Only in Dreams(12)
WHEN I CLIMB into the taxi I never expect to get a history lesson from the driver. Apparently he is an expert of Bastrop and is thrilled to impart his knowledge during the thirty-minute ride there. With just over seven thousand residents, the little town apparently succeeds in having that small town feel, while remaining part of what’s considered Austin’s metropolitan area.
At times, I find myself wondering if the Bastrop tourism office might pay this guy for his dedicated praise of the town. He proceeds to inform me at one point that they even have a Wal-Mart. To which, of course, I answer, “Thank goodness, I can’t live without my Wal-Mart.” I think my sarcastic tone might have escaped the poor fellow.
Quite honestly, though, after all the fast-paced, pushy New York cabbies, it is kind of nice to have a guy that really enjoys his job, as well as the area where he lives. He even makes me promise to try the Roadhouse, a restaurant off State Highway 21 during my stay.
Emmie and Colin had decided, when they were expecting Olivia, they didn’t want to raise kids in the city. She wanted the small town Midwest feel she had grown up in as well as a strong art community so they could open a gallery. After extensive research, and a lot of visits to various towns, they settled on Bastrop.
It is hard to believe they have lived here for a little over a year now, and this is my first time visiting. They made such frequent trips back to New York in the beginning, as Colin was liquidating a lot of his properties, there never seemed a need for me to head south. Then came my apprenticeship in Paris, and before I knew it, I was back and living in a penthouse with Henry while Emmie had her family in Texas. Sometimes it feels like the entire world lay between us, and I miss her being just across the living room.
As we pull down the main strip I can hardly believe what I am seeing. It is like I’m on the set of a movie. I’ve seen places like this on television, but I suppose I never processed that they actually existed. Could it be? Places like Mayberry were out there? The street is quiet, with a handful of cars parked on either side.
“This is downtown?” I ask in disbelief.
“Sure is.”
We roll past one small building painted in a muted teal color, and across the stone building I read, ‘Chamber of Commerce.’ Just past that building the cab pulls into a parking spot. Opening the door, I step out and look around. On the far side of the street I see numerous galleries, antiques shops, a quaint bakery, a florist, even an old-fashioned looking drug store.
Turning and walking around to meet the cab driver, currently removing my bags from the trunk, I hand him the fare with a generous tip, thanking him for the information-packed ride. Throwing my travel bag over my shoulder, I roll the oversized suitcase behind me. When I come around the other side of the cab and see the small, beautifully carved sign that reads Bennett Family Art Gallery a smile emerges, covering my face from ear to ear. I am here. This is it. I am about to see Emmie, and she will bring the calm back into my life I have been missing.
To the left of the gallery is a picket fence leading to a courtyard, along with a wooden sign, similar to the one for Em’s gallery. It reads, Bennett Woodworking. I should have guessed Colin couldn’t slow down enough to just be a dad and run the gallery after being a property investor in New York. I am a little surprised, however, Em hadn’t told me about his latest venture.
I hear the driver pull away, and I pull my bags behind me, fumbling for the front door, finally grasping it with my partially free hand. I yank the door open, a service bell above me chimes, and that’s when it happens. I hear something I never expected to.
“Hey Christian,” a man shouts from across the street. Instinctively, I turn my head and look. He’s already looking at me as the man approaches him. He looks different than the last time I saw him, but it’s Christian. His shoulders seem broader; his hair is longer, the dark strands falling into his eyes. He has a few days worth of beard growth on his jaw line.
He begins talking to the man who had called out his name, constantly looking over at me as he does. I feel a pain in my chest and a fluttering in my stomach. I panic; I don’t know what to do. The taxi is gone—I can’t run—there’s nowhere to go.
“Paige?” I hear Emmie’s voice as she emerges from the back room.
I turn and look at my friend. Her hair is twisted up into a bun, and she’s wearing glasses, which I’ve never seen her in. Sweet Olivia is on her hip, no longer bald, no longer my Olive head. Tugging on the luggage, I push my way into the door. I don’t look back at him.
“Colin, Paige is here!” Emmie shouts. Colin rushes out from a hidden corridor and across the room, scooping me up into that big brother-like embrace I’d forgotten about. He has always looked out for me, even when I was a kid, and suddenly that same feeling comes back. My bags fall to the floor as I wrap my arms right back around him, squeezing as if he were about to slip away. It’s hard not to see Christian in him, but I do my best not to think about his brother. His brother who was right outside on the street, the last place he should be.