Two from the Heart(21)

All I had to do now was send an email.

But instead, after my walk, I sat at a small writing desk and scratched out the postcards I’d bought at various gas stations—to Bill, to my brother, to Lorelei and Sam and Karen and Pauline—so they’d know I was still alive.

And only then did I get out my computer and begin the email I’d driven three thousand miles to write.

Dear Julian,

Long time no see!



No, too chipper—too neighborly.

Dear Julian,

This is going to come way out of left field, but I



That wasn’t going to work either.

Hey Julian!

It’s the ghost of your girlfriend past.



As if.

Dear Julian,

It’s been almost 19 years since I last saw you, sitting in the passenger seat of a U-Haul pointed toward Cambridge.



This really wasn’t going very well.

I opened the bottle of wine, poured myself a glass, and took a fortifying sip. If I could survive a hurricane, leave my life behind, and set off across the country in the hopes of writing a book, I could certainly write an email to an old flame.

Dear Julian,

I happen to be in town for a day or two, and I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch. It’s been a long time, and it’d be great to catch up.

Anne



I took a deep breath, held it, and hit Send.

Immediately thereafter, I got up and began pacing the room.

I’d met Julian on the side of a road—just like the alien-hunters. I’d been walking home from school when the gray June sky unleashed a torrential, biblical downpour. I was soaked in seconds, sloshing my way through sudden puddles, when Julian pulled up on a motorcycle and offered me a ride. He went to the boarding school on the other side of town, but I’d seen him at a few parties. I glanced at his little vintage Honda, which hardly looked big enough for him, and I shook my head.

He’d smiled. “A gentleman always sees a lady to her door,” he said—or that’s what I thought he said; it was impossible to hear in all that pounding rain. He took off his helmet and put it on my head, and then he patted my hand reassuringly. And because his hand was so gentle, and because I was sopping and I still had a mile to go, I climbed on the back of the bike and put my arms around his waist.

It was the scariest ride of my life. The rain lashed my body and the gusting wind seemed like it was going to blow us into a ditch. Because I was squeezing my eyes shut in terror, I didn’t notice that he’d made a wrong turn until we were two miles into the country.

“Stop,” I’d screamed, and he’d yelled “What?” And then I nearly made him lose his balance and crash as I gestured wildly to a farm up ahead.

Shivering, we waited out the rest of the storm in a barn, watched by two wary cows and a few twittering sparrows.

Maybe it was the near-death experience (or the near-near-death experience) that made us feel close to each other so quickly. Or maybe it was the serendipity of two bookish introverts finding each other in such a crazy way. Or it could have been something as simple as teenage hormones. But after that day, we were together all the time—we talked on the phone every night before we fell asleep, and we saw each other every weekend. He gave me flowers and mix CDs; I bought him poetry books, a collection of Rilke’s letters, and weird talismans from thrift shops.

When Julian went away to college, I thought my heart would break. But later that fall my mother died, and the pain of that washed away everything else.

It wasn’t that I thought I’d fall in love with Julian again all these years later. But I needed to see who he’d become.

And, to be quite honest, his Facebook status was single.

My email dinged, and my heart did a jitterbug in my chest.

I’d love to meet, his reply said.

Let’s say the El Dorado Kitchen at the El Dorado Hotel. Tomorrow at noon.

Yours,

Julian





Chapter 24


I WAS early to the restaurant, even though I’d spent two hours getting ready, including thirty minutes of debate over whether I should wear my hair up (sophisticated) or down (carefree).

Ultimately I’d decided on an elegant chignon, complemented by my best sundress, my biggest pair of dark sunglasses, and my only pair of heels. No one would mistake me for a modern-day Audrey Hepburn, but I felt put together—chic, even.

The ma?tre d’ smiled graciously and led me to the restaurant’s back patio. There, sitting in the dappled shade of a lush fig tree, was Julian.

My breath caught in my throat; the years since I’d seen him evaporated in an instant. Here he was, the boy I thought I’d love forever, suddenly transformed into a man.

As I walked toward him, my whole body electric with recognition, Julian looked up from the book he was reading, and his face opened in that big smile I knew so well. He stood up, and we hugged—laughing, shy, elated. He kissed me softly on the cheek and then stepped back to take me in.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said as he pulled out a chair for me.

“You’re not half bad yourself,” I countered, blushing and pushing a loose strand of hair away from my face.

But that was an understatement: Julian was striking, with high, aristocratic cheekbones and a light fan of wrinkles around his bright green eyes. His hair was a shade darker than it used to be, and he’d traded the vintage T-shirts and faded jeans of his youth for summer-weight wool pants and a custom shirt.