An Ever Fixéd Mark

An Ever Fixéd
Mark

Jessie Olson

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either a product of fiction or
are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
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of this author.

Copyright © 2010 by Jessie
Olson

Second Smashwords Edition,
2013

Chapter One

Lizzie made one last glare at the mirror.
Why did she decide to do this? There were so many plausible excuses
one could easily conjure to not go. It was, after all, only the
fifteenth. Twentieth was of more consequence. Like the tenth.
Fifteen is just an in between. Low key… less pressure. Just an
opportunity to say hello and have a glass of wine. Or… fifteen.

Still twenty pounds away from the determined
goal. Twenty pounds of plateau and stress. At least none of it had
come back. But… it wasn’t going to make the huge jaw dropping
entrance she had oft fantasized about, especially to push through
that last mile on humid summer mornings.

They all saw her photos on Facebook anyway.
Not like there would be any huge surprise. And people had noticed
the loss. Not that those people really mattered. It was just a
hello every five years or so. There were a couple who would be
there who didn’t make it to the tenth… but still… it wasn’t like
Will was going to be there. Or his wife.

She collapsed into the chair in front of her
desk, turning away from the mirror on the back of the bathroom
door. There was no use for any further fussing. She regretted her
procrastination to get to the hairdresser to mask the grays peaking
through her dark hair. She thought the curls she styled made the
lack of color in those strands more obvious. It was a nice wave –
if only it would last the ride out to the inn. She was satisfied
with the touch of mascara and eyeliner. Just enough to highlight
the brown of her eyes, but not too much to look overdone.

She was satisfied enough to look back at the
laptop and switch her iTunes to a livelier song. Her head moved
with renewed energy as she clicked the mouse back to the invitation
to see if there were any last minute additions or deletions.

Sara was still enthusiastically going.
Someone to cling to… even if the conversation dried up after the
first glass of wine. There were a handful of former classmates,
people with whom she was able to make friendly makeshift
conversation for how many years? Years when she was actually
worried what people thought. Now… after fifteen years of marching
to her own distinct beat with a complete disregard for other
opinions… why did it matter so much? If all else failed, she could
visit her parents. In fact, it would be a perfectly acceptable
reason to leave early to give them company on the holiday
weekend.

She stopped for coffee before getting on the
Pike to make the hour-long journey west from Boston. The barista
had a few extra winks and a very broad smile, assuring her that
even with the extra 20 she still managed to look nice in her red
dress and hoop earrings.

Her caffeine high and confidence for
flirting wore off by the time she pulled into the inn’s parking
lot. Red? Really. Why a color when black was much more flattering
and could hide so many more evils? What would she do when Sara cast
her disapproving stare over her pregnant belly? At least Sara was 7
months along and not the superlative of beauty for once.

She hesitated before closing the door of the
car. Should she bring her purse or put all keys and cash in her
coat pocket? She would probably leave her coat and not be able to
buy anything at the bar…

“Lizzie Watson?” someone called to her,
curtailing any last minute escape.

“Dan Stewart!” she put on her public charm.
“How are you?”

“Pretty good,” he smiled as he approached
with the petite redhead on his arm. “This is my wife, Delany.”

“Hi,” Lizzie stretched out a hand to Dan and
then Delany.

“Hi,” Delany offered up a good effort
towards friendly. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah,” Lizzie shrugged as she resigned to
the fact she had to close the car door and go inside.

“Lizzie ran a half marathon a few months
back,” Dan offered.

“And lost a ton of weight,” Lizzie said
silently to herself, knowing that was the other unspoken half of
the sentence. Well, it was public record on Facebook status
updates.

“Oh?” Delany looked intrigued. “Are you
going to do THE marathon?”

“Not this year,” Lizzie shook her head,
noticing Delany’s calves. “Do you run?”

“I did Boston three years back. And went to
New York last year. This year I’ve cut back because we’re trying to
get pregnant,” Delany smiled as they walked through the doors.

“Do you have any good tips about training?”
Lizzie tried not to make her relief too evident. If all else
failed, she could find Delany for a conversation.

“Absolutely,” the red head nodded as they
approached the reception table.

Lizzie collected her seating assignment and
shoved it into her purse as she handed her coat to the attendant.
She turned around to look for Delany or Dan and bumped into someone
else’s shoulder. A set of gray green eyes turned around and
startled her from her semi-interested state. “Ben?” she spat out as
impulse more than friendly greeting.

“Hi Elizabeth,” his greeting seemed
automated. “Dan.”

“Delany, this is Ben Cottingham,” Dan pushed
Delany forward, allowing Lizzie to step aside from her abrupt
greeting.

“Delany,” Ben repeated in the same neutral
tone and moved toward the coat check.

“Ladies, can I get you a drink while you
discuss marathons?” Dan offered, edging towards the ballroom.

“Chardonnay,” Delany answered.

“Uh… red – anything South American if they
have it,” Lizzie stuttered, almost startled that she was
accompanying Dan Stewart and his wife into the reunion. She looked
back to Ben, who glanced in her direction as he handed over his
coat.

“Sara will be here,” she nodded before
looking back to Delany, whom in spite of nerves and high school
politics, she couldn’t help but liking.

