Once Upon a List (19 page)

“We all have issues, Clara. Most of them are complicated.”

She exhaled, puffing out her cheeks with air. Dancing the mea culpa two-step certainly was exhausting. “Ain't that the truth.”

“And then some,” Todd agreed.

Clara hesitated for a moment, summoning the courage to quietly share, “You were the first person I slept with since my fiancé—well . . .”—she paused before she said it out loud for the first time—“he died.” Exhaling, she shrugged, trying not to think of Sebastian and how she had failed to remain faithful to him. Though her disloyalty didn't sting as badly as it did back in December, it still hurt.

“Hold on.” Todd thrust out his hands. “You don't think we had intercourse, do you?”

Taken aback, Clara cocked her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“I had a feeling that's what you thought when you made a mad dash out of my apartment. I
knew
it! Why do you think I kept calling you? Believe it or not, Clara, I'm not in the habit of chasing women who obviously aren't interested.” Todd absentmindedly kicked his foot against his toolbox while he spoke. “I could tell how upset you were and I figured I ought to let you know the truth about what really happened.”

“The truth.” She blinked, astonished. And not just by the fact that Todd had used the word “intercourse” in a sentence like a seventh-grade Sex Ed. teacher and somehow made it work. “Wait a minute,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What—What really happened?”

“Well, let's see if I remember . . . You did a clumsy striptease, yelled
‘Timberrrrr! Look out below!'
as you nose-dived onto the bed, and passed out cold. The end. Next thing I knew, you were snoring.”

“Oh, God!”
Clara hid her face with her hands again.

“I took the liberty of covering you up with a blanket. And wiping the drool off your face. But that was it.”

“Oh, God!”
She turned her body away from Todd, mortified. For a quick second, she wondered if she had drooled with Lincoln. She sure hoped not.

“Aw, come on . . .” Todd gently nudged her shoulder, spinning her back around so that she was facing him. “It wasn't that bad. I've seen worse.”

Stupefied by the fact that he was actually trying to make
her
—a lousy, stripping drooler—feel better, Clara smiled, incredulous. Biting her lip, grimacing, she couldn't resist inquiring, “As long as we're getting it all out there, dare I ask why you had Cheez Whiz on your nightstand?”

“Easy. I was hungry for a midnight snack,” Todd recalled. “I sort of have a soft spot for the Whiz.”

Clara had to laugh. Now she was the one absentmindedly tapping her foot against Todd's toolbox, looking down as she spoke. “So, then . . . just to be clear . . . There was
no
funny business between us?”

“No, ma'am.” Todd shook his head. “I would never take advantage of you like that.”

“That's FANTASTIC!” Clara threw her arms around him, beaming with elation that she didn't commit Toddamy. “Thank you for telling me the truth.
Thank you!”
Then, with her arms still wrapped around Todd's neck, she leaned back so that she could look him directly in the eyes. “And thank you for not having intercourse with me.”

“My pleasure,” he replied. Then, further considering it, he added, “Or not.”

 

June

 

27.

T
here was a time not long ago when Clara, unable to identify the day or month, could look in the mirror and not recognize who she was, or where she was. Detached and apathetic, nothingness had become her daily routine. But now, examining her reflection in her powder compact after applying a coat of sunscreen to her face, she was present and even a bit excited. She knew that she was the grown woman living a ten-year-old child's fantasy, and that she was sitting in the passenger seat of a black, rented convertible with the wind blowing through her hair on her way to the Wisconsin Dells with Lincoln. She knew that it was the second Friday of June. And, able to read Lincoln pretty well, she knew that he had something on his mind, for he was unusually quiet, and his face was pinched in an intense, contemplative expression.

“It's too bad things didn't work out between Leo and Ava,” he declared, driving past a whimsical billboard advertising
Fred's Fishing Bait & Fireworks (The Cheese State's Finest!)
. “It would have been fun if they came along.”

“I know,” Clara said with a sigh, trying not to worry about her newly single brother. He'd ended his rocky relationship with Ava a few weeks earlier, offering further support to Clara's theory that he suffered serious commitment issues when it came to women. She couldn't understand why, but for some reason Leo bounced from one fleeting courtship to the next, seemingly determined to deny himself the gift of sharing a true, intimate emotional bond with a partner. Recently, Clara had tried talking about this troubling pattern with her brother, but, in a tone that discouraged further conversation, he'd argued it was “no big deal” and that “there was no point in discussing it any longer. Period. End of story.”

“Meg and I broke up,” Lincoln said nonchalantly, in the same indifferent manner one might say, “I ate tacos for lunch.”

“Think we should stop for some fishing bait and fireworks?” he continued.

Clara did a double take, sure that she'd misheard him—what with the radio playing “oldies but goodies” and the wind and all. “Wait a minute. What did you just say?”

“You never know when bait and fireworks might come in handy.”

“Lincoln.”
Giving him a look, Clara insisted he knew damn well that was
not
what she was talking about.

“Huh.” He shrugged, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead on the country road. “I could've sworn I told you that Meg moved back to Minneapolis to be with Roy, her ex-fiancé.”

