All Your Pretty Dreams (35 page)

She stared at the boxes
under the window that reminded her of Red Vine. So silly— childish—
to keep falling in love with musicians. She kept falling for the
wrong type of man. She’d probably end up on one of those TV shows
Dr. Mendel called “social anthropology studies” where the families
confessed how horrible they were to each other with blank looks on
their faces.

She opened the first box,
having been told by her mother in no uncertain terms, that the
boxes must go.
Clutter
, the seven-letter curse word. Inside was a set of files. She
would need those for writing her dissertation. She refitted the lid
and put the box on the bed. A piece of yellow notebook paper
fluttered and fell to the carpet. She opened it and sat on the
bed.

Dear Isabel,

I hope your foot is okay.
Sorry for scaring you last night. It was stupid of me. I just
wanted to touch you. Contrary to what you think, Kiki Calhoun is
not my girlfriend. And not honest either, I think. She told me you
passed vicious gossip about her in high school. Why would she offer
up such ancient history? I have a sneaking suspicion she’s making
it all up. Jealous of you? I don’t know about that but maybe we
could talk about it.

I can’t seem to get
anything right. I guess you’ll never forget I come from a nowhere
town where the big excitement is a polka dance. I shouldn’t have
called you Queen Bee. Again, my apologies. That moment on the lawn,
well, I’ll always remember it, and hopefully you can forget about
my blunders.

We had fun this summer,
didn’t we? I never liked Red Vine before. I never liked my father’s
band, or small town life, or the polka. Somehow it all came
together. I have to think you were a big part of that.

If I never see you again –
and I hope I do – have a happy life. Try to smile more. You have a
beautiful smile.

Your friend,

Jon.

She read the note again,
her heart in her throat. He must have put it on the boxes last
summer, when they were out by the garage. The boxes Howard had
moved. She reread certain sentences, trying to figure him out,
holding the words in her mind. He wanted to touch her? Had she said
something about Kiki that night? He wrote this before he came to
Urbana. He’d said nothing about it that weekend. He must have
thought she’d read it and it meant nothing to her.

She walked to her dressing
table and stared into the mirror at her wan little face, forcing a
smile. Beautiful? Hardly. Her hair had grown out, twisting around
her ears. Her teeth were straight but her smile was full of
heartache, armor, and battle plans.

Have a happy
life
.

She stared a little longer,
then began to cry.

——

The solar toilet was
designed by a farmer from Wisconsin who also had a power plant run
on the methane from his dairy cows. Although much different in ages
and occupations Wayne and Jonny bonded in the bar after the main
business of the awards concluded. The hotel was a few blocks off
the lake, a refurbished twenties palace, small but elegant. Just
the sort of place the sustainable green people would like, Jonny
thought, admiring the tin ceiling and stained glass partitions in
the restaurant.

The turnout was light. A
few architects, some green power people, others who had submitted
work, two reporters. Will Franklin hadn’t bothered to make an
appearance. He sent his assistant Dorothy, the woman on the phone.
She turned out to be fresh out of college. She did her
best.

Jonny and Wayne grabbed
stools at the bar and worked on beers. Maybe he should just turn
around and go home, Jonny was thinking, now that the reception was
over. Anticlimactic, to say the least.

“
Another round,” Wayne
told the bartender. So much for driving home.

They ate burgers around
eight. Short, ruddy Wayne was married with three kids, a dairy
farm, and a sister who made cheese. He told Jonny all about his
methane plant and his heritage seed crop. He hadn’t constructed the
solar outhouse. He had indoor plumbing and thank god for that.
Jonny told him about the polka band. They talked about the
accordion and politics and weather.

The bar filled up with
stockbrokers, bankers, software guys. The singles crowd. Noisy
laughter, matchmaking, deal-making. Just after nine somebody called
his name. Jonny turned to see Will Franklin waving from the door.
He bounded over, a huge grin on his face.

“
I can’t believe I missed
it,” Will exclaimed, apologizing over and over. He was dressed in
another fancy suit, with a sharp white shirt. He shook Wayne’s hand
and told them what great projects they’d designed.

“
I still don’t know how I
was entered in the contest,” Jonny said. He explained to Wayne that
he hadn’t done it himself. “Somebody somewhere likes
me.”

“
As to that—” Franklin
raised his palm, stopping himself. “I’m not supposed to say, but I
can tell you that your project won fair and square. I didn’t do any
of the judging, it was the committee who represent six different
firms. Fair and square.”

“
I sure hope so.” What the
hell?

Franklin waved his hands as
if to erase what he’d said. “The reason I couldn’t make it tonight
is that I should be somewhere else right now. At my engagement
party.” He looked at Jonny. “Daria sent me to see if you were still
here. Can you come over for a minute? As a favor to me?”

“
You and Daria are
engaged?”

“
April wedding. The women
are going nuts. They say it’s not enough time. I say if it takes
any longer I’ll lose my mind. You’ve gotta come. You too, Wayne.
It’s just a mile away, the car’s waiting. Come have a glass of
champagne. Let me make it up to you.”

The banquet hall atop a
fancy hotel on the lakefront was strewn with crystal chandeliers
twinkling, reflected in windows and polished floors. On the far
side of the room, an expansive view of the city and the lake
sparkled in the moonlight. Round tables with pink sweetheart roses,
white tablecloths fluttering with the movements of the crowd,
large, lavish, and loud.

Jonny paused at the door
and glanced down at his clothes. Once again, dressed inadequately.
He hadn’t even bothered with dress pants this time, wearing black
jeans with a gray sports coat and leather high-tops. At least he’d
worn a tie and a decent shirt. And he wasn’t wearing a Carhart
jacket and shit-kickers like Wayne. Franklin led the farmer into
the room, chatting in his animated way. Wayne smiled, eyes wide at
the festive scene.

