Do-Overs (26 page)

-68-

Violins

I always knew that Al was a special person, but it wasn’t until the fear of losing him was over, that in sank in how many people had been pulling for him.

A constant prayer vigil had been going on back on campus while he was still unconscious. Once news spread that he was going to be okay the hospital waiting room became a revolving door of concerned students, faculty and staff just stopping by to give their well wishes. The nurses had their hands full keeping a full-blown rave from taking place in the waiting room there was such a festive air of gratitude going about. Butch made sure to keep Al supplied with coffee and La-ah smuggled in some tacos. President ?? was good to his word and the paparazzi was kept out so that Alistair could worry about his son and not the press. Of course Taylor of the long legs made a few visits and it was apparent that Alistair thought of her as just a good friend of Al’s. Men are pretty oblivious at times, but I could see she wasn’t too happy about the big rock that had taken up residence on my left ring finger.

Enjoying a break from the constant stream of visitors, Al and I were alone, when there was a gentle knock on the door. 

“Is it okay if we stop in?” asked Coach Biggs. I almost didn’t recognize him in a suit rather than his regular sweatshirt and those double knit pants that only coaches wear. Next to him stood his wife looking a amazing in a cocktail dress.

“We don’t want to bother you,” she said. “But we were in the city anyway to see a show and wanted to say how happy we are that you’re better.”

“Yeah, just wanted to let you know that we’ve been praying for you,” Coach added.

Once again Al was touched that so many people cared and said as much, but the actor in him was also curious when he heard the word show. “What show are you seeing?”

“Mary Poppins,” Mrs. Biggs replied the excitement coming through her voice. “Someone anonymously gave us tickets. People can be so nice. Wish I knew who it was so I could thank them. It has always been my favorite story and I can’t wait to see it as a live play.”

It made me feel good to know that the tickets Al hadn’t wanted for Valentine’s were going to a good use. That was until Al responded, “I used to hate that movie, that was until I saw the play in London. It was amazing. One of my favorite musicals ever. I’d love to play Bert the Chimney Sweep someday. You all will love it.”

And once again I was reminded that when I was so afraid of my gift being less than perfect, I’d missed out on giving Al the perfect gift.

Al and I had had substantial amounts of time to talk during his invalid status. I had contemplated telling him the truth about the magic eraser, but decided his poor head had had enough trauma with the wreck without finding out his fiancée was mental. On the final evening of his hospital stay I did get up the courage to confess my misunderstanding of the main event.

“I forgot to ask, but I guess you did. Did you survive your stomach virus?” Al asked out of the blue.

I gave him a confused look at first. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Then remembered. That was the excuse Olivia had given for my canceling our date.

“I wasn’t sick.”

He gave me a searching look. “I know. I knew then. So why?”

“I was an idiot.”

“No you’re not,” he chuckled. “No secrets. Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt your feelings? You have to tell me. I never want to hurt you.”

So I began my confession. “I thought you were arranging the evening to have . . . well, you know. . . to do it,” I whispered at the end.

“It?” he whispered back like it was a major conspiracy.

“You know exactly what I mean. I was afraid. I wasn’t ready. But I didn’t want you to—well.” There I stopped. When I said it out loud it seemed so preposterous. Would a guy who loved me so overwhelmingly as he obviously did really dump me because I wasn’t ready? Why had I been such a fool?

“Lottie,” he asked, “have I ever told you that I love you?”

I nodded my head.

“Then don’t you understand that I would never coerce you into doing something you weren’t ready for?”

I shook my head no.

He looked at me with so much love, I wondered how I could ever have been worried.

“I have a confession to make,” he began. “Of course I want to be with you. You’re gorgeous and sexy and alluring and hot. Sometimes I have to watch myself that I don’t drool all down my shirt when you come into the room,” he gave a self-conscious laugh. “But I’ve grown up watching people in shallow relationships jump from bed to bed. I’ve seen how hurt they are. I don’t ever want to be hurt like that, and I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you. Call me old fashioned, or just call me weird. But if it’s okay with you, if you want to wait, I’ll wait with you.”

With a look down and then back up, Al looked intently into my eyes and stated matter-of-factly, “And by the way we will never do
it.
”

I gave him a startled look. Had there been damage in the downstairs department from the accident that I didn’t know about. Or was he gay after all?

“No,” he said with the most mischievous smile I’d ever seen him make, “We will make beautiful, wonderful, earth shaking, passionate love with violins playing and our hearts soaring that could never be label with such an insignificant word as
it
. But only when we’ve both decided we’re ready.”

