Julian's Pursuit (12 page)

“How are you feeling, E?” I remarked casually as we started down a well-worn path off the hospital grounds. We rounded a corner that curved into a lush garden where we found ourselves surrounded by hibiscus in bloom, hanging orchids, and beds of bougainvillea. The air was heavy with humidity and the heady scent of jasmine.

A nice change, I thought, after being cooped up in the car for the two-hour drive to St. Margaret’s Children’s Hospital, followed by the hour-long wait in the stuffy ward before Evan’s lengthy checkup.

“I’m okay,” Evan said. “Just tired.”

By now the sun was sinking behind the clouds and our shadows were lengthening.

I took a moment to appreciate the strawberry sorbet sunset.

Relief came with the dusk, a sense of everything being all right, at least for the next six months until Evan’s next cardiology checkup.

His sats (oxygen saturation levels) were great, his heart sounded good, and there were no significant changes to his last echo. I almost whooped with joy when Dr. Bonner cleared him for the next six months.

“You were so brave today,” I told Evan.

He blinked at me, his expression cautiously hopeful. “Do I get a prize for being brave?”

I laughed. “Whatever you want, buddy.”

When we neared a park bench, Evan ignored it in favor of sitting on the lawn. He flopped onto his back on a thick patch of grass with his arms and legs flung apart, like he was about to make snow angels.

I smiled, thinking back to when he went through a phase of ripping the grass out by its roots and shoving it into his mouth.

When I told Evan about this phase, he pulled a face. “Ew! Gross! You mean I was a Grass Monster?”

“Yep.” I joined him on the grass. “Before you became my little Cheese Monster, you were my little Grass Monster,” I said in a teasing voice.

A feeling of total happiness bubbled up inside me and I could tell from Evan’s expression he was feeling it, too. “Did you do anything gross when you were a kid?” he asked.

“Hmm. I don’t think it was gross, but my mom seemed to think so.” I paused. “I used to drink out of the garden hose.”

“That’s not gross at all, Mom.”

“I know, right? You tell your grandma that when we get home, okay?”

“I will.” He nodded dutifully. After a pause, he asked, “Did you eat grass, too?”

“No, but when I was a kid, I used to whistle with blades of grass between my thumbs.”

Evan’s eyes widened like saucers. “Show me.”

And I did. For the next several minutes, we entertained ourselves by blowing over blades of grass stretched between our thumbs, making high-pitched squealing noises and squawking sounds. I showed Evan how to move the tips of his thumbs back and forth, making the grass pull more or less taut, and thus changing the pitch.

“We should probably stop,” I said after fifteen minutes or so. “If we do this long enough, we’ll attract predators.”

Worry creased his brows. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. It can lure mountain lions and coyotes close to us.” I didn’t know that for a fact, but it was something my mom used to say when she’d had enough of my ‘grass whistling.’

“Mom,” Evan said suddenly. “You said I get a prize for being brave.”

“Uh-huh.” I gave a crisp nod. “You sure do.”

“Can I have two things?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me a mythology. The one about Achilles.”

“But you’ve already heard that one before.”

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

“All right,” I said, watching delight play across his face as he rested his head on my lap. Smoothing his hair from his brows, I smiled at him and began. “Achilles was the strongest and most fearless warrior in the army of Agamemnon, the best fighter of the Greeks besieging Troy. When Achilles was a little boy, his mother, Thetis, who was a sea nymph, dipped him into the River Styx. This made Achilles invulnerable everywhere but the heel by which she held him. For years, Achilles was a great hero in the Trojan War. But in the end, Paris, the son of the Trojan king, killed Achilles by shooting an arrow through his only weak spot—his heel. And to this day, the tendon that connects the calf muscles to the heel bone on your foot is called the Achilles tendon, and a small but dangerous weakness is known as an Achilles’ heel.”

Evan was quiet for some time. Then he said softly, “Mom, I don’t want to be your Achilles’ heel. I don’t want to be your weak spot.”

“You’re not, honey. Why would you say such a thing?”