“Roy?”
Astonished by both this unexpected news and the casual fashion in which it was delivered—as if implying it was a matter of slight significance—Clara demanded without hesitation, “Her
ex-fiancé
? What are you talking about, Link? Are you pulling my leg?”

Promising that there was zero leg-pulling going on, Lincoln recounted how Meg randomly ran into Roy at the Rite Aid when she was in Minneapolis for her cousin's baby shower, and sparks of rekindled love instantly flew. Apparently, they ended up spending the next four days locked behind closed doors at Roy's ranch, after which they agreed, in Meg's own words, that “fate had brought them back together again,” and a love as powerful as theirs could not be denied. “Meg's a great person,” Lincoln stated. “She told me all about Roy when we first started dating. I have no hard feelings about it.”

“Really?”

“If anything, I feel guilty that I don't care more.”

“But, I—I thought you two got along wonderfully,” said Clara, thoroughly confused. She had not seen this one coming. And, though she'd never admit it to him, she had given Lincoln and Meg's relationship some thought. Especially in recent weeks.

“We got along great. And don't get me wrong, I wish Meg all the happiness in the world. Still, the truth is,” Lincoln explained, “we had fun together, but our relationship never delved any deeper than that. There wasn't that real, intense emotional connection, like with—” He stopped himself suddenly, muttering, “Well, anyway, you know what I mean.”

Clara nodded. She couldn't help but wonder if he meant Jessica. Or, was it somehow possible that Lincoln could possibly have been referring to . . . oh, never mind—she shoved the unlikely thought out of her head, telling herself it was silly to go there. Silly!
Wasn't it?

Just then, a Volkswagen convertible filled with loud, giggling women pulled up directly beside them at the stop light. Gawking at Lincoln, the female sitting in the passenger seat gasped, “You're totally right, ladies! He does kinda look like George Clooney during the
ER
years!” The two girls in the backseat nodded in agreement, and one gushed, “Oh, he
is
cute!”—apparently unaware that Lincoln and Clara could hear them over their radio, which was blasting reggae music. “I definitely would not mind a night out with him,” declared the driver as the light changed from red to green. She honked the horn a few times and let out a spirited “Wooooo!” as she sped off, with the women's giddy laughter trailing behind.

His cheeks blushing, Lincoln cleared his throat. “I think they may have been drinking.”

Clara smiled. “You're a heartbreaker, George.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, it really is for the best with Meg,” he concluded. “If she hadn't ended it, I would have.
Check it out.
” Lincoln pointed to a road sign up ahead indicating that the Wisconsin Dells were only forty miles away. “We're getting closer.” He smiled at Clara, nudging her arm.

Funny, that's exactly what Clara had told Tabitha verbatim last night on the telephone when her best friend, curious about the nature of her evolving relationship with Lincoln, asked if they would be sharing a hotel room during their “romantic weekend getaway.” “While I do admit we're getting closer, we're not
that
close,” Clara had countered. “Besides, this trip is about me crossing something off my time capsule list, not romance. And,” she'd added, “irrespective of how great we get along, let's not forget that Lincoln has a girlfriend. A
girlfriend
,” she repeated with emphasis, for some reason.

“My God. You really do like him, don't you?”

“What? What are you talking about? You sound like Leo. He refuses to accept that Lincoln and I can have a strictly platonic relationship.”

After a decade of friendship, Tabitha was quite capable of reading between Clara's lines. “I can hear it in your voice. Don't deny it.”

“Oh, I . . .” Clara considered denying it. “I . . . I honestly don't know,” she finally confessed. “It's complicated, Tab. I shouldn't even be thinking about this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's
Lincoln Foster
, for God's sake! I've known him since he was a little boy who secretly saved his boogers in a jar! Our history goes way too far back for this kind of thing. Besides, we already tried it once before and it didn't work out.”

“Please. That's not a good excuse,” Tabitha insisted. “You were fifteen. You also had a crush on
Teen Wolf
. Let me ask you, do you enjoy spending time with Lincoln?”

“Of course I do,” Clara admitted, reluctantly. “He's just so easy to be around. And we always have a great time together. But I could also be confusing genuine friendship with something more,” she rationalized, more to herself than to Tabitha. “After all, it's been a long time since I spent any quality time with a man who's not my brother.
AND”
—her voice raised a notch—“let us not forget, please
: Lincoln is happily committed to
Meg”
—she repeated for the third time—“which definitely renders us just good friends.”

“Who spoon,” Tabitha had slipped in. “I say go for it. You only live once.”

“No way. I've been through more than enough drama as it is. I'm not about to get involved in something messy.”

“Why does it have to be messy?”

Clara groaned. “You're incorrigible. I'm hitting the sack. Link's picking me up early in the morning.”

“What are you gonna wear? Is your bathing suit one piece or two?”

“Good niiiiight
, Tab. I'll call you on Sunday when I get back. Tell Max I send my best.” She quickly snapped her cell phone shut, shaking her head with an exasperated little grin, deep in thought.

