Caroline Harrison
Jensen Beach, Florida
That same early spring
It was 2 o'clock on a Saturday, and I was sitting behind the register in my family's seaside fish market and deli. It was a local favorite called Joey's Smokehouse (after my dad), but in my family we affectionately referred to it as "the store". I had two older brothers, and all three of us had grown up working at our parents' store. My oldest brother, Will, still worked there with me, but my middle brother had gone to Georgia for college and had never come home.
Joey's was a simple, casual operation that sold the freshest fish (both smoked and fresh). My dad was famous for making smoked fish dip, which we sold by the truckloads in little pint-sized containers. We had a couple of menu items such as sandwiches and salads, but it was more about the fish and the dip.
My parents opened Joey's when I was eleven, and I was now thirty, so I had been working there for over half of my life. The store was like a second home to me. We had regulars—fishermen and locals who had become like family over the years. In fact, I loved it so much, that I was currently at the store when I didn't even have to be. I had all my work done an hour before, but I just didn't feel like going home. Not tonight.
"I'm going out later," I said to Angela, the girl who was working behind the counter.
"You don't go out," Angela said, looking at me like I was crazy.
"Yeah, but I'm not feeling like going home tonight."
Her face was a mask of confusion. I was famous for loving my house. My parents owned some beautiful land on Hutchinson Island, and my brother and I were both able to build houses on their property. It was extremely picturesque since we had views of both the ocean and the river. I had a dog, and I loved working in my garden, so Angela was correct in being confused by my unwillingness to go home.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked.
"I'm not gonna say," I said with wide eyes. "Because if I say the words out loud, I might cry."
"I thought it looked like you've been crying," she said. She pulled back and inspected my cheeks from my eyes, down to my jawline as if looking for any mascara that had ventured astray.
I wiped my cheeks. I hadn't cried much, but I had shed a few tears that day. I was surprised she could tell.
"What happened?" she asked. "Nobody's hurt or anything, huh?"
"No," I said. "I'm just. It's just that. It was, I was, Justin and I were… I'm not going to say it right now because I, I'll probably… I'm gonna be quiet for a minute, hang on."
"What is it, Caroline? Was it? Were y'all supposed to… was today the day you were supposed to…"
I knew Angela was thinking of the right question, and I nodded.
"You and Justin?" she clarified. "Were you supposed to get married toda—"
I nodded again, and her expression morphed to one of regret before she reached out to hug me.
"I'm so sorry," she said, patting my back. "Maybe you should go out. I heard John Michael and the guys talking about going out tonight. You should go with them."
I smiled and nodded even though I didn't really feel like it. In fact, I regretted saying I was even thinking about it. "I probably won't," I said. "I just said that because I didn't want to go home and be alone on what should have been my wedding day. I'll probably just go to Katie and Will's."
"I'm sorry, but I for one am glad you didn't marry that guy. You need to forget about him."
"I did. I have been. I mean, it was eight months ago when we broke up, and I've been doing fine without him. It's just weird that today was supposed to be the day, you know?"
"How long were y'all together?"
"Six years," I said.
"Ohhh, man," she said. "I didn't realize it was that long."
I sighed regretfully. "What a waste of time."
"Don't beat yourself up," she said. "We all waste time on one thing or another. I'm great at it."
I stared straight ahead as Angela greeted and checked out a customer. It was one of the rare times when the customer was someone I'd never seen before, and I was glad for the opportunity to stare straight ahead and not make any conversation. While she was finishing the transaction, I had a whole chain of thoughts about what a waste of time it had been for me to be with Justin. The guy walked away, and the first thing out of my mouth was, "Most of my friends are married."
"I'm not married," Angela said.
"Yeah, but you've been married."
She shrugged. "I know, but I'm not now."
I sighed. "I met this boy in Canada when I was ten years old, and we promised each other that if we weren't married by the time we were thirty, we'd find each other and fall in love and everything would be just great. It was my backup plan, and I just remember thinking that was an eternity away and that there was no way I could ever marry him because I'd certainly be married by the time I was thirty. Back then, thirty-years-old seemed like a distant possibility, and now here it is. Now I'm thirty and unmarried just like I thought I'd never be."
"Whatever happened to the guy?" Angela asked.
I glanced at her to find that she was wearing a curious, wide-eyed expression. Her obvious interest made me let out a little giggle.
"Nothing. I have no idea. I was ten. For a few years, I told my friends I had a "boyfriend in Canada", but then Christine Simmons told me that was a dumb, cliché thing for me to say because everyone who had a fake boyfriend or girlfriend said 'they were from Canada'. So, I quit talking about Theo after that. That's all he was… my fake Canadian boyfriend."
"What were you doing in Canada?"
"My whole family went up there. My dad's granddad was in bad health and he knew he was leaving some things to my dad, so we went up there to get that in order. He's the reason they were able to open the store. We spent a few weeks up in Montréal one summer when I was ten. That boy was my first everything. My first kiss. My first crush. My great-grandpa's place was right next to a public library, and I used to go there while my parents were busy. Theo lived nearby, and he would meet me just about every day. We carved our names into a desk."
"So he wasn't your fake boyfriend," she said. "It sounds more like he was your real one."
I shrugged. "I wished he was," I said. I could still remember what he looked like. I smiled at the thought.
"Why don't you call him?" Angela asked. "You said you made a pact about getting married. You should call him up and see if he remembers."
I let out a laugh. "I don't even know his last name. He didn't speak very good English. He mostly just listened to what I said. He knew a little bit of English, and he taught me a few words in French, but it was hard for us to communicate."
