Brenda Harlen - Once and Again

She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

As a child, she’d spent almost as much time in this house as in her own. And although Kristin and Brian had made some minor changes after Kristin’s mom had passed away—walls painted, appliances updated, furniture replaced—those changes didn’t detract at all from the sense of homecoming.

She shook her head, surprised by her feelings of nostalgia. When she’d left Pinehurst, she’d willingly left all of this behind. Now that she was back, she couldn’t remember why she’d been so anxious to go.

She moved through the archway and into the dining room, her heart breaking a little to see the remnants of Caleb’s birthday party. There were still blue and orange streamers hanging from the ceiling and bouquets of now deflated helium balloons in the corners. The long table was covered with a paper cloth that bore traces of macaroni salad and potato chip crumbs. A half-empty punch bowl, bottles of ketchup and mustard and an open jar of relish were further remnants of the feast. Napkins had been scrunched up and discarded along with plastic cutlery.

She picked up a cone-shaped party hat, traced her fingers over the glittering letters that spelled out “Happy Birthday” across the front. The fist that had gripped her heart since she’d learned of the accident squeezed tighter.

She closed her eyes but couldn’t banish the image of Caleb in that hospital bed with a ventilator to breathe for him, tubes to feed him, and machines monitoring every function of his body.

She’d taken one look at him and had been almost overwhelmed by fear and guilt. She wanted to support Kristin, to be the friend she hadn’t been for so long, but maybe too much time had passed. Maybe it really was too late.

What good could she do anyway? She wasn’t a doctor or a psychologist or even a social worker. She was a lawyer—a corporate attorney who’d buried herself in her job for ten years because it was the one thing she knew she was good at. And a woman who, as much as she hated to admit it, had abandoned her best friend a long time ago.

Standing here now, in Kristin’s dining room, she knew she’d made a mistake in coming back. She couldn’t help her friend, and there was almost nothing she hated more than feeling helpless.

She turned to leave, and then she saw it.

On the sideboard.

An uncut birthday cake with seven unlit candles.

R2-D2. She recognized the droid character immediately and realized the recent resurgence of Star Wars popularity must have hooked Kristin’s youngest son, as it had hooked her and Kristin when they were young.

The cake was perfect in both shape and color, with the tiniest details painstakingly recreated. She knew immediately that Kristin had made it. The degree of care and attention evident in the finished product could never be bought, but was an obvious reflection of a mother’s love.

It was this uncut cake, this visual reminder of a celebration cut short by tragedy, that was nearly her undoing.

Emotions churned inside her, clamored for release. Jess held them back. Suppressing her feelings was another thing she’d always been good at. Tears were a luxury she couldn’t afford right now and crying wouldn’t make any difference. Not to Kristin or Brian, and certainly not to Caleb.

Jess looked around once more. Cleaning up this mess couldn’t possibly ease her friend’s burden, but at least it was something useful she could do.

She returned to the kitchen to find a garbage bag.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.”

She hadn’t heard the door, and when his voice broke the silence, she started, her heart in her throat, her pulse racing wildly. Turning, she found herself once again face-to-face with Nick, and no more prepared for this meeting than she’d been for their earlier encounter.

She exhaled slowly, her heart receding to its appropriate location, her pulse continuing to beat just a little too fast. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said,” he agreed.

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised by my presence.” She turned and headed back to the dining room.

Of course, he followed.

There had been a time when she’d wanted more than anything to be with him, and he’d walked out on her. Now, when she wanted only to be alone, she couldn’t get rid of him.

“Why are you here, Nick?”

It was the same question he’d asked himself on the way over. The answer, he knew, was simple—because he wasn’t smart enough to stay away. It wasn’t an answer he was going to share with Jessica, though.

“I thought I’d come by to clean up.”

“I can take care of it.”

“I’m sure you can.” He bent to pick up a crumpled piece of discarded wrapping paper. “But it will go quicker if we work together.”

“Work together?” she echoed, as if it were a completely foreign concept.

Not that he could blame her for being suspicious. After so many years of distance and silence, why would she expect that he’d want to do anything with her? But despite that nothing had changed between them, he could appreciate that she was trying to help and show that appreciation by making an effort to be civil.

“You were the one who suggested shelving the hostility,” he reminded her. “I thought we could take that a step further and, if not actually cooperate, at least coexist for the short term.” He shoved a handful of crepe streamers into the bag she carried and couldn’t help adding, “That is, if you’re determined to hang around.”

Her eyes narrowed, shooting molten sparks of gold. “I’m staying.”

Then she bent over the table to roll up the paper cloth with the disposable partyware inside.

He watched her, noting that her chic, short haircut exposed the graceful line of her neck and the deep vee of her sleeveless top revealed just the slightest hint of cleavage as she bent over the table. His gaze drifted downward, to the narrow waist, slender hips and endlessly long legs. Her feet, he noticed, were bare, and her toenails painted a vibrant shade of red.

Damn, she was still a distraction.

Nick, determined not to let himself be distracted, turned his attention elsewhere.

“No!”

Jessica’s vehement protest startled him, and she took advantage of his pause to grab the cake board from his hands.

He caught a whiff of her perfume as she pulled back, something light and spicy that called to the baser parts of his anatomy. It was different than the scent she’d worn so many years before. Then again, a lot of things were different now. And yet, so much had stayed the same—including his body’s instinctive response to her nearness.

He stared at her, at the flush of color that infused her cheeks as she clutched the cake protectively against her chest. The fierce, almost desperate determination in her golden eyes sparked a long-forgotten memory.

Not forgotten really, but buried. And as a hint of that memory started to surface, he remembered why it was buried. Why it was best to leave it that way.

“Kristin made this,” she said, as though it explained everything.

“There’s no reason to keep it.”

“There’s every reason.”

“It’s an unnecessary reminder of a tragic day.”

A day he knew he wouldn’t ever forget.

Although he was trying to maintain a positive outlook, especially for his sister’s sake, doubts were starting to creep in. He knew it was possible, although it was a possibility he didn’t want to consider, that Caleb might be suffering from a serious brain injury. And with every hour that Caleb remained in the coma, the outlook grew dimmer.

He loved all of Kristin’s kids, but he felt a special connection to Caleb. Maybe because he knew that his sister’s third pregnancy was unplanned, and he’d wanted to ensure that his youngest nephew never felt unwanted. Maybe because Caleb had been born when his own marriage had started to fall apart, and he wanted to fill the void in his own life that came from accepting he wasn’t likely to ever have any children of his own.