I
f one leaves the Wisconsin Dells without taking a scenic tour, one can't, in all honesty, say one has experienced the Dells. Thus, the first thing Clara and Lincoln did after checking into their cozy, two-bedroom suite at the Historic Chippewa Inn, a luxurious bed-and-breakfast surrounded by country gardens and flowing springs, was take a Wisconsin River tour. Journeying on a famous “Original Wisconsin Duck,” a green-and-white amphibious army vehicle used during World War II, they traveled by land and water on trails tucked away among the natural beauty of the Dells, squeezing through the narrow walls of Red Bird Gorge, plunging into the winding river, spying flora, fauna, and breathtaking views from towering sandstone cliffs to picturesque wilderness trails.

After their tour, as the radiant summer sun began its slow descent in the western sky, Clara and Lincoln took a leisurely stroll down the Waterpark Capital of the World's thriving Main Street, where swim apparel was abundant, along with yellow foam “Cheesehead” hats shaped like wedges of cheddar, frosty snow cones, and moccasins, a time-honored Dells tradition. At one of a dozen old-fashioned candy stores, Lincoln handpicked and purchased a giant bag of sweets for him and Clara to share, including everything from pastel-colored saltwater taffy, chocolate fudge, and a variety of scrumptious penny candy, to the best melt-in-your-mouth homemade peanut brittle either one of them had ever tasted.

They were deep in conversation when they approached the Guess-Your-Weight-or-What-Month-You-Were-Born Girl's busy, red-and-white-striped booth, situated on a long, bustling block of classic carnival games where cheerful circus music being piped through loudspeakers filled the seaside air. Clara grabbed Lincoln's arm, pulling him to a halt. “We have to do this in Libby's honor!
Come on.
” She grinned, pointing to the sign that read
$2 FOR 3 GUESSES!
“What do you say?”

“I say she can guess my birthday, but there's no way in hell I'm stepping on that giant scale that looks fit for a velociraptor.” Lincoln popped a handful of sour cherry balls into his mouth, followed by a miniature chocolate-covered pretzel, followed by a root beer barrel. “Nuh-uh. No way.”

Clara eyed him, smiling as she stuck her hand in the candy bag, removed a turquoise chunk of rock candy, and ate it. “Maybe you'll be able to stump her.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down in a devious fashion. “I'll go first.” Clara flagged down the busy Guesser Girl and handed her two crisp one-dollar bills.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the buoyant employee blared into her microphone, “we have another contender! That's right, you heard me! A fine, young woman who dares to challenge the great and powerful Guess-Your-Weight-or-What-Month-You-Were-Born Girl! She's a brave one, that's for sure!” Ultimately, Clara wasn't surprised when the undeniably skilled Guesser Girl nailed her weight perfectly in a scale-free moment that would have made Libby proud, nor was she surprised when she discovered that she'd gained nineteen pounds since returning to Chicago seven months ago. “Oh well. No crappy stuffed unicorn for me, I guess,” she said, pouting at Lincoln.

“Yeah? Don't be so sure.” He raised two dollars in the air, challenging the Guesser Girl to identify what month he was born.

First, she insisted that he had the “unmistakable aura of a Libra” and that he was a “classic” October baby. Next, she suggested that she'd “misread his aura” and “on second thought” he was born in . . . April. And finally, after examining Lincoln long and hard with one index finger pressed against her chin, she took a wild stab at . . . August.

“Not even close.” Lincoln triumphantly shot both arms in the air. “December twenty-seventh!” Removing his official Illinois state driver's license from his wallet, he presented it to her.

The Guesser Girl slammed her palm on a button causing a red light on the booth's wall to flash and the winner's siren to whirl.
“Hot dog!”
she proclaimed into her microphone. “We have ourselves a
WINNER,
ladies and gentlemen! This tall, handsome Capricorn—who looks an awful lot like George Clooney, if I do say so myself—is a definite keeper. Don't let him go!” She winked at Clara. “Please take your pick of prizes, sir.” She gestured behind her toward the wall of crappy stuffed animals that cost about a nickel each, but were considered priceless in more meaningful ways by a lucky few.

Lincoln chose a silvery white unicorn, which, with a twinkle in his eye, he promptly bestowed upon Clara, grinning, “A unicorn for the lady!” Then, his voice growing tender and lowering a notch in volume, he said, “I'd win you the moon if that's what you wanted.”

There was a thoughtful pause before a shy smile crossed Clara's face, and her gaze met his.

By the time they exited the popular Ghost Out-Post Haunted House attraction, laughing at its corniness, night had fallen, and the clear, June sky was peppered with dazzling stars so bright they appeared close enough to be able to reach out your hand and touch. “
Wow
. . . I'd forgotten how beautiful Wisconsin is.” Clara stared up toward the heavens with her mouth gaped open. She linked her arm through Lincoln's. “What a gorgeous evening.” They ambled slowly in no specific direction until eventually they happened upon Mama Mary's, a charming little Italian restaurant with an outdoor patio illuminated by candles and paper lanterns. “Let's eat here,” they both suggested at the same time.