Over there, the parents,
Edie and Max. Jonny looked away. He could do without meeting them
again. Dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit and a turquoise gown, they
held court in the center of the room. Her diamonds shot daggers of
light across the room. The surly teenager at the bar he recognized,
and a couple other people from the funeral. It was bad enough to
have to attend your own family events. Maybe he could just slip
out. Nobody would miss him.

His arm was caught. Daria,
front and center, in another of her highly-colored dresses, this
one purple. She glowed, the person of interest at this crime scene.
“Hey, Polka Boy. Good job on the corn crib.”

“
Thanks.” He squinted at
her. “You don’t know who submitted the photos, by any
chance.”

She pursed her lips and
looked at the ceiling. “Whatever do you mean?”

Maybe it was Will, or even
Daria herself. He felt a rush of affection for her and laughed out
loud. Despite her nonstop mouth and in-your-face opinions, she was
a kind person. “Congrats to you and Will. I hope you’ll be very
happy.”

“
I am already.” She looked
over at Franklin. “I am so lucky. Take a look at this.” She offered
her left hand, heavy with a pink diamond. “Nice, huh? Well, he’s
the catch. Let’s get you going. Drinks, that way. Food, that way.
Fun, every which way, if you don’t mind dancing with an
eighty-year-old.”

He stopped listening. Over
Daria’s shoulder he saw her. Isabel, in a dress. And not just any
dress. She looked like an angel. The crystal light shone off her
blonde hair. She stood by a table, listening to a white-haired
woman. The hem of her dress floated on the air and she caught it
with two fingers. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then
looked up and saw him, a blank look on her face. Was it surprise?
Displeasure?

Daria looked then turned
back. “Come right in. Glad you could join us, Polka Boy.” She
waltzed off, already chattering to somebody.

His breath caught in his
throat. Isabel squared her shoulders and stared at him. He felt his
heart begin to thump in his chest. Then she looked away, back to
the old woman who was still talking, without a nod or
smile.

A chill went through his
blood. He backed out the door and sank against the wall in the
hallway, trying to slow his heart. He did a check of systems: he
was breathing. Good. He wasn’t drunk or hallucinating. Excellent.
In the not-so-good category: his heart raced, he felt dizzy, and
his stomach was doing something it shouldn’t.

What was wrong with him?
Was it the flu?
You
idiot
. He stood taller, trying to collect
himself, slumped against the wall again.

She didn’t even recognize
him. Four months had passed. Or she did and didn’t want to talk.
There was too much to say anyway, about Wendy, about that night on
the lawn. What could he say to her now, after all this time? Tell
her about his grandfather, his crazy parents, the divorce, the
future, the past? Why would she care? They had nothing in
common.

Why would she want to know
jack-shit about him? She had her own perfectly fine life with slimy
Alec. That cold dismissal said it all. Why would she give a toss
about him, when he had told her to go away and have a nice life?
Why, he asked himself again, had he written that stupid
note?

He closed his eyes and
tried to think. This much he knew: he still wanted to talk to her,
explain everything. He wasn’t sure why. Then it came to him. She
was the only person who would understand. The struggles of
families, the disconnect, the heartaches, the joys. The
disappointments of love, the choice to be alone if that’s what it
took. The intangible essence of him that he didn’t know himself.
Somehow
she
knew.
She comprehended something in him that no one else did. As if she
could see touch him with those dark brown eyes.

It was useless. She loved
somebody else. He rubbed his face. Was he sober enough to drive
home?

Then, from nowhere, Isabel
stood in front of him. In that diaphanous dress. The word had been
invented for it, for her. After those baggy cargo pants, filthy
with orchard dust and nettles, funny hats and bulky veils, hard toe
boots and oversized gloves, not to mention her black pigtails of
early summer— despite all that, she looked completely at ease
dressed as a chic young woman. And delectable. He glanced down at
her milky chest as if he’d never seen anything so lovely. In fact
it rendered him speechless.

She cleared her throat,
staring at him with those eyes. He straightened, pushing back his
hair.

“
Are you leaving?” she
asked.

Confusion, and the look of
her, addled his brain. “I don’t know.”

“
If you are, can you take
me with you? If I have to speak to another ancient relative I will
scream.”

“
Do you want me— to— ?” He
stammered, short of breath.
Take you?
Right here on the carpet.
It was all he
could do to remain upright.

“
Anywhere. Please.
A-S-A-P.” She was silent a moment, her eyes cast down. “Jon. I
found that note. The one you wrote back in August. I just found it
this morning.”

“
Wh—
today
this morning?”

“
The boxes were moved. It
was tucked between. I started going through them. I’ve been, you
know, busy.” She was tugging on her sleeves. He couldn’t take his
eyes off her. She looked up, solemn and vulnerable. She stepped
closer. “What did you mean when you said you wanted to touch
me?”

She smelled tangy, lemon-y.
Exactly as he remembered. Or imagined maybe. “Just that,” he said,
taking her hands. He lowered his nose to her neck for a sniff and
felt the top of his head lift off. “I forgot. Did I say I wanted to
kiss you again?”

“
A person can’t say
everything in a note, can they?”

He touched her cheek,
cupping it in his hand. “What about Alec?”

“
He means nothing. Less
than nothing.”

“
But you—“

“
You didn’t believe me. I
told you in August.”

He moved to kiss her then
stopped. “You found Wendy. And sent her home. How can we ever thank
you?”

She fixed him with those
warm eyes. “Oh, Jon. I did it for you.”

He kissed her then,
remembering the grassy night under the stars for a moment then
completely gone. After the rushing of blood in their ears subsided
they heard clapping, nearby. In the doorway Daria and Will stood
cheering. Then the fiancé grabbed Daria around the waist, making
her squeal.