One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) (12 page)

“Is this some kind of church yoga?”

Simon chuckled. “It’s a game called Twister. Someone calls out a color and a body part and you have to touch that colored dot without falling over.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun?” He didn’t sound too sure.

It looked ridiculous, not fun. “Do you play this?”

Simon nodded. “Well, I did when I was a kid.”

Yes, definitely a children’s game. “Maybe we should try this for the kids at the academy.”

A tall blonde girl approached them. “Hi, Simon. Do you want to join the next group?” She addressed him in English and she sounded American. After sparing a glance in Isabel’s direction, she smiled at Simon.

Isabel took a step closer to him and tightened her grip on his hand. “Actually, we can’t stay. But thanks for the offer.”

She turned toward the exit, pulling Simon behind her. Once on the street, Isabel slowed down. Where had that possessiveness come from?

Simon squeezed her fingers. “I take it you don’t like to play games.” His expression was light.

Isabel stopped to look at him. “No, not like that.” She let go of his hand but he held on to her fingers. “Do you want to stay? I don’t want to, but you can go back in there and play those games, if you want.”

Simon arched a brow at her. “If you don’t want to stay, I’m not staying either.” He paused and held her gaze. “It’s you I want to spend time with, Isabel.”

Well, she hadn’t asked, but Simon had let her know without any room for doubts. He wanted to be with her, at least for today. She wouldn’t think of the future for now.

They resumed walking side by side, holding hands as if they’d done it plenty of times before, as if they spent time every day like this. When was the last time she went walking with a guy? She couldn’t even remember. Her pulse beat fast and her breath hitched in her chest, all because Simon Ackerley held her hand.

Isabel looked down the street and spotted a cable car ascending slowly from the other side. She turned to Simon and smiled. “Have you been down by the river yet?”

* * *

Simon glanced at their joined hands before turning to Isabel. Whatever she had in mind, he’d do it. If it took a long time, even better.

“No, I haven’t been by the river yet,” he said.

He’d taken some bike rides in the areas around the rented apartment and the academy, but other than a few gardens in between, he hadn’t had the time to go exploring much. This chance to see Lisbon through Isabel’s eyes was what he’d been hoping for.

Isabel tugged him toward the tram stop and checked the route on the posted schedule. “We’ll have to switch cars halfway through the ride.” Again, her expression brightened. “We’ll take the elétrico and stop downtown.”

They climbed aboard when the yellow tram came to a stop and once inside Isabel dropped the euro coins to pay for the fare before he realized what she’d done.

She found a seat by the window and Simon sat beside her. “The ride back is on me.” He reached for her hand again, and this time she didn’t hesitate.

“So this is what you call the electric?” The tram they rode in was a modern one made to resemble the style of the older ones he’d seen in postcards and brochures of the city.

She gestured toward the outside of the car. “On account of the electric wires above.”

It was an unhurried ride, clanging along the metal tracks and stopping every so often to board other passengers also enjoying the autumn afternoon. They got off and switched to another line and a different tram car, this time a genuine antique one carefully restored with gleaming brass fixtures and polished wood. Along the way, Isabel pointed out the neighborhoods, or bairros, the downtown shops, and the monuments he hadn’t had the time to explore yet.

But for everything the city had to offer, it was her Simon wanted to see. Isabel had her hair down today. She always wore it coiled at the nape of her neck during the week and Simon liked the way it looked, just barely past her shoulders. The red sweater brightened her expression and even her chocolate eyes seemed lighter and less stressed. This was the Isabel he’d been wanting to spend time with, relaxed and unworried, sitting beside him like a friend, and maybe even something more.

As the tram passed from a narrow street onto an open square, Isabel stood and pulled him along. “Come on. This is our stop.”

Before them, the square extended twice as long and wide as a football field, paved in a crisscross of white stones with a statue of a military man on a horse in its center. At the far end, an open dock flanked by stone pillars opened to the river, and to the right, the river Tagus gave way to the Atlantic Ocean, the bridge serving as a gate to the expanse beyond.

After crossing the square, they sat on the stone benches by the dock.

“You know, with all the similarities between Lisbon and London, the two cities are so different,” he said.

The breeze tossed her hair behind her and she turned to face the river. “I spent a day in London, once.”

Simon stilled. She’d been in London and he’d never known about it. “How long ago was that?”

“About ten years ago, maybe a little more. It was a quick trip with some friends, three days in Paris and a little stop in London over the spring holiday.”

He’d been on his mission in Atlanta, Georgia then, just a few months away from returning home. She’d never said anything about it. Well, Amélie hadn’t mentioned it, and he couldn’t ask Isabel why.

“You’ll have to come back when you have more time and I’ll give you a tour of my favorite spots.” He squeezed her hand and she turned to look at him, the lopsided dimple flashing at him. The urge to kiss her welled in his chest and its intensity took Simon by surprise. But this was not the moment.

The evening passed too quickly. Between the walks and tram rides and the twinkling lights of Lisbon, Isabel took him to a little restaurant tucked on a side street away from the busy areas. She ordered Portuguese escargots and octopus stewed in rice and Simon found a kind of bravery he didn’t know he had in trying new dishes sitting across from the girl he’d been dreaming of meeting in person for years.

Simon called a taxi and they rode back to her neighborhood, her hand still in his. When Isabel unlocked the door to her apartment, he leaned against the door jamb. She switched on the light in the foyer and took a step inside, but he pulled back at her fingers.