*****

Lizzie stared at the
burgundy liquid in her glass. She doubted one more sip would make
the conversation at her table more interesting. But she imagined to
finish it and leave to get another glass would invite a look from
Sara. Was there really a time in their lives when they spent hours
on the phone talking with one another? Lizzie took a sip, leaving
two more swallows to tint the edges of the plastic with red. She
offered a smile to the table, unable to contribute any suggestions
about how to offset the symptoms of morning sickness. She was the
only female at the table without that reference point. Maybe she
could entertain the Y chromosomes with a discussion of
18
^th
century muskets… but they all seemed the type more interested
in Fenway Park and Gillette Stadium.

She waved across the dance floor to Delany,
who looked equally disinterested in the conversation with Dan and
his old crowd. She contemplated finishing the last two swallows to
make a trip to the bar and travel back to ask Delany about sneakers
when Sara brought her back to the table. “What about you,
Lizzie?”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Weren’t you seeing someone? I thought I
remember you mentioning someone last year.”

“Oh that? That really… didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sara rested her
hand against her proportionate baby bump. “I was hoping that you
would have brought him tonight.”

“He just got married,” Lizzie blushed when
she realized her answer was vocal. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t meant to
be.” Not that it ever was, Lizzie managed to keep to herself as she
swallowed the rest of her glass.

“Sara,” Ben Cottingham greeted behind
Lizzie.

“Benjamin,” Sara smiled with such sweetness,
Lizzie knew it was an effort. Lizzie mimicked Sara’s saccharine
expression to disguise her cynicism. “This is my husband, Ted.”

“Ted,” Ben nodded. “Congratulations. Your
third?”

“Fourth,” Sara smiled extra hard, at which
point Lizzie twisted her neck to look at Ben.

“Are you still in Connecticut?”

“We just bought a new house in Thompson,”
Sara slipped her hand into Ted’s as the music changed to a slower
tempo. Ted took the cue and led Sara out to the dance floor,
signaling all the couples at the table to follow suit. Lizzie
looked at the vacant chairs and back at her empty wine glass.

“Allow me,” Ben offered. Lizzie looked to
the dance floor. She could almost smell the cafeteria and see the
blue metallic speakers. The flash of memory vanished as a plastic
wine glass appeared before her.

She took a sip as Ben sat beside her. “I saw
that you ran a marathon,” Ben looked at the dancing couples.

“Half,” Lizzie took another swallow of wine.
“Since then I’ve been a total slacker.”

Ben looked away from the dancers, questions
in his green gray eyes. Lizzie didn’t remember the freckles across
his nose and on his cheeks.

“Okay, not total. But I’m not training… and
certainly not… just doing what I need to allow food comas on Turkey
Day.”

Ben smiled and looked back at the dance
floor. “That’s good enough, isn’t it?”

“Not when I wanted to wear a little black
number tonight,” Lizzie drank another swallow, almost emptying the
small plastic glass. “Amazing how Facebook creates conversation
opportunity at reunions.”

Ben looked back at her. The eyes that
questioned smiled with amusement. “It is a curious phenomenon.”

“I have a friend who contemplated a thesis
on that. But she opted for something more literary,” Lizzie swirled
the remaining liquid in her glass. “That said, in spite of the fact
you are my friend… what have you been doing for the past 15
years?”

“School. Working. More school. More
working.”

“Computers?” Lizzie tried to remember the
profile page.

“Computer engineering,” Ben’s green gray
eyes looked back again.

“I write letters and plan parties,” Lizzie
kept looking at her glass.

“I thought you worked for a hospital.”

“In fundraising,” Lizzie
glanced up, almost intrigued that he would have paid attention to
her detail as much as she paid attention to his. But that was only
because she remembered him from 10
^th
grade study hall and
wondered what he amounted to after pining over Sara for three
years.

Ben’s eyes wandered back to the dance floor.
Maybe it wasn’t just three years after all. Lizzie finished her
wine and let the silence linger in the chairs between them. There
was a sudden increase of quiet before the music cranked up the
tempo and volume. Lizzie looked at the partners moving into circles
and randomness. “Thanks for the wine,” she stood and went to
Delany’s side for jumping and twisting.

She was sweating by the time the tempo
changed again and welcomed the opportunity to leave the dance floor
and go back to the table for a gulp of water. Ben was still seated
amongst two couples who hadn’t returned to dancing. He looked even
less interested in their words than he was in hers earlier.

“You don’t dance?” she felt emboldened by
the slight endorphin rush and wine still coursing through her
veins.

“I dance,” Ben didn’t look at her when he
spoke, but very shortly after.

His answer silenced the table from their
conversation about turkey dinners. “Where are Sara and Ted?”

“Sara was tired,” one of the women answered
reluctantly. “So they went home,” she made a pleading glance at her
husband.

“Oh,” Lizzie contemplated her empty wine
glass versus the keys in her purse as the next song began and
continued the slow theme.

“
Lizzie, Sara said you had
a beau,” the other woman Heidi offered an attempt for
distraction.

Lizzie coughed on the laughter. “I had a
rather severe infatuation last year,” Lizzie said pointedly. “I
wouldn’t say he was my beau.”

“Oh,” Heidi looked uncertain. “Ben, what
about you?”

“I don’t have a beau,” he smiled and met
Lizzie’s eyes.

“A girlfriend?” Heidi asked impatiently.