The Story of Us

I combed my fingers through my damp hair. “Still thinking about my parents. I try not to let them bother me. But in their eyes,” I confessed, “I’m a failure already.”

“Listen to you, Grace,” Trudy said, putting her shades on and leaning back on the heels of her hands. “Here it is, 1985, and you’re still expected to be the little woman. It’s like you’re in a time warp or something.”

“That’s my parents. They mean well, I suppose.”

“I wish you had a racy big sister to get in trouble so you could fly under the radar,” Trudy said. “Having Paulette pave the way always helped me enormously.”

Last I heard, Paulette had turned vegetarian and was living in Austin with two guys, both of whom were honky-tonk musicians. She embodied my parents’ great fear that if I didn’t find an appropriate man, I would wind up in some terrible situation like that.

I tried not to think about the disappointment in their eyes and the displeasure in their voices when I told them that not only did I not wish to marry Travis Hunt, but I also didn’t intend to move back to my sleepy little hometown after graduation. And finally, when I made it clear to them that the likelihood of me marrying a man they approved of was slim to none.

Yet I did want things. I wanted a husband and family, I wanted a life filled with passion and purpose. Unfortunately for me, I had no idea how to go about finding it. I just knew it wasn’t waiting for me like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, right here in Edenville.

Braving the chill water, Trudy and RaeLynn went swimming to wash off the heat of the day. I wandered back to the car to get the novel I was reading, Lucky by Jackie Collins. I sank into the story, wanting to be Lucky Santangelo, prowling the glittering casinos of Vegas and having all sorts of imaginative sexual adventures. Heavens, who wouldn’t want that?

Far in the distance, up on the county road, the rumble of a powerful motor intruded into the quiet lapping of the lake upon the shore.

I remember glancing up in the direction of the road, seeing the dark silhouette of a motorcycle rider, backlit by the late afternoon sun. The girls were still paddling in the water and chatting, but I stayed on the shore, caught by something I couldn’t quite define.

Did I know even then, with that first glance? It seems impossible, given that we hadn’t seen each other’s faces or exchanged a single word.

But there was this feeling, deep in my gut. It was a twist of certainty and I can’t say it was pleasurable, but it was very intense. At any rate, I must have sensed something. Because at that moment, my thoughts rang crystal clear.

He’s here. At last.

Chapter Three

I felt the rumble of the Harley’s engine deep in my gut, and with the sunlit dust rising in a cloud, the rider looked like something out of a dream. Down at the lakeshore, my girlfriends didn’t notice him the way I did. I think that might have been because at that point, their lives were set. RaeLynn was going to marry Dallas Sitwell, and Trudy was headed off for a summer of travel before law school. I was free, still searching for what my life was to become, and for that reason, I was open to anything.

Especially if it was a black-clad stranger on a Harley, driving straight toward me.

I had always been a rational, no-nonsense person. Raised the way I was, I learned early on to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground and my head out of the clouds. Still, at that moment, as the stranger crested the hill leading down to the lake, I felt a strange shifting inside me, a tightening in the pit of my stomach.

The girls were still oblivious, splashing water at each other and laughing. I walked toward the road, completely intrigued by the approaching rider. The dusty Harley shuddered like a live thing as he brought it to a stop a few yards away from me. Stirring up a swirl of caliche dust from the road, he planted his feet, in knee-high boots, on the ground. Despite the heat of the day, I felt a chill pass over me like a breeze.

Do men remember what they were wearing on certain occasions the way women do? I doubt it. Women always do, though. I can recall, with the clarity of a photograph, what I had on for any significant occasion of my life. I wish I could say I had on something like Lucky Santangelo might wear, a leopard print bikini and gold mules maybe. However, on this particular day, I was wearing faded cutoffs and a blue bikini top, flip-flops and a shiny coating of sunscreen. No makeup other than toenail polish, and my hair in a ponytail, which made me cringe. This was supposed to be an all-girl weekend and we had dressed accordingly.

The stranger, on the other hand, looked spectacular in black jeans and those tall boots. A shiny helmet and aviator shades gave him an air of mystery. I didn’t recognize the ganglike insignia and the logo “VAQ 465” on his black T-shirt, but the cryptic symbols only added to the enigma.

“Howdy, ma’am,” he said, polite as you please.

I asked, “Are you lost?” A mundane question on the surface, but given everything that happened after, it was strangely prophetic.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in a voice as smooth as melted butter, “I believe I just might be.”