“It’s late, Isabel. I’m not coming in.”

She slowed, and turned back to him, her fingers tangling with his. His thumb traced the skin above her wrist and she let out a low sigh. She took a step in his direction and Simon leaned toward her. She smelled of cinnamon and sugar, like the churros they’d had earlier in the afternoon from a street vendor. Only they were named something else in Lisbon.

Tell her. Tell her you’re Elliot.

He leaned closer to her.
“Can I kiss you, Isabel?” The words flew out of his mouth.

Her eyes widened. “Simon—”

The elevator pinged and opened its doors. A young couple stepped out, wrapped up in each other, kissing even as they walked to the other apartment on the same floor. Simon stepped back from Isabel and cleared his throat, but the couple gave no indication of acknowledging anything or anyone around them. When the guy unlocked the door, the girl jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist. The kiss kept going as she pushed the door closed behind them.

“That’s my neighbor,” Isabel said in a low voice. “She’s actually really nice. Just a little—” She grimaced. “That’s her boyfriend.”

Simon straightened. “Okay, I can see that.”

Isabel nodded. “Well…”

“I—” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “I had a really good time today, Isabel. Thank you for showing me Lisbon.” He’d lost the moment; it was too late for it now.

Isabel clasped her hands together. “You’re welcome. I really enjoyed it too.” She paused. “But maybe it’s best we just—”

Just stay friends? Just pretend there’s nothing between us? Just forget I asked to kiss you?

“Yeah,” he added. “Maybe it is best.” The time was not right yet.

Her voice softened. “We work together, Simon.”

“I know.” Things were complicated enough already. “You don’t have to explain.”

Only until the Christmas holiday. They’d only be working together until then.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Dear Amélie,

It makes me sad that you think there are things you should delete when you write to me. I want you to talk to me about anything you want. I won’t judge you. Write about your boss who doesn’t take your suggestions, or the guy in the underground who didn’t give up his seat (how dare he?). Write about the way your friend makes you crazy or how you wish you had an extra day on weekends before going back to work on Monday. Especially tell me your dreams and your plans for the future. I want to hear all of them.

And this thing your friend wants you to do, that
you
want to do. I don’t know what your fears are, but I’ll tell you a little story. A while back I was faced with a similar decision. There was something that I wanted, but I was scared. What if it didn’t work out? What if I put so much of my time and effort and so much of my heart into it and then nothing happened? Or worse, something happened but not what I wanted? I went a long time thinking about it, like you, staying awake at night and still not knowing what to do the next day.

And then one day I read two little words that helped me make a decision. What if? What if I didn’t do anything about it? Was I prepared to live with the consequences of that, to always wonder what would have happened? What if I did it and it didn’t turn out the way I wanted? At least I could say I tried, and I could live the rest of my days knowing I’d tried, with no regrets. Even if there was only one small chance, I had to take it. That night I prayed. And the peace I felt afterward told me everything I needed to know.

What if, Amélie? What if you don’t do it? Are you prepared to go through the rest of your life only dreaming about it? What if you try it? Even if others are better than you, they are not you. I want you to do something after you read this email. When you go to bed, pray about it, Amélie. Ask God to give you the wisdom for the right choice and the strength to do what is right. I’ll be praying for you and for the courage that you need to make your decision. I’ll support you in whatever it is that makes you happy. You are not alone.

Well, that turned into an epistle. I better get my line in about the weather: it’s definitely turning cooler. I can see Old Man Winter turning around the corner. I hope you’re keeping warm.

Your friend always,

Elliot

P.S.—I don’t think I’ll be going back to London for Christmas. What are your plans?

* * *

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Dear Elliot,

Today I left work during lunch and didn’t come back for two whole hours. I even turned off my phone and left my worries behind (and left good people in charge, so that eased my worries too).

The zoo is one of my favorite spots, and I have lots of good memories. When I was little, my grandmother and I went there often in the summer. She’d pack a lunch for us and we’d stay all day. First, we visited all the animals, then we had lunch in the shade, and talked about what we’d seen. On the way back, we’d stop at the formal gardens and I’d count all the roses until I ran out of numbers.

Have you ever noticed how memories are a two-edged sword? On one side, you’re comforted by the happier times, and on the other side, it grieves your heart when you can no longer live those times again.

Such was a day like this, when I had to take time to myself and hang on the balance of the blade, torn between the happy memories and the bittersweet ones.

Your friend always,

Amélie

P.S.—I’m praying.

P.P.S.—Thank you for being my friend.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Isabel entered the teachers’ lounge at the academy and Cristina waved at her from the corner. She took the chair next to her and set the lunch tray on the table.

“How crazy has it been today? I heard about the breakout.” Cristina pushed her plate to the side to make room.

Isabel took a sip from her glass of water. “It’s been dubbed the Great Flu Breakout. Ten students at home and counting. Three teachers who called in sick. I can’t believe it’s only Monday. If it keeps up, we might have to close earlier for the weekend.”

Cristina leaned back. “That is not good. I’m making my kids wash their hands and use the hand sanitizer at all times.” She took a bite. “What is Simon’s take on this? I didn’t see him at the meeting this morning.”

“He sent a message saying he’d be a bit late this morning, but he didn’t show up.”