven’t they? She went through with it after all. Bruce took Spencer aside just before the reception, told him it’ll all be taken care of Monday. That’s almost three thousand dollars a month it’ll save us. Three thousand! I hardly know how to sit here and write happy thoughts, when usually I’m just trying to figure out a new way to rob Peter. What good luck Meggie has had.
I remember when she first came to Spencer and me to ask about the mortgage. Was it true, she wanted to know, that we’d been late for seven or eight months in a row? Was it true we’d heard from the bank that they were starting foreclosure proceedings? That we could lose the whole business and the house, too, in just a few months’ time? I felt so ashamed. Spencer hedged, not wanting to worry her with all that mess, but then she told us why she was asking. Told us that Brian wanted to help us out – depending. I was against it at first, but not Spencer. He washed the doubt right out of Meggie’s eyes and mine with his enthusiasm for the idea. It was up to her, of course, but since she was asking, well, we had to say it was a terrific bit of luck that Brian had taken a shine to her. An amazing opportunity for her, if she wanted to take it.
She did look happy today. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure of it. And I’m sure she never saw Carson’s truck parked down the street from the church. He’ll find someone else before too long, now that he’s seen she isn’t ever coming back to him. My heart ached for him, but he’s young, he’ll be fine. They’re all so young. They can make their lives be whatever they want. Isn’t that how it works?
‘Sure. Whatever we want,’ Meg whispered.
Her nurse, Laurie, knocked once and opened the door. ‘Your one o’clock’s here.’
‘Thanks. Give me three minutes.’
She closed the notebook and stuffed it back into her satchel, certain that this foray into the past wasn’t doing her any good. The spinning blades were uncomfortably close right now.
On Tuesday, their last morning on the island, Carson woke before Val and lay watching the fan turn lazily above him. Hung over from the night before, he tried to sort out the remains of a dream. Something about Spencer sending him out on one of the mares – to check that she’d been shoed right? Something crazy like that, and as he rode off, he saw Meg standing in Brian’s arms. He tried to turn the horse, but it kept running, and when he looked behind him, he couldn’t even see Meg anymore.
A stupid dream; as it happened, she’d been the one to run.
Val slept soundly next to him, a pillow covering her head, smooth browned arms flung out toward the headboard as if she was surfing in her sleep. He lifted the pillow and looked at her, thinking again how young she was; she looked especially youthful when sleeping, long blond eyelashes against her tan face, no lines around her eyes, lips chapped from salt and sun, just as she must have looked as a teen. Her age – the difference in their ages – didn’t concern him too much, but he did wonder how long it would be before she was ready to slow down some, do the family thing. He wanted kids eventually, would have had them already if not for Meg’s about-face.
He didn’t especially like thinking about Meg, but obviously, with his wedding to Val approaching fast, he could see why all these memories were being triggered. Unfortunately you couldn’t just dump your past to clear the way for your future – although Meg sure seemed to have succeeded at doing just that.
Leaving Val in bed, Carson pulled on shorts and left the villa. After stopping at the outdoor breakfast buffet to grab some coffee and a couple of chocolate croissants, he meandered down to the beach, marveling at the multi-toned clear blue water and the benevolence of morning sunshine – something he had too little of at home in Seattle. He wished his mind felt as peaceful as the scene before him looked. Maybe if he could spend the whole day lying here on a chaise, he’d feel like he was actually having a vacation. That, however, wasn’t in the cards.
Val wanted to stop in Philipsburg to look at wedding bands before their early afternoon flight. Dutch St Martin, or St Maarten, as it was when you crossed the French–Dutch border, was known for having great jewelry at low prices. Already they’d browsed some shops, Val buying platinum-and-diamond tennis bracelets for each of her bridesmaids. He wasn’t eager to have to cram in yet another activity before they headed to Florida for more wedding planning with his parents, but he wanted Val to be happy.
He was a sucker that way, when it came to people he cared about. The last time he’d ventured so far – almost as far as he’d come now with Val – he’d gotten pretty badly singed. Okay, burned; why minimize it?
Though he was looking at the calm water of the bay, he was seeing the past.
It was almost Christmas, ’87. He’d been working for a friend of his dad’s, warehousing fruit for extra money to buy Meg an engagement ring. Later on the day he’d been in town to get the ring – a simple solitaire, less than a third of a carat, set in gold – she called him and asked him to meet her at the tree.
‘Just come over here,’ he told her. By then he’d been living in the shed for two years; they spent most of their free time there.
‘No, I … I’d rather be outside, okay?’
‘Sure.’ Distracted by his excitement about the ring, he missed the tension in her voice. Instead, he thought of how he could give her the ring there at the tree; that was a better plan than the elaborate fancy-dinner-bended-knee thing he’d been thinking of doing. Outdoors, at their spot – a much better plan.
The sun was low, the temperature dropping with it. He threw on his denim jacket, tucked the ring box into one pocket, and hurried through the groves, past the lake, rehearsing his proposal in his head. When he got to the tree, hands in pockets, the box square and promising in his right hand, he saw Meg’s expression and pulled his hands out, empty.
‘What’s the matter?’
She was sitting at the base of their oak tree, arms wrapped around her knees. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said.
‘Waste of time,’ he joked, nervous without knowing why. She shrugged and looked past him, biting her lip. He squatted in front of her. ‘Just spit it out.’ Whatever it was couldn’t be so bad, not for the two of them anyway. Must be it had to do with money and the Powells’ farm – the talk was that Spencer was about to go bankrupt.
‘It’s over, Car,’ she said, looking down at her sneakers. She was about to wear a hole in the left one, at the big toe.
‘I heard. What are they planning to do?’
She looked up sharply. ‘Who?’
‘Your parents. Are they filing for bankruptcy or what?’
She shook her head and stood up. ‘No, I mean us.
I … I’m … Did you ever think how we might actually be bad for each other?’
‘What, are you nuts?’
She looked it, wild-eyed and flushed. ‘No, I’m serious. You … you need to experience other … you know, date other people. We – we’re too close. It’s unhealthy. I mean, you’ve never had any other serious girlfriend.’
‘You like it that way,’ he said, mentally scrambling to catch up to what she was saying. ‘What do you mean, too close? We’re just right, we’re perfect.’ The box in his pocket was the proof that he firmly believed his words. Why didn’t she? Why all of a sudden?
‘No, we’re just … you know – kids. We need to get some space between us and … and … and see what else there is in the world. Who else,’ she added, her voice hoarse.