The comment floods me with nostalgia and all those first-love feels. On our fourth date, we got into a fender bender. The incident was minor, but a snow sled from the back seat struck me in the head during the impact, so I was rushed to the hospital for an exam.
My parents showed up and insisted on driving me home. Liam was in the room when the doctor gave them strict instructions to wake me up every few hours and check my pupils for any sort of concussion. After I was buckled into thebackseat of my parents’ car, feeling embarrassed and chagrined, Liam pressed a kiss to my cheek.“Don’t forget me,”he said so fervently my heart nearly broke and then lovingly closed the door.
Concussion or not, I could never forget Liam Wheaton. And as invested as I was in my marriage, as much as I loved Ross and enjoyed being married to him, there were times I involuntarily dreamed of Liam’s kiss in my sleep, my subconscious mind working to keep the promise I made clear back then.
A promise he often repeated after kissing me goodnight at the doorstep.“Don’t forget me.”
I didn’t let the occasional dreams disrupt my course. I was a loyal and faithful wife with a heart only for the man I married. Of course, I came to realize that he didn’t have a heart for me in return, that he was too into himself to be bothered with things that mattered to the woman raising his children.
Eventually, after a year and a half of counseling, we decided to split ways. He didn’t want to be married to some changed version of me who stood up for herself like the therapist suggested, which messes with my mind even still. I sensed it myself, sensed that his attraction seemed to hinge on my level of cooperation. The having-a-voice side of me wasn’t attractive to him. He needed someone willing to bend over backward at every turn.
The trouble was, I had bent more than enough. I was all but broken.
It was a slow process, resulting in one year of separation while living under the same roof. The divorce proceedings followed, and once that was said and done, we moved back to Virginia. So, while the divorce was finalized around six months ago, our marriage has been over for closer to two years.
Still, I’m not thinking about Ross anymore when I drift off to sleep. I’m not thinking about him when I wake up and spend themorning preparing a craft table for the younger kids while the older kids and most of the parents go tubing.
Liam, whose daughter was supposed to be here by noon, paces back and forth alongside the parking lot as he waits for her to come. I can see him from my spot in the campsite, similar to the way I spotted him when I first arrived, but from an alternate point of view. He appears beyond the building, shaking his head and tapping his phone screen, and then disappears for a while before pacing back again.
I can’t help but feel his pain as I consider Lucy standing me up for an event like this. Of course, we’ve had our issues; she’s acted like a teenager since she turned nine years old. Still, Liam’s daughter Callie is two years older than Lucy. According to him, her behavior started to shift when he and Gabrielle got divorced, but it’s been increasingly worse in the last few months. Inwardly, I lift a prayer that Callie will show up. That she won’t break her dad‘s heart and that she’ll have a good attitude when and if she comes. Then, I add one last plea:Lord, please don’t let Lucy treat me like that one day.I get a short assurance that, even if she does, I’ll be able to love her through it the way Liam is.
The final tubing group is about to take off. The first two groups already left, the last one spaced out to give the group before them time to get farther ahead. The kids and I are with this group, that is, if I’m brave enough to go, as well as Liam’s nephews and son. He’d planned it that way so Callie and her boyfriend could join them. Looks like that might not happen.
“Hey, Martin,” I call while helping the small group paint their birdhouses. “What time is it?”
He checks his watch. “12:30.”
Cam, who’s standing next to Martin, shakes his head. “She’s not gonna come.”
I don’t want to interfere, but I’m afraid he may be right. I also imagine that if Liam misses the last run because of Callie, Cam will be sore at his sisterandLiam.
“Hey, will you guys come keep an eye on the craft group for a minute?” I ask.
I’m referring mainly to Martin and Lucy, who are chatting with a group nearby, but Cam, Parker, and Jack come along too.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” I hurry up the trail to where Liam is no longer pacing. He’s staring at the parking lot while shaking his head and muttering under his breath.
“Hey,” I say softly from behind.
Liam glances over his shoulder at me.
“I know you’re waiting for Callie to come?—”
“Not anymore. She says something’s wrong with Link’s car. Since they’re at her mother’s, who happens to be gone right now, they don’t have another car. Not that I know whether what she’s telling me is true, but either way, they’re not coming.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That’s disappointing.”
“Yep. Guess the show must go on.” Liam walks toward his truck, which is parked in a shady spot along the edge of the lot. He pops open the door and tosses his phone into the glovebox. Without so much as a warning, he tears off his T-shirt and tosses that on the seat.
Whoa,Liam’s got abs for days. Months.Years. I clear my throat as my face flushes pink and tear my gaze off the glorious sight. Not like he’s naked or anything, I tell my bashful side. From his triangular-shaped waist and up, heisbare, sure, but a pair of swim trunks hang low on his hips. He brushes past me to hurry down the trail where the boys are waiting.
I stand in place, still a bit dazzled by the unexpected view of Liam’s bare chest, wondering if he realizes I came up here for him. Did he think I was heading to the bathrooms or what?
The sound of his footsteps, which were once fading, grow stronger once more, and suddenly Liam appears at the top of the trail.
“Sorry,” he says, “I thought you were following me.” He motions to the trail and steps aside. “You coming back down?”
I nod and clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m coming.” I walk past him, half-looking, half-not, as I head down the trail in front of him.
