A Reunion to Remember (and the quest for publication in Woman's World magazine)
(A note from the editor and a short romance)
FROM THE EDITOR’S DESK:
Thank you for subscribing to More Miles to Go...! We are enjoying the early goings of spring here in upstate New York and partaking in the wonders of eclipse totality (although the cloud cover did damper its promised splendor, I must admit).
As you may know, I created this publication to continue my late mother’s legacy of sharing the written word, my wellness philosophy, and passion projects of fiction, both women’s and romance. I hope you will bear with me while I find my creative way. The wheels are spinning, however, as I have just finished a tremendous 100,000-word novel effort that took me two years to complete.
That said, while I wait for an editor or publisher to fall in love with the project (smile), I have decided to write and self-publish a short romance novella at the urging of my best writer friend, Joy. It’s still incubating, so I will keep you posted.
In this issue, I wanted to share a short piece I originally wrote for Woman’s World magazine. They ultimately passed on the project, but it’s a sweet story and an easy read. Again, thank you for your precious time, and I hope you enjoy my work.
If you’d like to support me, please leave a quick “like” below (click on the heart) or comment if you have any ideas for future romantic couples as I continue to pursue breaking into Woman’s World magazine’s 5-minute romance section (you can find it at your local supermarket checkout counter, Page 50). Right now, I’m aiming my wheels straight for them! See you again in two weeks...
Laugh and Be Well,
~Laura
A REUNION TO REMEMBER BY LAURA M. TURNER
Bradley Alexander engaged the garage door of his parent’s home on Oak Tree Drive. Fresh-bloomed lilac blossoms alerted his senses as it opened in a whoosh, and the scent hit him full-force. Ah, Summerville in springtime, he thought, usually my favorite time of year.
He shifted his dad’s classic Corvette into gear and rolled the vintage vehicle backward into the drive. He eased on the white automobile’s parking brake and inspected the body in direct Summerville sun. A few dusty spots to be sure. But a coat of polish and a bit of TLC ought to shine up the old chassis, no problem.
Per their annual springtime ritual, Bradley began detailing the Corvette by hand. Yet this season was different. Bradley’s dad wasn’t there to help.
“We’ll shine her up, parade her around town,” his father would say. Then they’d do so and proudly cruise the tree-lined streets of Summerville, stopping by to visit friends and neighbors along the way.
“Taking her to my thirtieth reunion next year,” his father said last spring. But in early winter, his dad suddenly fell ill with a heart condition. And later in the season, he passed away.
Bradley peered under the dash and searched for the latch to release the convertible’s tan ragtop. Sadly, he found the fixtures delicate, rust-laden, and unwilling to open easily. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, then aimed to shimmy the top loose without success. “Need a hand?” A gentle touch to his shoulder gave Bradley a start.
Bradley’s thoughts raced. His palms moistened, damp with anticipation: Could it be Jenny Matthews? Jenny Matthews, his old neighbor, his former best friend, his secret first love? Jenny Matthews, Juliet to his Romeo? No. It was Jenny Matthews he ushered off to college, fresh with a broken heart, last seen at the back of the church where he married someone else ten years ago.
Bradley lowered his head with embarrassment but soon turned toward Jenny. She held her hands to her hips, tapping a sneaker-clad foot to the ground. “If you’ll recall, your father showed me how to open the ragtop to his convertible,” she said.
There was a time when he and Jenny shared everything. A secret handshake, inside jokes, she even patiently sat through role-playing, whereby he carefully planned to ask Claire to marry him. She followed his charade, but in his heart he knew he’d never find a love like theirs again. And he hadn’t.
Maybe she was a decade older but still was delicate as spring lilacs and stunning as he remembered. Her long blonde locks were piled high in a loose ponytail. A few tendrils framed her still-youthful face. Once cropped to the shoulders, her hair was now longer and lighter, but her green eyes and warm smile were the same. “I remember,” he said. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”
He winced, remembering the day he decided they couldn’t be best friends anymore. It was a conflict of interest, he’d said. Claire was jealous. Oh, what a fool he’d been! His father loved Jenny, but, like him, Claire wanted children and a house in the suburbs. Jenny wanted to be free-wheeling, live like a bohemian artist, and dwell in the nearby city of Cleveland for a while.
He resisted the urge to reach out and hug her close. Instead, he watched while Jenny slipped her slim artist’s hands under the cloth top. She opened the folds with grace and set the top down with care. “I was with you when your dad taught you to drive standard, remember?” she asked. “We needed the top down so it didn’t come loose when you missed the gears, and so the three of us could all fit.” Jenny laughed, but her face soon sobered. “I was so sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”
Bradley wanted to ask Jenny if that was why she’d come back. But soon she changed subjects and offered: “I’m home for the tenth reunion,” she said, reading his mind like always. Their Summerville tenth class reunion was next weekend, planned in tandem with the thirtieth that would have been his father’s.
When she lifted the ragtop, Bradley quickly noticed Jenny did not wear a ring. And so he inhaled and took a deep breath. “Jenny,” he turned to gaze at her, taking her hands in his. She wore a red floral dress that highlighted the golden flakes in her eyes. “I’m sorry for hurting you back then. I should have never married Claire, you know.”
He lowered his head sure she’d walk away, never to return, certain he and Claire were together forever. She was over them.
“It’s taken me all these years to try and forget you, Bradley Alexander,” she said after a long pause. “I’ve avoided you for this long. But they say you never forget your first love.” She pulled her hands back and smoothed her dress. “I was in town early for an art exhibit, heard about your dad, and came by to express my condolences. He was a wonderful man, a good friend,” she tucked a blond curl around her ear and adjusted her purse. “And to wish you and Claire the best in life so I can move forward, stop comparing every man to you.”
Bradley’s mouth went dry. Jenny was always so honest. He swallowed hard as she turned away.
“So much for china patterns,” he said.
She hesitated.
“I was going to phone you when we called it quits, you know. But I couldn’t do it," he said, thinking his heart would break if she were betrothed to someone else. “I couldn’t stay with Claire and have children, still unsure of our feelings for each other. After I lost my father and got divorced, I came home, enrolled in college, and did a lot of thinking. Being here on Oak Tree Drive, all I could think of was you.”
“Does this car start?” Jenny asked while eyeing the dusty spots he’d aimed to erase earlier this afternoon. She extracted a rag from the toolbox, dabbed a bit of polish over each like paint to an easel, and blended the blemishes much better than he was able to.
“If you’ll escort me to the reunion, I’ll show you.” He smiled and prayed his dimpled cheeks could get him a yes.
She rolled her shiny green eyes heavenward. “Well, maybe,” she said and reached out, giving Bradley their secret handshake. “If you can keep it in gear this time... and only if the ragtop’s down so we can fit all three of us.”
Outstanding!