When I looked at him, he averted his gaze and examined his hands as if he were afraid to tell me. “I had to use the bathroom one night, and I heard Grammy say that I’m your Achilles’ heel.”

The anguish and conflict in his eyes pierced me. “Your grandma was sleepy, and when she’s tired, she says silly things.” I wet my throat and softened my tone. “Things she doesn’t mean.”

But Evan wasn’t quite convinced. “Is it because of me that you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“No. I… I just—”

“I’d like you to have a boyfriend, Mom.”

I fell silent for a moment. “Why?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Why is Daddy not here? Why did he leave us?”

His question made me pause, uncertain of how to answer. “I’m not sure, bud.” I worried my lower lip between my teeth. “Maybe one day when you get a chance to see him, you can ask him that question yourself.”

I didn’t want to lie to Evan. But I couldn’t tell him the truth, either.

I used to think that I should have all the answers to his questions.

But now I realized it was just as powerful letting him know that I didn’t know.

Because in my heart, I really didn’t know the reason Evan’s dad wanted no contact with him whatsoever.

And I tried my best to avoid saying anything negative about him.

That’s not to say I didn’t think it, but Evan didn’t pick his parents. He didn’t ask to be in this situation, and it wouldn’t be fair to influence his thoughts about his dad.

In time, I hoped Evan would learn who his dad was without me having to say anything about him. In a way, his dad’s actions spoke more loudly than I ever could.

“Mom,” Evan said suddenly. “Is my dad a toad snot like your dad?”

I choked on a laugh. “Who told you my dad is a toad snot?”

“Grammy.”

I bit back a smile. “Of course your grandma would say that. Well…” I paused a moment to collect my thoughts. “With my dad, he valued different things in life.”

I didn’t tell Evan what those things were. They certainly weren’t loyalty and honesty. Eventually, though, he’d figure it out.

Someday, when he was older and capable of asking more complex questions, he’d be capable of accepting more complex answers.

But for now, that’s all I gave Evan and it seemed to be enough for him.

A sudden shriek pealed into laughter, the sound carried sharply on the wind.

Both Evan and I glanced toward the source of the laughter and saw a little girl with what looked to be her parents. Her mom and dad were each holding one of her arms and doing the ‘1-2-3-
swing
!’ game, and she was shrieking with laughter every time they swung her into the air.

As a single mom, that was something I didn’t ever get to do with Evan, and it just melted my heart.

In the next moment, Evan surprised me by saying, “Mom, I want you to have a boyfriend so I can have a new and better dad. Hank’s mommy got a boyfriend last year, and now Hank’s got a new dad.”

I drew in a deep breath. “It’s not that simple.”

“What about that guy at your work? I heard Grammy mention some guy named Julius.”

“Julian?” I said vaguely. “Yeah, he’s some guy I know from work.”

“Do you like him?”

“Hmm.” I paused and considered this a moment, when my thoughts were interrupted by a yellow butterfly flitting about the shrubs. It met up with another and they became a team, flying in tandem. “He… um… he gives me butterflies in my stomach.”

Evan tilted his head, his eyes narrowed in thought. “So does that mean you like him?”

“I think so…” My voice trailed off.

“Then ask him to be your boyfriend.”

My heart strangely quieted and I smiled a little sadly to myself. “Like I said, it’s not that simple. I… um… I was a little mean to him today.”

“Just a little?”

“Well…” I wrinkled my nose at that. “Maybe more than a little.”

He blinked at me in confusion. “Why?”

Why indeed? The more I’d thought about it, the more I think I used my anger as a defense mechanism to avoid dealing with my real feelings.

And knowing how he felt about me, how it might affect him, it was wrong of me. Cruel, even. I’d flung an extreme accusation at him, not because it was true, but because I was afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if I got too close.

Don’t let that mask you’re wearing become your face
, he’d said.

A tight knot formed in my chest. I’d always hidden my fears from others with sharp talk and bold gestures, and it unnerved me that Julian knew me so well.

But to Evan, I simply shrugged. “I don’t know, E. Maybe I was trying to cover up the fact that I like him,” I said, trying hard not to laugh because it just sounded so middle school.

