A Moving Target

by Edith Gallagher Boyd

Amy drug the wooden chair across the porch. "How many times are you going to scrape the floor?" I asked her, slightly annoyed.

"I want to get a better look at the road. And we're just renting the place, Julie. Sip your drink, and leave me alone."

I had fallen in love with the beach cottage we had chosen for our reunion, and felt hurt when Amy dissed it. Amy and I were roommates, but some of us hadn't been together since college. It had only been five years, but in the emotional turmoil of twenty-somethings, it felt like a very long time.

"I hear she got married recently,” Amy perked up and pulled her chair closer to mine. Both of us wanted to spot Isabel the moment she arrived. The cottage was directly across from the ocean, close enough to see the sand pipers scurrying at water's edge. Amy and I were on a mission. We were going to rectify our shabby treatment of Isabel.

When Isabel accepted in an e-mail, I sent Amy a text.

"Did you see who accepted?"

"Some of us work, Julie" was the response. I knew Amy had seen it. She checked her e-mail like a maniac, and her tart response proved it.

 It all started with a dare.

Isabel had been a bit of an outcast. Introverted and extremely intelligent, she became an enigma for her house mates in the home we shared during school. Amy and I were already friends when we set up our living quarters, newly emancipated from the stifling dorm. Isabel arrived at our front door holding one of the notes we attached to a cork board on campus.
Amy and I needed the rent money and would have accepted just about anybody.

I was going through a mean stage when I opened the door to a geeky girl with glasses.

She was fodder for the evil that coursed through me, reeling from my break-up with John. She held up our note advertising for roomies, and I invited her in. Amy and I promised we would jointly agree on whom we accepted. Just when I began to fret, Amy arrived from her job at the campus book store. Gesturing in the language of good friends, I pointed upstairs where

Isabel was checking out the place. "She's kind of geeky," I whispered. "But not scary or anything."

"You didn't accept her without me, did you?"

"No, Ms. Bossy. Go upstairs and introduce yourself," I told Amy, who was already en route. I eavesdropped as best I could, picking up tone and nuance. Amy liked Isabel just fine.

And that's how it started.

"I forget what the rent is," Isabel said resting after her tour, sipping Amy's green tea.

"How can she not know the amount?” I hissed to Amy when Isabel went back upstairs to check out her room.

"Didn't you hear her say her parents are paying? “A hot fury arose in me, never far buried in the dregs of my break-up. She's obviously smart and rich, I thought, looking for a target. I was not too thrilled with Amy's dopey smile, spiffing up the living room, either.

The other room, as we later named it, was a revolving cast of characters, some of whom were joining us for the reunion.

I jumped when Amy snapped her fingers in front of my face.

"I still could kill John for what he did to you, Julie."

"The worst part was my being mean to Isabel,” I said, regretting how quickly I admitted it. Amy played a part in the set-up too. After Isabel was comfortably settled in, we learned she had a huge crush on Matt Miller, one of the hottest guys on campus. It bothered me that she felt she could arouse his interest with her unkempt, nerdy looks. I had a pick on her from the start.

 Amy topped off my wine and we relaxed on the porch of our cottage.

“They should have named our place zoo central," she said pointing to a white bird.

 "Lucky we weren't busted with some of those parties," I said remembering the scent of weed and beer, stragglers asleep on the living room floor.

 Maybe the wine was getting to me, but I wanted to blame Amy for setting up Isabel.

“You didn't kill anybody, Julie,” she said, when I started to re-play the incident.

“It was an off time for you. Not that big of a deal. Forgive yourself, but don't blame me.”

"You suggested the note from my brother with guy's handwriting."

“Julie that was just an offhand statement. You were more than happy to run with it."

And run with it I did. I told my brother I needed certain words written in a guy's handwriting. I caught him when he was distracted and mumbled something about a writing class. I told him what to write and asked him to sign it Matt.

"What's it for?" he asked pen aloft.

"We're studying differences in men and women's writing. Part of a puff course."

I knew asking him to do the envelope was too much so Amy asked her boyfriend to do it. He would have flown to the moon on a scooter for her, on a bad day.

Isabel was on her way to a class when I pointed to the envelope on top of our mail table in the hall. “It was put through our mail slot," I told her as I brushed by her, veering right behind her to our living room. She placed it inside her old-fashioned school bag and said "See ya Julie," as she gently closed the front door.

Did I imagine the wistful look as she slid her glasses to her head when she read her name? Or had the seeds of guilt harassed my vision?       
I needed to keep the message simple or my brother wouldn't have gone along.                   
"I've noticed."

"Matt."

I insisted my brother leave enough room for me to put in something else between the comment and the signature. Amy and I agreed it had a compelling romantic allure as it was. Simple, yet mysterious.

Seated comfortably on the porch with Amy, I allowed myself to re-live the moment Isabel curled up to Matt Miller, tipsy and confident, and his attempts to untangle himself from her, our couch, and our party. It was Amy who heard him say kindly. "Isabel, I never sent you a note."

"You're starting to obsess, Jules," Amy said, as I shook my head letting the salt air tickle my nose. "I heard Karen Turner works with a trainer, and looks like Rambo," I said, forcing myself back into the present. "I've seen her posts on Facebook," Amy said. "She changed her status to single recently. She and her boyfriend were together forever. I wonder what happened."

"We'll know soon enough," I said walking my wine glass into the kitchen.

"Let's walk the beach. We don't own the place, as you mentioned. We can leave a sticky note on the door."

I let whoever arrived first know Amy and I were walking the beach. I requested a text upon arrival. I had stuck an extra key under a jagged rock near the porch, but chose not to advertise that on the note.

“Isabel asked for my contact info and sent me a text," Amy said when we descended the short wooden staircase to the beach. The sand was fine and soothing to my feet. It had been a while since I felt that soft cushion.

