My Butterfly (24 page)

“I, uh, looked at Lou, and I’m guessin’ ya didn’t hit a deer,” he said, sheepishly. “And I, uh, checked your refrigerator. I didn’t leave your milk out again.”

I angled my face slightly toward his again.

“And your dad called, so I answered it, and he just wanted me to remind you that you’re supposed to help him with that barbeque tomorrow at the store,” he said. “So, I figured, it didn’t have anything to do with your family.”

There was silence for a moment as I studied him with a puzzled look plastered across my face.

“You did all that in the little time that I was out here?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

I chuckled to myself and returned my eyes to the lake.

“It’s not any of those things,” I said.

There was a quiet pause.

“Then what is it?” he asked, in a way that made me think he believed
there couldn’t possibly be anything else that was “wrong” with me.

I took a deep breath and then tossed it back out into the soft breeze.

“It’s Julia,” I said and then sighed.

He sat up in his chair.

“What about her? You know she’s back in town, right?” he asked.

I slowly bobbed my head.

“I know,” I said. “I know.”

He was quiet for a second again.

“Oh,” he said, finally.

His word was short and sad.

I glanced back at him. And I couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh what?” I asked.

He shot me an impatient look.

“Well, do you or do you not still have a thing for her?” he asked, staring back at me with big eyes.

I held my own stare on him for several seconds before I picked up a flat rock, swung my arm back and then skipped the rock onto the water. It bounced several times on the lake’s surface before it eventually dived into the lake and disappeared.

“Well, why don’t you just go tell her you still like her?” he asked.

I looked him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you go tell Jessica that you like her?” I asked.

His face turned sour, and he shifted his weight in his chair.

“It’s not easy for me like it is for you,” he said.

I furrowed my eyebrows at him. I shouldn’t have known what he had meant by that, but because I knew Jeff, sadly I did. Everything was harder in Jeff’s world, apparently.

I found another rock and sent it flying onto the surface of the lake.

“Besides, the last thing I knew, she was still with that doctor,” I said.

“Wait, he’s a doctor?” he asked.

“He might as well be,” I said.

“So what?” Jeff asked. “You had her first.”

I laughed.

“Buddy, I wish it worked that way,” I said. “Plus, if she wants one of those types, maybe she should have it. The heart wants what the heart wants, right?”

I glanced back at Jeff. He was shaking his head, and it seemed as though he was frowning.

“Well, maybe she’ll get bored of him,” he said.

I laughed again.

“Jeff, girls don’t just wake up one day and say, ‘You know what? I’m tired of all these nice things and smart people. I want to go live in a one-horse town with a guy who leaves her with guys like you every time his belt starts singin’.’”

I eyed Jeff. He only shrugged his shoulders, so I kept going.

“‘And you know what? I’ve suddenly discovered that I love the smell of ashes. Instead of nice cologne, I want a guy who comes home every night smellin’ like ashes,’” I said.

Jeff was making his you-got-a-point face by the time I had finished.

I sighed and skipped another rock across the lake.

“But she’s not just any girl, Will,” Jeff said, sheepishly.

I turned in my chair and looked back at him, and suddenly, I felt a smile fighting its way to my face.

“You know, you’re not always very good at giving advice,” I admitted to him, patting his knee. “But every once in a while, you are.”

He gave me a proud, goofy smile, and I sat back in my chair and locked my gaze onto the water.

“You’re right, Jeff,” I said, smiling. “She’s not just any girl.”

Promise

“W
ill.”

I turned in my chair and caught a thin blonde standing a lawn away from me on my porch. She looked like an angel, and instantly, a smile crept to my lips as I thought about Jeff’s words from a week ago:
She’s not just any girl
.

“Hey,” I said in a surprised voice as I set my fishing pole onto the ground as quickly as I could get it there.

My heart had sped up by a couple of beats per minute, but I managed to make my way over to her in record time.

“Your aunt said you would be here this weekend,” Jules said.

I reached her and wrapped my arms around her little body. There was a big part of me that couldn’t believe that she was standing on my porch. And I still didn’t know why she was there, but it didn’t matter. She was there.

I tightly squeezed her, and after a long moment, I pulled my body away from hers and smiled. I was pretty sure that I had that wide, stupid smile I got sometimes—mostly when she was around—planted on my face.

“Well, here I am. Pull up a chair,” I happily said, gesturing down the wooden porch steps and toward the lake.

She walked with me to the water’s edge, and I watched as she fell into the chair next to mine.

“Are they biting?” she asked, pulling her knees up to her chest.

I met her eyes and smiled, then grabbed my fishing pole again.

“A little, but I haven’t caught any yet,” I said, falling into the wooden chair. “I heard you were back in town. For how long?”

She seemed to hesitate before she spoke.

“A month,” she softly said. “I’m substituting up at the school.”

I let her answer sink in. Then, I nodded my head. I knew I had asked the question; I guessed I had just hoped the answer would have been a longer period of time, maybe even forever.

“I don’t mind it actually,” she continued. “I kind of like it. It gives me something to do for now.”

