Comfort & Joy

I take his hand and move into the circle of his arms. The warmth of his touch makes me sigh; it is a sound I try to take back. In this darkness, it is too loud, too breathy.

We move together awkwardly; I wonder if it has been as long for him as it has for me. “I was never much of a dancer,” I say by way of explanation. This is an understatement. Thom flat out refused to dance.

I can feel Daniel’s gaze on me. “I can’t see your feet, but I’ll wager I’m steppin’ on ’em,” he says with a nervous laugh.

I feel young in his arms, and safe. We find a rhythm easily, and move together as if we’ve danced for years.

Overhead and to our right, a star tumbles through the sky in a streak of white. “Make a wish,” he whispers.

My answer is you, but that’s ridiculous. I don’t think I could stand it if he laughed at me now, so I say, “I want to start over. ”

The music ends and Daniel releases me. It’s all I can do not to reach for him. I know I will think about this moment, his touch, all night.

Behind us, Bobby flicks off the radio, plunges us all into the real world again. Now there is only the roar of the surf and the crackling of the fire. “I know my wish, Dad. What’s yours?”

It’s a long time before Daniel answers. When he does, he’s looking at me. “Starting over would be nice. ”

I stare at Daniel, unable to look away, unable to stop thinking what if?

What if I could fall in love again and start my life over? What if I could belong here?

“Well, let’s get going,” he says at last. “We’ve lost our light. ”

At that, I think: Have we? Have we lost our light, or have we perhaps just glimpsed it for the first time? All I know is that, when I climb into the truck with this man and his son, I’m smiling.

Suddenly, I know what I have been waiting for all these years, why I’ve been collecting brochures and books and snapping pictures of other places.

I’ve been wanting to start over, dreaming of it.

And now, finally, I know where I want to be when I begin this new part of my life.

All that night, as I lie in my bed, I think of Daniel. Over and over in my mind, I replay our dancing. The way he looked at me, held me, whispered, “Make a wish. ” As the night rolls toward dawn, it takes on the shiny patina of myth.

I am just waking up when I hear a noise.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Daniel. I can tell by the sound.

I throw my covers back and get out of bed. A quick run into my bathroom, and I’m dressed. Then, carefully, I peer out my door.

A light is on in the lobby.

I walk quietly down the carpeted hallway. In the lobby, I find no one. It takes me a second to notice that the door is open.

In the purple mist of early morning, I see him standing in the front yard. This time, I don’t even think about hanging back. I am starting over now; this is my new beginning.

I am almost beside him when I see Bobby out on the end of the dock. He is talking to the air. Even from this distance, I can see that he is crying and yelling.

Daniel makes a sound. In this foggy morning the sound is distorted, drawn out until it sounds like a sob.

I lay my hand on his arm. “I’m here,” I say.

He shivers at my touch, but doesn’t turn to look at me. “God . . . how long will this go on?”

The truth is forever and not long. “He’ll talk to her until he doesn’t need to anymore. ”

We stand there, side by side. Out on the dock, Bobby is yelling for his mommy.