Then he took off his helmet and shades, and I saw his face for the first time. A light-brown beard stubble beautifully accentuated the lines of his jaw, chin and cheekbones, and even though I couldn’t tell from a distance, I somehow knew his eyes would be blue. Just as I was getting nervous—what if he’s a gang member, an outlaw? What if my mother’s right after all?—a wonderful smile unfurled, a funny half grin that caught at my heart.

“Um, can I help you? Where are you headed?” I asked.

“I’m looking for someone…” he said with an unexpected awkwardness that was curiously endearing. “But I’ve forgotten who. My God, I can’t even think straight. You are just about the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”

For a few seconds, it didn’t register that he was actually flirting with me. I actually whipped a glance behind to see if he was talking to someone else, but no, he was looking directly at me. Grace McAllen, Grace the invisible, Grace the overlooked. I never thought of myself as pretty, you see. Nice-looking, that was me. Nice-looking Grace, who had never done anything noteworthy in her entire life.

When I finally figured out that he was offering me a compliment, I blushed, of course. And I hate blushing. It makes some girls look becoming, but on me, it’s just a heated rush of color staining my face like a sunburn.

I couldn’t bring myself to thank him. “What can I do for you?”

What can I do for you? Lordy, Grace, I scolded myself, could you maybe be a little more obvious?

Yet somehow the stranger made it all right, letting that half smile stretch into a grin. With unhurried movements, he removed his leather gloves, took out a surprisingly white cloth handkerchief and slowly, deliberately, without taking his eyes off me, wiped his hands.

Then he stuck out one hand toward me. “My name’s Steve Bennett.”

Like Elizabeth Bennet in my favorite novel. It must be a sign, it had to be. I put aside my practical nature and suddenly believed everything was a sign—the way two herons rose from the water and arrowed toward the sun, the nodding branch of a redbud tree arching over the road, the backfire blast of a passing truck. It was like the universe was telling me to pay attention, this was an important moment.

Life does that, I’ve come to believe. Life hands us moments, brings us to turning points, and it’s up to us to make what we will of the situation. Right then and there, I could have turned away, murmured that I needed to get back to my friends. Or, I thought, I could stay right there and see where the moment took me.

Chapter Four

I stayed. Nothing could have turned me from him at that point.

I never did remember to thank him for the compliment. I was simply too flustered. It was all I could do to introduce myself.

“Grace McAllen,” I said, and put my hand in his.

His touch was electric, even though it was only a handshake. The very air around me felt electric, too, humming with possibility. I took my hand away just so I could think straight.

“I’m looking for a town called Edenville,” he said. “Would you happen to know where that is?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Then I’m not so lost after all.” He was definitely Texan, with that accent, although the tags on his bike were from Florida.

“Not really.”

“I’m on my way to visit a fellow named Bud Plawski. You happen to know him?”

Know him? As it happened, I had grown up on the same street as Seymour “Buddy” Plawski, and deemed him the most annoying boy in Hayes County. A year older than me, he was one of those skinny, restless kids who was always getting into trouble in school because he couldn’t sit still. Yet he was fiercely smart and zoomed through the toughest math and science classes Edenville High School had to offer. He once got in trouble for climbing the water tower, not to spray paint “Seniors 1980” like everyone else, but to shoot a homemade rocket at the sky.

We were all shocked when the time came to go to college, and Buddy was offered an appointment to the United States Naval Academy. It was rare in Edenville for a boy to aim himself so high, and we all looked at Buddy through new eyes. On those rare occasions when he did come home for a visit, we didn’t just look, we gawked. He’d bulked up like a bodybuilder, razored his hair in the style of a seasoned recruit. The physical changes were one thing, but it was the change in his demeanor that I always found so dramatic. Although he used to be an awkward boy, he now had confidence, even a swagger, and an air about him that set him apart from ordinary mortals, like a priest, maybe, or an astronaut.

“Yes,” I said. “I know him. He lives on my street, as a matter of fact. I mean, he doesn’t anymore and actually, I don’t live there anymore, but…” I paused and admonished myself to quit babbling. “Anyway, our parents live on Alamo Drive, and Buddy’s at home. According to his mother, he’s recovering from an injury. Maybe you know he’s in the U.S. Navy? He was hurt in a flight training accident.”

Steve Bennett didn’t seem to mind the babbling. In fact, he seemed perfectly happy just standing there, checking me out, and I’m not ashamed to say I liked it.

I became aware that in the background, my sorority sisters were whispering and giggling, having finally noticed the stranger.

I didn’t ask him how he knew Buddy, where he’d come from or how long he was staying. None of that mattered to me, and I suppose a part of me was afraid to push. It was like not wanting to awaken from a magical dream for fear of losing it.