Eleanor Jones - Footprints in the Sand

Her voice trailed off, and she sighed.

“That’s all I can remember, I’m afraid. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ll see if I can find a copy of it for you.”

Bryn nodded earnestly. “Would you like to keep one of my paintings?” he asked on impulse.

She smiled, touching his cheek. “I would be proud to have one of your paintings. When you’re famous, I’ll be able to say I was the first person to own a Bryn Evans.”

* * *

WHERE DID THE TIME GO? Suddenly, Bryn was fifteen. Sometimes, he felt a surge of guilt that he was so contented. Three years had rolled by in a moment—years filled with joy, years when Elsa May Malone remained securely stored in the back of his mind, a promise he had yet to fulfill. At night, when memories lurked closest, he’d ache with fear for her. What if she’d slipped so far into her tormented world that she could never return to him? He shuddered, gulping in air. No! He would never believe that.

Bryn was down by the shore, sitting on a rock at the edge of the ocean, mesmerized by the sunlight sparkling on the water. His hands were idle, his sheet of paper blank and untouched. For once, he was unable to concentrate, so eventually he stood up with a sigh and wandered slowly homeward.

As he crossed the lawn beside the house, where other children played and gamboled, he saw a car pull up to the front door. He sidetracked toward the shed, where a baby rabbit was recovering from a foot injury. The last thing Bryn felt like doing was making conversation with a new kid. Anyway, it was Tom’s turn to give the tour—he’d done it last time, when that awful, bossy Wilbur Simms had descended on Long Meadows. Fortunately, he had only stayed two weeks.

Bryn kept to the edge of the lawn, screened by the trees that led directly into the woods, his footsteps slowing as curiosity took over. Would the new arrival be a boy or a girl? he wondered. He’d forgotten to ask Mrs. Evans.

The social worker, Dermot, clambered out of the car first. Bryn liked Dermot—he was funny and nice, and he took the time to talk to you.

The new kid got out of the car on the far side, so Bryn only saw the back of her head. There was something familiar about her, though.... Tightness came into his chest, and he stopped in his tracks. She flicked her mane of golden-brown hair and the breath fled from his body. He wanted to run to her, but his legs refused to move. She was walking away toward the open front door where Mrs. Evans stood beaming.

“Elsa?”

The word was a croak in his throat, but she heard it—if he’d been a million miles away, he was sure she would have heard it. Slowly, oh, so slowly, she turned her face toward him.... Tanned skin, clear amber eyes, delicate, perfect features...the same and yet not the same—older and so much more beautiful.

His Elsa was here at last. She was calm and serene now, with none of the lion cub showing. But then, with a sense of relief, he saw it—behind her green and gold-flecked eyes, the sleeping lion cub was waiting to get out.

“Hello,” she said with a smile, slipping her hand neatly into his, as if they hadn’t been torn apart all that time ago.

“Hello,” he replied.

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