The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(33)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

“I sort of figured,” he said, snapping the box shut again and slipping it into his pocket. He gave the quartet a little shrug, and they kept playing as he settled back onto the blanket. Mom scooted closer to him, and Harrison gave his head a rueful little shake.

“I swear,” he said, “I’m gonna to wear you down eventually.”

Mom smiled. “I hope you do.”

To Hadley, this was all completely baffling. It was like Mom wanted and didn’t want to marry him all at once, like even though she knew it was the thing to do, something was holding her back.

“It’s not because of Dad, is it?” Hadley had asked later, and Mom looked up at her sharply.

“Of course not,” she said. “Besides, if I was trying to compete with him, I’d have said yes, right?”

“I didn’t say you were trying to compete with him,” Hadley pointed out. “I guess I was more wondering whether you’re still waiting for him.”

Mom took off her reading glasses. “Your father…” she said, trailing off. “We drove each other nuts. And I still don’t exactly forgive him for what he did. There’s a part of me that will always love him, mostly because of you, but things happened this way for a reason, you know?”

“But you still don’t want to marry Harrison.”

Mom nodded.

“But you love him.”

“I do,” she said. “Very much.”

Hadley shook her head, frustrated. “That makes absolutely no sense at all.”

“It’s not supposed to,” Mom said with a smile. “Love is the strangest, most illogical thing in the world.”

“I’m not talking about love,” Hadley insisted. “I’m talking about marriage.”

Mom shrugged. “That,” she said, “is even worse.”

Now Hadley stands off to the side of this little church in London, watching as the young bride and groom emerge onto the steps. Her phone is still pressed to her ear, and she listens to it ring across the ocean, over the wires, around the globe, looking on as the groom’s hand searches out the bride’s so that their fingers are braided together. It’s a small gesture, but there’s something meaningful about it, the two of them stepping into the world as one.

When the phone goes to voice mail she sighs, listening to the familiar sound of Mom’s voice telling her to leave a message. She finds herself turning around so that she’s facing west, almost unconsciously, like it might somehow bring her closer to home, and as she does she notices the narrow point of a steeple just between the white facades of two buildings. Before the phone can beep in her ear she flips it shut again, leaving behind yet another wedding as she hurries in the direction of yet another church, knowing without knowing that this is the one.

When she gets there, rounding a building and then weaving between the cars parked on either side of the street, she’s pulled up short by the scene before her, her whole body going numb at the sight. There on the small patch of lawn is a statue of Mary, the one Oliver used to get in trouble for climbing with his brothers. And standing around it, gathered in tight knots, is a crowd of people wearing shades of black and gray.

Hadley remains rooted a safe distance away, her feet stuck to the sidewalk. Now that she’s here, this whole thing seems like the worst possible idea. She knows she’s always had a tendency to leap without looking, but she realizes now that this is not the kind of visit you make on a whim. This is not the end point to some spontaneous journey, but rather the site of something deeply sad, something irrevocably and horribly final. She glances down at her dress, the soft purple too cheerful for the occasion, and is already starting to turn away when she catches sight of Oliver across the lawn and her mouth goes dry.

He’s standing beside a small woman, his arm resting lightly around her shoulders. Hadley assumes the woman must be his mother, but when she looks closer the scene before her shifts and she realizes it’s not Oliver at all. His shoulders are too broad and his hair too light, and when she holds up a hand to shield her eyes from the slanted sun, she can see that this man is much older. Still, she’s startled when he looks over, his gaze meeting hers across the yard, and while it’s clear now that this is one of Oliver’s brothers, there’s also something astonishingly familiar in his eyes. Hadley’s stomach lurches and she stumbles backward, ducking behind a row of hedges like some kind of criminal.

When she’s safely out of sight, hidden to one side of the church, she finds herself just outside a wrought-iron fence woven with vines. On the other side is a garden with fruit trees and a haphazard assortment of flowers, a few stone benches, and a fountain that’s cracked and dry. She circles the perimeter, running a hand along the fence—the metal cool to the touch—until she reaches the gate.

Above her a bird cries out, and Hadley watches as it makes lazy circles in the crowded sky. The clouds are thick as cotton and laced in silver from the sun, and she thinks back to what Oliver said on the plane, the word taking shape in her mind: cumulus. The one cloud that seems both imaginary and true all at once.

When she lowers her eyes again, he’s there across the garden, almost as if she’s dreamed him into being. He looks older in his suit, pale and solemn as he digs at the dirt with the toe of his shoe, his shoulders hunched and his head bent. Watching him, Hadley feels a surge of affection so strong that she nearly calls out.

But before she can do anything, he turns around.

There’s something different about him, something broken, an emptiness in his gaze that makes her certain this was a mistake. But his eyes hold her there, nailing her to the ground where she stands, torn between the instinct to run away and the urge to cross the space between them.

For a long time they just stay there like that, as still as the statues in the garden. And when he gives her no sign—no gesture of welcome, no indication of need—Hadley swallows hard and comes to a decision.

But just as she turns to walk away she hears him behind her, the word like the opening of some door, like an ending and a beginning, like a wish.

“Wait,” he says, and so she does.

13

10:13 AM Eastern Standard Time

3:13 PM Greenwich Mean Time

“What’re you doing here?” Oliver says, staring at her as if he’s not quite convinced she’s actually there.

“I didn’t realize,” Hadley says quietly. “On the plane…”