"Did you kiss him?"
A felt a wave of emotion at the memory of sneaking around in the library to steal kisses from that boy. I could almost smell the books as I imagined it. He was the cutest boy I had ever seen, and I loved the way he spoke French.
"Did you kiss him?" Angela repeated since I was lost in thought.
I nodded. "Lots of times, actually. Like ten times at least."
"And you made a pact to get married when you turned thirty?" she asked.
"I think we did," I said. "We had a communication barrier. I said the words in slow, clear English, and he looked like he understood. He agreed to everything I said. I had just seen the same type of pact and a movie, and I wanted to give it a try since I knew we lived far away and we wouldn't be going back to Canada."
"Did you actually like him, or did you just make that pact to play out a scene in a movie?"
"The movie was just what gave me the idea. I really liked him. I cried when we left. I was in love with him for almost three years after that summer—up until I got made fun of for saying I had a boyfriend in Canada."
"Yeah, but you really did!" Angela insisted, taking up for adolescent me, which was really sweet.
"Not really. I didn't even get his last name. That's what happens when you're ten."
"Why can't you find him now? You should call that library. You said he lived close by. You never know. Someone could have been working there way back then. They might know who you're talking about."
I laughed at how sincere she was. "Even if I did manage to track him down, it's not like I could call him and say, 'hey, remember that pact we made twenty years ago? Well, I'm ready to get married now'."
"Isn't that what they did in the movie?" she asked.
I thought about it for a second and then shrugged. "I don't even remember," I said.
"Well, why make a pact if you're not going to follow up with it? That's all I'm saying."
"No. Just no. I didn't bring this up so that you could talk me into doing that. I just thought it was funny, because back then, thirty seemed like a lifetime away, and now, here I am."
"I think you should call that guy," she said. "You never know. Maybe he had a fiancé who turned out to be a real dirtbag, too. Maybe y'all's pact is meant to come true."
"I'm not calling a man out of the blue and asking him if he remembers promising to marry me when we were kids. That's just desperate."
"I still don't understand the point of a pact if you're too embarrassed to follow through with it."
"He's probably m-married," I said. The statement was out of my mouth before I realized it, and I cringed a little at saying that word on a day like today.
"What's the harm in calling the library?" she asked. "You ask one person if they knew a boy named Theo who used to live down the street. What's the worst that could happen? They say 'no'? They laugh at you?"
"You are not making me call a library in Montréal, Canada, Angela."
"Why not? What else are you going to do? Go home and get ready for a big night on the town with John Michael and the boys? You going to shoot some pool at Shooters?"
"Uhhhhh," I groaned. "I can't believe I’m even thinking about this!"
Angela and I looked at a map, but it was impossible for me to remember where we had been. I called my dad, and he told me the name of the street was a Saint name and that he thought the name of the saint started with an H. I inspected a map with that in mind, and came to the recollection that it was Saint Hubert. There was indeed a library on this street. "I think that's it," I said, pointing at the map. I remember the name Hubert because it reminded me of sherbet when I was little."
"Okay, here it is," Angela said. She must have done something with my phone, because she was handing it to me like she expected me to put it to my ear and speak into it."
"What did you do?" I asked with a stunned expression.
"I called that library," she said.
"You can't just call Canada on my phone. I thought we would email or something."
"I think I just did call," she said regretfully as she dropped the phone into my hand. "I'm sorry if it charges you for that. I just pushed the link on their website, and it started connecting."
She was still talking when a man's voice came over the phone. He said a phrase in French that I wasn't able to understand. I didn't want to hang up on him, so I politely said, "I'm sorry, I only speak English."
"I also speak English," he said. "How can I help you?"
I hesitated for a second. "I'm going to ask a totally random question that you probably don't know the answer to," I said.
"Aw, I really hate not having answers," he said with a smile in his voice.
"This is a terribly random question, so I won't hold it against you if you don't."
"Well, now you've got me genuinely curious."
"How long have you been working there?" I asked.
"Eight years," he said proudly. "My name is Charles. How can I help you today?"
"Thank you, but I doubt you'd be able to answer my question if you've only been there for eight years."
"Really? Why don't you give me a shot? Eight years is quite a bit of experience."
"I'm sure you have plenty of experience, but I need someone who's been working there for about twenty years—someone who would know a boy who used to live in the neighborhood and come in there a lot. His first name was Theo. He was ten-years-old at the time, which would make him thirty now. My grandpa used to live right next door. He played chess there, and the boy played with him." I knew I was rambling nervously, so I intentionally stopped, making myself take a deep breath.
"You're right, I wasn't here twenty years ago, but I believe I know the Theo you're referring to."
"You do?" I asked, feeling amazed. I never in a million years thought the person on the other end would actually know who I was describing.
"I'm pretty certain of it."
"You know a man named Theo who would have lived close by there twenty years ago?"
"Yes."
"Would he be about thirty now?"
"I believe so, yes," he said with a smile in his voice.
"Do you know how to get in touch with him?"
"I'm not sure, but I think I could."
I spoke with Charles for several minutes after that—explaining in a little greater detail the story about meeting Theo when we were kids but leaving out the part about the pact since that would automatically make me seem desperate. I gave him my email address and asked him to please give it to the person he thought was Theo. He was a really nice man who seemed to take interest in my story. I couldn't tell if he knew this person named Theo or if he just knew of him. Either way, he seemed eager to help me out. He was so friendly that I almost explained to him where the desk was and asked him to seek it out, but I decided not to. He said he would try to reach Theo for me, and I thanked him for the trouble.