Jamie
Beginning of May
For the first time in over two decades, I was beyond grateful for my aversion to contact lenses and touching my eyes.
I knew it was him the moment I plowed into him and he said, “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Of course he’d taken ownership of the incident, being the ever-perfect son of a politician, and a gentleman born just below the Mason-Dixon Line.
His voice was as deep and growly as the last time I’d heard it—except it hit slightly different this go-round. This time, the deep rumble touched places I hadn’t known existed back then. For one thing, I wasn’t a ma’am by any stretch of the imagination, but with those three little words he made me want to be one…whatever a ma’am should or would be.
“No problem,” I told him as he took a step back from me. I kept my focus on the floor as he took one more step away, his large feet creating a much-needed wide berth, adding a touch of breathing room between us.
“You okay?” His brow scrunched as he looked at me, asking about my well-being.
Lifting my gaze the tiniest bit, I found his eyes twitching, trying to figure out the puzzle in front of him. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” Somehow I strung a couple of words together as I willed my hand to calm. My palm refused to still; it ran down the front of my silk blouse, smoothing any imaginary wrinkles.
The man in front of me couldn’t take his eyes off my glasses. They were my ginormous round specs molded in black plastic with mirrored lenses, resembling something an A-list celebrity would wear in Los Angeles. He must be used to those kinds of frames…even though they’d never been my style before.
“They’re prescription. I can’t see without them. I…uh… just came in from outside and…uh…haven’t changed out of my sunglasses yet.” I found the need to explain their presence on the bridge of my nose.
It had been a few decades since I last saw this guy, and I still stumbled and tripped over my words? Clearly, despite my age doubling, my crush hadn’t diminished.
While I spoke, I pointed to the frames around my eyes, but didn’t dare switch them out for my everyday glasses in front ofFord Conway III. He might not recognize the whole of me, but my silvery eyes were a dead giveaway. At least, I’d always thought they were. Maybe he’d forgotten. He only nodded and continued to stare at me amidst my excuses.
It went without saying that he’d filled out some since I’d last been in the same room as him. If you considered the utilitarian hospital hallway we currently occupied a room.
It had been twenty years since we graduated college. Sometimes I’d catch Ford on TV, supporting his senator brother or partying with his movie star sister. I couldn’t help but be riveted by his perfect cheekbones, bluer-than-the-Mediterranean eyes, and broad shoulders. But here in the flesh he was more captivating than I ever imagined he would grow to look.
“Can I help you with anything? Are you lost?” I found my voice again, realizing he wasn’t going to place me, and deciding to play dumb about where we were standing.
“Uh, no.” He cleared his throat and looked around the hallway. He didn’t know I knew exactly why. “My dad is here. I’m visiting. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
I nodded. Of course, I knew his dad, the Honorable Ford Conway Jr., was currently here in Baltimore, tucked away in the Conway Wing of the university’s hospital, dying of pancreatic cancer, the world watching and wanting to know what would happen to his seat on the Supreme Court. The projections were only on the news hourly. I didn’t speak a word of any of this.
Rather, I simply said, “It’s no bother. Hope the rest of your day goes better.”
“Thanks,” he said, lifting his arm to shake my hand, his shiny gold Rolex heavy on his wrist, his skin tanned from the California sun. Golf, I presumed.
He stood there waiting silently, and I realized I needed to shake his hand or it would be awkward, although things were about to take a potentially more awkward turn. I debated using my left hand, but I knew better thanks to a prep school education. I placed my right hand in his, allowing his palm to caress my skin. Reveling in his warm touch, it took me a beat or two to realize he was staring at the area where my thumb met my hand.
His own thumb caressed over the spot, back and forth and back again, while he mumbled, “A heart?” He said it as if he was asking himself a question while his eyes flicked up to look at me, his left hand coming to meet my hair. “Red, is that you? Where are your curls, Red?”
I didn’t answer.
“Red? Jamie? It’s you, right? Jeez, look at you. I barely recognized you.”
I still didn’t answer, hoping he would think he got it wrong and walk away.
When I took the job as development director for the hospital directly outside the district where we grew up and later went to college, I knew there would always be a chance. Maybe I bet on there being one, but right now, in this soul-crushing moment, it felt more like a deal with the devil.
“James?” Poor Ford was still trying to confirm my identity when I’d been struck mute.
When he used my God-given name, I knew I had to answer. “It’s me.” My confirmation was more of a hushed whisper than words meant only for Ford. Part of me didn’t want him to hear—to know. I wanted him to move along and continue living his life while having forgotten about me.
“Why didn’t you say?” He snatched me in his arms and pulled me close, breathing in my now auburn hair, my sunglasses smushed into his hard chest. His left hand ran down the back of my head, sliding over my sleekly straightened hair. “It’s so good to see you. I haven’t seen you since graduation. What the heck? Why?” He rattled off the questions as if they made sense.
I hadn’t seen him because I’d been the curvy girl in love with the All-American boy, and it was a feeling he hadn’t returned.