-69-

Once Is Definitely Enough

It was another family event at the Lambert house. Time to celebrate my engagement to Al Dansby. So many things had changed over the year. And some hadn’t. All the usual relatives had arrived and happily our numbers had increased. Stina had become a reoccurring fixture in Jason’s life and my mother was very hopeful that she would soon become permanent.

After a week and a half in the hospital, there had been some discussion as to whether to send Al home to California with his father or let him return to his condo—which was quickly vetoed as he wasn’t even able to shower on his own. My mother quickly took over and my parents had brought Al home and moved him into the downstairs guest room. My mother was totally in her element—mothering.

I had my souvenir from skiing cast removed, but poor Al still had one on his arm and one on his leg. At least, he finally had a walking cast and was a little more mobile.

“So is life better when you can do it over?” asked Aunt Charlotte materializing next to me as I was closing the refrigerator door. I jumped and almost spilled the Diet Dr. Pepper I was getting out of the fridge. Where she came from, I had no idea. Didn’t even know she had arrived.

“Yes, no and then no,” I answered. She gave me a questioning look, so I continued. “At first it seemed an answered prayer. So wonderful to get out of awkward situations and fix problems. But the more I redid the more I realized that I was missing out on not just the bad but the good consequences of my mistakes.”

Aunt Charlotte gave a knowing look. “Instead of resolving your problems you just kept redoing them.”

I nodded. “I almost lost the one person I love the most from being afraid of difficult situations. From running from confrontations. That little eraser came close to ruining my life. But it also made me see that most of the things I thought were horrible were just the silly things that happen to everyone. Okay, maybe they do happen to me a little more than others, but spilling your food in the cafeteria isn’t a catastrophic, life changing experience. Not spilling it can be.”

Aunt Charlotte nodded her head in agreement as if she actually understood what I was talking about. “Are you ready to give it back?”

It wasn’t until she asked that I remembered I didn’t have it anymore. I had given it to Olivia. “I got rid of it. I don’t know where it is now. I wanted it out of my life as fast as possible.”

A look of worry passed across Aunt Charlotte’s face, then she shrugged. “I hope it didn’t fall into unwise hands.” Before she could finish my mother distracted her.

“Aunt Charlotte, I didn’t see you come in,” my mother said and hugged her. “Did you meet Lottie’s Al? Come look at the choices we’ve begun collecting for the wedding. It’s going to be fabulous.”

“Mom, the wedding date hasn’t even been set. We have plenty of time,” I said looking across the kitchen table at numerous
Brides
magazines and fabric swatches. Even as I was giving my mother a hard time, I was more excited about planning a wedding than she.

“Lottie, this isn’t just any wedding. It’s your wedding. My precious baby girl’s wedding. I want it to be perfect.” My mother was beginning to tear up and I heard my dad sniffle.

“And the bridesmaids have to look smashing,” bubble Stina.

“You always do,” Jason quietly commented and then I swear he blushed. Looked like my mom would be getting to plan more than one wedding.

“Let your mother have her fun,” my dad added. “You only get married once,” he said giving Al and me a look that reaffirmed that it had better be permanent.

Al smiled his magical smile and kissed my hand right above my engagement ring. “Once is all I need. Then you’ll be Charlotte Lottie Elizabeth Lambert-Dansby forever.”

“No do-overs on that,” was all I said, with none of them, except for me and not so crazy Aunt Charlotte, realizing how significant those words had been.

Other Books by Christine Jarmola

Murder Goes to Church

Kill The Cat: An Anthology of Award Winning Feline Fiction

A Weekend With Effie: A Collaborative Novel  by Marilyn Boone, Heather Davis, Christine Jarmola and Jennifer McMurrain

Contributor to:

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Angels Among Us

Seasons Remembered: A WordWeavers Anthology

Christine Jarmola

Take a small-town Oklahoma girl, mix in two academic degrees, summer mission work in Spain, marrying a European, living in Switzerland, time spent in Kentucky and Georgia, books written, plays directed, students taught and two children birthed and that will only tell you a small portion of the adventures Christine Jarmola has experienced so far in life. As the past president of the Oklahoma Writers Federation Christine takes her writing and the writing profession seriously, but not too seriously that you won’t find yourself snort-laughing often when reading her work. She can usually be found either working on her next book or backstage at Oklahoma Wesleyan University.   And she can always be heard screaming at her ornery cat, Toulouse, who is always remodeling her house into his version of shabby chic with his ten front claws. Keep up with Christine and some times Toulouse’s current adventures at
www.cdjarmola.com
.