Page 15 of Never Too Late

I missed that look.

I didn’t know how much I missed it until I watched him giving it to his daughter.

And I wanted it back.

But even though I knew I couldn’t get it back, he didn’t want me, he made that clear years ago. I was still glad he had someone in his life he could give it to.

After that, I stood up, pushed my want and need to the side, and went and did my job.

And all the while, I wished he would look at me one more time.

He didn’t.

It was late.

I was tired.

Still, I didn’t go straight home. I went to take a stroll down the Main Street of Hopeful to see the decorations.

The lights were hanging across the street from streetlamp to streetlamp and were hanging low. The soft yellow glow of them made everything look softer.

There were bells, flowers, sometimes even the enormous candy canes on the doors of various shops. Even the bar had a bottle of whiskey that had red and white paper bursting out of its cork, stuck to its door.

And as I was walking to the center of it. To where the well stood in the middle of town, the decorations got more elaborate, more quirky, more fun.

And the street stands were being put up. The festival and ceremony didn’t start for a week, but the town was in full swing for the preparations. And cheers and laughter poured in from every corner.

I loved it.

But as I neared the old well, that feeling leaked out.

Coming to it, touching the cold stones that were piled on top of one another, lining the outer circular shape, that I used to count as a little girl, I couldn’t think of anything but Dylan.

And how he left earlier.

He was relieved that it wasn’t the flu, but just some virus that would go away in a couple of days and all Zara needed was fluid and rest. And plenty of it.

Still, he turned at the door, looked out of the window, then to my desk and said, “I still don’t want you here. You need to leave.”

He left, leaving me standing in the corner and wishing I was anywhere but there.

He hadn’t looked at me once.

With the feeling of hopelessness, of emptiness settling in my soul, my hand went up and touched the old wood of the side post that was holding up the cross beam which was used to wind the rope and bring up the bucket. The only thing that wasn’t as it was from the beginning was that bucket. It used to be brown leather. Now it had a new one. A steel one.

And feeling that wood that I felt so many times before against the skin of my palm, I remembered my grandmother telling me to get away from that well. It wasn’t my time to be near it.

It felt like she stood right next to me, whispering in my ear, Not yet, my darling girl. Soon, but not yet.

And feeling all that for a moment in the cold night, for a second I didn’t feel alone, I didn’t feel like I didn’t belong.

I felt like I was home.

Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I leaned over the stones, trying to peer into its depths, but all I saw was darkness.

I couldn’t help but remember the last time I was near this well. The last time Dylan walked away from me without looking back.