“Well…” Evan looked at me long and hard. “Be nice to him, then. Don’t be a bully, Mom.”

“All right.” I smiled. “I’ll try to be nice.” To change the subject, I said, “Now what was that other thing you wanted for being such a trooper today?”

“Froyo! Yolo!” Evan let out a loud whoop.

I took his hand and we pushed to our feet. “Froyo it is!” I exclaimed.

Our linked hands swung between us as we strolled down the graveled path. “Mom,” Evan said after a time.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think a butterfly feels humans in its stomach when it likes another butterfly?”

“Good question,” I said, my voice trailing off on a laugh. “But I don’t think humans would feel nice in a butterfly’s stomach.”

He considered my words for a moment. Then his adorable face broke gently into a grin. “No, they wouldn’t!”

The next day, I felt even worse about how I’d treated Julian. Evan was right… I
was
a bully. Anxiously, I kept watching the elevator when it pinged open, on the alert every time someone stepped out. Finally, at nine thirty, Julian showed up.

I watched him, hoping he would glance my way, but he refused to even look in my direction as he stalked over to his desk.

My stomach dipped a little, and I realized a part of me was hoping all was forgiven.

Yesterday, he’d seemed remorseful. He’d even sent me an email, apologizing for everything. But today, he just looked angry.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and I wondered if he’d slept at all.

Coffee. That’s what he needed to wake himself up. Every morning, like clockwork, he’d walk over to the break room to get himself a cup of coffee. And the break room so happened to be near my office, and en route, he’d always made a point to stop by my office to say hi or wish me a good morning.

When things were good, he’d visit for a while and simply chat.

I didn’t expect him to do any of that today. Not after what happened yesterday.

But I thought he’d at least acknowledge my existence.

For the next twenty minutes, he appeared to be busy, checking his calls and emails.

With an effort, I tried to focus on work myself, but I could hardly concentrate.

I kept my face turned to my computer screen, but watched him from the corner of my eye, my anticipation showing each time he made any drastic movements.

When he finally stood, my whole body stilled and my heart beat a little faster.

Please, please, give me a chance to apologize for my behavior yesterday.

Julian cut across the floor, barely slowing his stride as he walked past my office on his way to the break room.

My heart sank. Minutes later, on his return, I pushed to my feet as he walked past my office.

“Julian,” I called after him.

His stride hitched. He stopped and then turned around, his face impassive.

The weight of his gaze on me was making it hard to think. And my guilt was making me nervous around him. “I… uh,” I stammered, feeling like I had a frog in my throat. “I presume—”

“I
presume
nothing,” he said tersely.

I swallowed hard. His mouth drew into a tight, firm line and his stormy green eyes were more than unsettling. “If you’d let me finish.” I paused to gain control of my faltering voice. “I was going to say that I presume you’re still mad at me.”

His mouth parted as if he planned to respond. But instead, he brought his cup to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine as he sipped.

The silence that followed was so thick you could hack it with a knife.

At last, he spoke. “I just think we understand each other now. Perfectly.”

I was about to tell him I was sorry, but his steely eyes cut right through me, and the apology died on my lips. “Perfectly.” I settled back down into my chair, feeling a little confused and more than a little defeated.

Toward the end of the day, almost everyone at the office was talking about going down to the Waterfront Bar & Grill to celebrate Kip’s birthday.

I happened to glance up when I heard Julian outside my office. “Hey,” he said, his face lighting with humor and tremendous charm.

Just seeing him smile did wonders for my spirit.

I opened my mouth to say something nice, to return the friendly gesture, but I quickly realized the smile on his face wasn’t meant for me.

In fact, Julian wasn’t even looking at me.

His eyes were locked on Riley Jones.

She emerged from the break room, carrying a large white box in her hands.

“Hey, you!” Riley said flirtatiously, staring at Julian as if he were a unicorn shooting rainbows out of every orifice.

My mouth clamped shut on instinct, and I managed to tear my eyes away from them after the twinge in my stomach had passed.

But I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

Why oh why can’t they go someplace else?
I thought grumpily.