“The substituting?” I asked, now somewhat distracted by the thought of her leaving again.

“Mm hmm,” she said, nodding her head.

“I see,” I said. “Then where are you going?”

I kind of dreaded that answer too.

“
California,” she said.

I choked on my own breath.

“California?” I blurted out. “What for?”

She gently smiled.

“School,” she said.

I watched as she paused and fiddled with the zipper on her jacket for a second.

“Law,” she continued.

“Law,” I simply repeated, as I nodded my head and forced a smile. “Well, that’s your dream.”

Silence crept into the conversation, but I squashed it within seconds.

“But why
California?” I asked. “That’s like a whole, different country. You know there’s no grass or trees out there. Isn’t there something closer?”

I watched her toss her head back and laugh. I had forgotten how much I missed her laugh.

“It’s warm though,” she said, with a grin.

I paused for a second, lowered my head and then met her eyes again.

“So, you’re telling me that if I find a way to get rid of the winter here, you’ll stay closer for once?” I asked.

I felt one side of my mouth lifting into a grin.

“I’ll stay forever,” she said, laughing.

“What about palm trees?” I asked.

She smiled and shook her head.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” I said, still grinning.

We grew silent then, as we both stared off into the lake. I tapped my fishing pole a couple of times against a cattail and watched the bobber bounce on the surface of the water. And for the first time, I noticed the air smelled like old maple trees and the last cut of hay. I tugged at the pole some, then spotted some butterfly weeds off in the distance on the other side of the lake and remembered what the chief had told me.

“Happiness is like a butterfly, you know?” I mumbled to myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her face turn toward mine.

“What?” she asked.

I shifted in my chair, then met her gaze.

“Happiness is like a butterfly,” I said again. “The more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit
softly on your shoulder.”

“It’s Thoreau,” I added.

She held her stare on me for a little longer. Then, she returned her gaze to the lake.

“Hmm,” she said, in what seemed like reflection, as she slowly nodded her head.

“So, how have you been? What have you been up to these days?” she asked moments later.

I shifted restlessly in my chair.

“Working, golfing, fishing,” I quickly rattled off.

I was trying not to sound frustrated, but deep down, I knew I had already lost that battle.

“You’re looking at it,” I added, just for good measure.

“How’s living in
St. Louis? I heard you got an apartment. Do you like it?” she asked, seemingly unfazed by my detached state.

“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s all fine. Are you seeing anyone?”

I kept my eyes on the water. I was afraid of this answer even though I already knew it.

“I am,” she said. “I’m still seeing Brady.”

I mumbled what could have almost been a word under my breath. She didn’t seem to notice.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Well, how’s Miss New Year’s Eve?” she asked.

My gaze shot back toward her. A second later, I was searching her eyes to gauge her seriousness.

“You still remember that?” I asked.

I was still hoping that she hadn’t—that the night had just miraculously disappeared from her memory.

Her eyes faltered and fell to the ground.

“Jules, that whole thing was just a bad idea,” I said and then stopped.

I searched her features then with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, until she found my eyes again, and my expression softened. Surely, she hadn’t thought that I had been with Jessica this whole time.

“Jules, I’m sorry about that night. I…,” I started.

“Will, it’s fine,” she said, stopping me. “You had a date. So what? We weren’t together. Plus, it was a long time ago. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

I tried to say something, but instead, the word
anymore
bounced around my mind, interfering with my speech functions. She didn’t even think about it anymore. The thought made me sigh both because there was a part of me, I guessed, that still hoped she did think about it—about us—and then there was another part of me that wished I could say the same. Most times, I wished I couldn’t remember it either. I let my eyes linger in hers for a few more seconds before I gently smiled and returned my attention to the lake again. Then, I refit my baseball cap around my head and tried to clear away the ache in my throat. That ache meant I had to act fast. I had to get her or me away before that damn mist in my eyes returned.

“Well, I have to go to my parents’ house for dinner tonight,” I said, as I reeled in my line and stood up from my chair. “Mom’s making her specialty. I promised her I’d be there.”

I watched her grow still and then nod her head.

“Okay, yeah, can’t miss that,” she said. “I’d better get going then. It was nice seeing you again, Will.”

I caught her awkwardly fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket again, and it helped me to smile.

“Come,” I blurted out.

“What?” she asked.

Her voice was soft and hesitant.

“Come with me,” I said again.

Her eyes fell toward the ground, then returned to mine a couple
of seconds later.

“Okay,” she said, starting to smile and to slowly nod her head again.

“All right, let’s go,” I said, turning to leave.

I took a couple
of steps, then looked back at her. She hadn’t moved.

“You coming?” I asked.

I watched as her pretty lips lifted into a grin. Then, she nodded her head and followed after me.

...

“Dinner was okay, huh?” I asked.

She met my gaze and smiled.

“Dinner is always more than okay here,” she said.

She kept her eyes on mine for a couple
of seconds. Then, I noticed her stare venture over to my guitar, propped up against the porch railing.

“Do you still play?” she asked.