Part 28 (1/2)

On a crowded 777 heading west into the sunset, I thought about my sister's soon-to-be-born baby. Di would need me, I reasoned. Maybe the two of us would end up like Jane and Ca.s.sandra, relying on each other when the hope of finding true love had gone.

I smiled thinking of this. Funny how life could change. Di was the one person I'd never imagined as a close friend and, yet, that was precisely what I now considered her to be. For sanity's sake, though, it would be best if we never shared a house again.

My American Airlines flight required a quick plane change at Boston's Logan Airport and, since we were an hour late departing London, ”quick” meant ”immediately.”

”Attention pa.s.sengers with connecting flights to Chicago, we are beginning to board Flight 509,” I heard the gate attendant say over the loudspeaker as I wobbled my way down the plane ramp with my stuffed backpack, slogged into the airport proper and cleared the Customs line. ”Flight 509 now boarding at Terminal B, Gate 17.”

”Oh, d.a.m.n.” I was in Terminal E. ”How do I get to Terminal B?” I asked the first person I could find wearing an airline uniform.

That person turned out to be a handsome, forty-something pilot (married, or so implied by his gold band) who pointed me in the direction of the shuttle bus, and off I raced. I made it to the gate just as a different attendant was saying, ”Last call for Flight 509...”

But it wasn't until I was struggling up this new plane ramp and away from the airport proper, that I realized where I'd been. In Boston.

Sam's city.

And though I hadn't seen him there, hadn't seen anyone who looked remotely like him even, this was where he was. Somewhere nearby. As always, almost within reach, but not quite.

I grinned to myself, for no other reason than that I knew of his continued existence. He wasn't dead, like Jane's or Ca.s.sandra's young admirers had been when the sisters were my age. No. Sam lived and breathed and was a part of my history. A history that, despite our fumbles, we'd gotten a fair amount of closure on.

And, so, I could claim the happier memories as my own. The odd camaraderie he and I shared in high school. The one amazing night we'd spent together. A night that had greatly influenced my view of love and relations.h.i.+ps ever since. I could embrace our infrequent path-crossings in the years that followed. Sure, the recollections still held their fair share of pain, but at least I wasn't left hanging, or wondering for eternity what might've happened between us if we'd had the chance. Right?

Because, hey, if I wanted to, I could still reach him. I could do a Yahoo People Search when I got home and look up Sam's e-mail or his home phone number or his street address in Boston. I would've heard through our suburban gossipy grapevine if he'd moved, so he must still be somewhere in this city.

If my life were a romantic comedy, I could run right back down this ramp and look him up here and now. Take a chance he'd want to see me again. No, better yet, believe he'd fallen in love with me. Or, exponentially better, that he'd always been in love with me!

I'd call him from an airport pay phone, still breathless from my sprint past all those other gates. In violation of the laws of physics, he'd materialize almost instantly, and the two of us would pounce on each other. We'd wrinkle our previously pristine clothes and lock lips with a voraciousness only B movie stars could replicate. The flight attendants would all cheer.

Yeah.

I collapsed into my seat, 15F, and giggled at this fantastical, whimsical vision, complete with Heart's Greatest Hits as the musical score.

As if something like that could ever happen-even if I wanted it to. Which I didn't. Because I was too realistic.

Nevertheless, I daydreamed variations of this fantasy for two straight hours, amusing myself with dialogue worthy of a Mexican soap opera. Until somewhere, just above O'Hare's sacred airs.p.a.ce, Jane reentered my mind with a h.e.l.lo, Ellie. Enough of this nonsense, please.

Ah. Back to my real life.

Any lingering visions of Di and me forming a Jane-and-Ca.s.sandralike, no-men-allowed-to-come-between-us-for-the-rest-of-our-naturallives sisterly bond were dashed the moment I spoke to Di in person.

”Alex and I are back together again,” she informed me, rubbing her belly and looking large enough to be carrying twin baby Orcas. Not that I told her that.

”Really? Wow,” I said, praying this was the right move for her. ”And you're happy about this?”

She nodded. Happiness radiated off every part of her.

”How does he feel about the baby?”

”He, um...wants to a.s.sist me during the birth.”

”Oh,” I said, trying to mask my disappointment by sounding extra upbeat and supportive.

”I know you said you'd help me, Ellie, with the Lamaze stuff and everything. But this way you don't have to go to those cla.s.ses and s.h.i.+t.” She grimaced. ”Alex took me to an information session at the hospital this week, to see what it was like and all. Man. Those leaders really try to scare the c.r.a.p out of you.”

”Yeah?”

”Yeah.” She looked worried. ”I'm not so sure I wanna do it after all.”

”The Lamaze method?”

”The birth,” Di said.

I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. ”You'll get through it just fine. Especially with Alex by your side.” I paused. ”You must still really, really love him.”

She gave me a long look. ”I do. And, El, he loves me, too. Neither of us ever stopped.”

So, it wasn't much of a surprise when, four weeks later, my sister gave birth to a nine-pound, two-ounce baby boy she named Clifton Barnett Evans (since Di had never changed back her last name after the divorce). And, just after Clifton's APGAR scores p.r.o.nounced him to be in excellent health, Alex and Di got reengaged (which made that whole last-name thing really convenient). Wedding date to be announced soon.

And it was.

Three months after that, with the fresh chill of December blowing in the door, I entered Di's new condo to find Clifton flas.h.i.+ng his first smile and his proud mother announcing that she and Alex would get remarried early the following November.

”I wanna do it right this time,” Di said, bouncing my chubby, adorable nephew in her arms twice before holding him out to me. She knew I needed to have my baby fix when I came over.

I grabbed the little guy from her and buried my face in the softness of his rounded belly before cradling him tight and rocking him to my imaginary soundtrack of '80s tunes. ”You'll have a lovely wedding,” I a.s.sured her. ”You've put Mom on the case. Who could be more thorough?”

”I'm not worried about those kinds of details,” Di said. ”I meant that I want to make sure I do the important things right. Like remembering to keep my vows with Alex-in sickness and in health and all that stuff. Like not drinking tequila from my shoe at the reception-that was stupid. And like-” She shot me a look. ”Having my sister be my maid of honor.”

A lump formed out of nothing in my throat. I couldn't get a response out.

”Will you?” she asked me, looking as though she were holding her breath.

Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, and I was having a devil of a time speaking. I clamped my mouth shut and nodded.

Di's eyes looked suspiciously bright, too. She nodded back at me and then leaned in to give my cheek a quick kiss. ”You're such a geek,” she said, but the affection in her voice gave her away.

”I love you too, sis,” I said.

”Jingle Bell Rock” flooded the airwaves all that week. I remember because that was the song playing on the radio the evening I opened Terrie's Christmas card.