While leaning down to roll up her jeans, Amy said, “Isabel said her husband may drop her off at the cottage.”

“Ironic that she's the only one of us married. I'm not much on Facebook and haven't kept up with everybody, so I'm not sure," I said, as we picked up our pace at water's edge.

"We know Karen is single, and I'm not sure about some of the others," Amy said.

"Now you're making me paranoid that somebody turned into a crack addict or something," Amy added. "We pulled this reunion together quickly.”

"It will be fine," I said, surprising myself with my sunny outlook.

Much of Amy's friendship with me was akin to a jail term, with my inability to move on past John. I had hook-ups, but nothing serious since that time outside my dorm when he pulled up the hood on my rain jacket, and told me he needed space. I'm still humiliated how badly I crumbled in front of him, my disappointment rendering me helpless. His rejection tapped into my worst fears that I was unlovable, lacking in something basic. I had visions of the perfect woman for John, and hoped he had not met her yet.

The visions changed from the clean-cut preppy look, to the physics prof with glasses. And we all know what happens when the glasses get shed. I hated all of them, these imagined women, able to earn John's love, while I was left with space, acres and acres of empty space.

My reverie was broken by the slight buzz in my pocket - a text from Karen Turner that she was on the porch waiting for us.

Amy and I hosed off our sandy feet and hurried back to the cottage.

"Don't forget to compliment her strong physique," I said, as we crossed the street.

“And let's avoid any questions about her ex," Amy added.

Karen looked spectacular...and happy.

"You guys look great, too"   she said, as she entered the kitchen rolling her suitcase.

"The De Angelo twins were right behind me on the road," Karen said, as she plopped down onto the couch.

"Those guys were the best people in the other room," Amy said.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes, Amy. They were slobs. Stoned all the time, and cleaning us out with the munchies," I said.

"But for guys, they were good about re-stocking the fridge. And they paid the rent on time," Amy said.

A renewed flash of envy shot through me thinking of Isabel's parents paying a year in advance.
After Karen settled into her room, she joined Amy and me on the porch.

It wasn't long until we heard the rumble of the twins' F 150.

Although fraternal twins, the De Angelo brothers looked nearly identical. Tony, rounded the truck with a "Yo," and Karen stood up and waved.

After a few awkward moments, we were fairly comfortable with them even though they both looked more attractive than I remembered.

Amy shot me a look while standing up straighter, fingers stroking back her hair.

She saw it too. The twins looked great.
Although we didn't know Karen too well, I saw tightening of her biceps and a good deal of cleavage as we settled into the living room.

Always good at providing for themselves, the De Angelos brought a cooler of beer brimming with ice.

We started naming the inhabitants of the other room, several of whom were joining us.

"Let's not get plastered," I said. "We're grown-ups now."

 Amy shot me a look that proved to me she was into Nick De Angelo. “Not that we get plastered a lot..." I added lamely, not wanting to deter Nick from Amy.

More friends arrived. Some brought guests, and there were a few coin flips for the pull-out couches and futons. I gave up hope for an organized reunion, and felt a flush of whimsy. But my natural sense of order did check the ice maker, and filled a few ice cube trays for back-up. I didn't want to be stuck with the ice from the twins' beer cooler.

While stirring the ice in the freezer bucket, I heard a weird tone to Amy's voice as she said, "Here comes Isabel." I froze in place.

Although it never fully surfaced that I was the perp in the note fiasco, Isabel knew. I could feel her long looks at me when my back was turned stirring a pot of chili, or cleaning out the fridge. Her gracefulness blossomed under our roof, knowing perhaps, that she was on her own.
My meanness backfired on me, as is so often the case...

There were jovial greetings in the living room; the evening becoming a party.

I felt him before I saw him.

"Julie. How have you been?"

I'd know that voice forever.

Even after all this time, his physical presence rocked me. I leaned against the stove and said, "John, we didn't expect you."

 "I'm not staying. I'm dropping off my wife."

The word “wife” sliced through me. My spy network had scattered Post College, and I knew John wouldn't go for social media.

“We’re newlyweds," he beamed, and caught himself.

Had I become so neutral in his affection that he forgot how I might take that? I struggled to speak, trying to say congratulations.

I couldn't.

They best I could do was to ask where they had met.

"I met Isabel in the lab in grad school."

In the midst of my shock, I thought of the physics prof with glasses, the fictional target of my ire. Isabel. John married Isabel. The enormity of it. The irony. Or was it?

“John, did you know we were house mates?"

“I don't know," he said, as he darted his eyes. His protecting her hit me as strongly as his marriage.

“John, you need to get going," Isabel said as she circled his waist with her arm.

“Hi Julie. You look good," she said. Glowing. Triumphant. The nerd telling the cool girl to stick tithe nerd with the only man I ever loved. Normal. Fitting in. Married.

Amy skidded around the corner to rescue me, her loyalty as big as her heart.

Seeing my trusted friend and John in the same room, I began to open a bit to this shocking news.

"Best wishes to you both!" I said, not quite meaning it, but feeling as if I were emerging from a cave into the light.

My limbs felt heavy with loss, and yet I felt a sliver of hope.

I still loved John. Probably always would, But it was time to get among the living.

Time to stretch and sway with growth.

Take that dance class.

Learn to speak French.

Give Amy the friendship she deserved.

Open my heart again.

 While I turned back to the fridge, Amy tapped my shoulder. Alone in the kitchen, we hugged each other fiercely." That was tough stuff," she said. I squeezed her a bit longer.

Tony De Angelo peeked into the kitchen and said, “You two are missing the party."

So we joined our friends, who were laughing and swaying to the soft music, its tone above a whisper, but enough for us to join in the dance. 



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