The second year after his mother died he finally gave into his brother's prodding to come for Thanksgiving. He always volunteered to work on Christmas so that the guys with kids could have the day off, which meant he got Thanksgiving off. Besides he had a couple weeks worth of worth of leave they were bugging him to use; figured he might as well take a few days to shut Michael up.
Besides, she wouldn't be there. Even if she did happen to come back to Llanview for Thanksgiving she'd be with her family; not much chance of running into each other. He told himself that was for the best, that there wasn't some part of him secretly hoping to see her. Tried not to let his mind spin fantasies about seeing her again. It had been nine years… he should be past that.
Fog in Atlanta during his Tuesday night flight meant that his fifty minute layover took three hours and change and by the time he met Michael any thoughts of her were drown out by the rumblings in his stomach. "Johnny!" Michael said brightly, "How are you?"
"Starved," he said letting Michael embrace him. "Please tell me our next stop is for food."
Michael laughed. "Sure thing." As they walked towards baggage claim. "I was beginning to give up on you, bro. Thought you were trying to weasel out of yet another visit."
"No such luck," John said, "Just the weather. Where's Marcie?"
Michael rolled his eyes. "I told you John, she doesn't get back in town till Thursday morning."
"She's flying on Thanksgiving?" John asked reaching for his bag on the conveyor belt.
Michael sighed. "Speaking engagement Wednesday night. Earliest she could get back."
"The trials of being an international celebrity," he said hoisting the bag onto his shoulder.
"More of a national celebrity. She's taking on the rest of the world next year," Michael said leading the way towards his car. "So you up for Rodi's?"
John smiled. "I've missed this town." He had missed this town. He had missed Rodi's. And yet as soon as he thought of going there part of him wanted to refuse. Because Rodi's meant memories; Rodi's meant Natalie. And she wouldn't be there. She'd headed out of town even faster than he could.
He tried to distract himself by staring out the window as they drove through town. Most of it looked more or less as he remembered except for a store here and there that had changed hands, trees that had grown or been cut down, or a mailbox that had been repainted. Rodi's, on the other hand, looked exactly as he remembered it he thought as they pulled into the parking lot.
As they stepped inside it was so familiar he felt almost as if he'd been through some kind of time warp except that he knew no one inside. A decade ago he knew most of the staff and could always count on someone he knew being there. They used to joke that everyone in Llanview always showed up at the same restaurants on the same night, as if there were some sort of email that went out telling them where to go. But tonight the place was filled with strangers.
Of their own accord his eyes wandered first to the bar and then to the pool table, but at both he saw nothing more than a group of unknown college kids. Not a red-head in sight. They sat down at a table where he'd sat at least a hundred times. Even the menu was virtually the same as he remembered. Michael rambled on about changes that had taken place since he left: the renovations to the hospital, Marcie's new job at the university, little bits and pieces about people he knew. Nothing that honestly interested him that much. "You know who that is, don't you?" Michael asked motioning towards a young man bent over the pool table.
John shook his head. "Matthew Buchanan," Michael said.
He stared at the kid again; hard to believe he was that old but a second look confirmed it—that was definitely Matthew. He watched Matthew play for a moment; he was good. Did his cousin teach him? He and Natalie had always been close. He'd almost worked up the courage to ask when they were interrupted by the waitress.
"Is everything okay here?" the petite blond asked.
John nodded but Michael interjected, "Actually, no. My burger it seriously overcooked."
Panic washed over the waitresses face. She must be new, John realized; not experienced with handling customer complaints. "I'm so sorry sir," she said, "How did you order it?"
"Medium-well," he said cutting into the burger and holding up a section to demonstrate, "this is clearly well-done."
"Actually sir," she said tentatively, "if you look in the center there is a faint pink stripe-"
Michael made a production of looking, "That's pretty faint."
"Michael," John said, surprised by his brother's behavior, "give her a break."
"Well I can get you another one if you'd like," she volunteered.
"That's not necessary," John intervened. It had been a long time since he'd been to a restaurant with Michael true, but this was totally unexpected. He'd never known Michael to complain even if his order really was screwed up.
"Yes it is," Michael said, "and you know what?" He picked up one of his French fries and tossed it back down, "The fries are cold too."
"I'm very sorry sir-" the waitress practically hyperventilated.
"Don't be," John said trying to give her a reassuring look, "they're fine. Ignore him."
"You know what?" Michael said, "I'd really like to speak to the manager."
The waitress blanched. "You would?"
"Michael!" John said.
"I would," Michael insisted.
As the girl slipped away to retrieve the manager John looked at Michael with a mixture of shock and disgust, "Mikey what the hell are you-"
To his further surprise Michael just grinned back. "Watch this?"
Behind him John heard a woman's voice say, "Yes sir, what seems to be the- …Oh. It's you. I should have known." In the past nine years John hadn't heard that voice except in his dreams, but he knew it's every cadence and intonation. If Michael's behavior had surprised him, this new shock nearly stopped his heart. She marched past him and stood with her back to him wearing a clingy burgundy top, that red hair tossed back into a utilitarian ponytail, so absorbed in upbraiding Michael that she hadn't even noticed him yet.
He had pictured this moment so many times… fantasized about running in to her out of the blue. In his fantasies he usually walked into a bar to discover a commotion around a pool table and see a familiar red headed figure bent over the table, wiping the floor with some cocky frat boy. He'd stand to the side unobtrusively and watch her win the game, then she'd turn around, and their eyes would lock… His obnoxious younger brother never figured in to those fantasies.
"Hi!" Michael said brightly.
"Look McBain," she continued, "I know your wife's out of town, but you need to find someway to amuse yourself other than harassing my wait staff, okay?"
"I did," Michael smirked.
"Good!" she said.
"I found this bum wandering around the airport," he continued motioning towards John, "thought you might want to meet him."
It seemed to take her ages to turn. John held his breath. She was still just as beautiful as she remembered. A look of shock crossed her face for only a brief second before she regained her composure and smiled. "John?"
"Hey," was all he could manage to get out.
"I um… I didn't know you were coming," she said.
"I didn't know you were back," he said.
"Yeah," she said, "'Bout five years now." She gave Michael a quick I'll-kill-you-later look and turned back to John to add, "Michael forgot to mention it?"
"He didn't ask," Michael pointed out defensively.
Natalie popped him on the back of the head. She managed to make the gesture look causal, but it sounded as though it hurt. "Ow!" Michael said.
"So you're here for Thanksgiving?" she asked awkwardly.
"Yeah," he said.
"You're here early," she pointed out.
"Flights were cheaper today," he explained.
"Right," she nodded, "When do you leave?"
"Sunday morning," he said.
"So how's New Orleans?" she asked. For some reason that question excited him; she knew where he was. She'd been keeping up with him. He tried to remind himself that he had no way of knowing if that was good or bad.
"It's okay," he said.
"I spent some time there," she said wistfully, "about… wow… I guess it's been seven years now."
"Before I got there," he said.
"I know," she said with half a smile, "I liked it. Didn't know the DEA was there."
"Oh yeah," he smiled, "port city. Plenty of work for us."
"I guess," she said.
"So you're the manager of this place, now?" he asked.
"Owner, actually," she said, "but it's my other manager's night off. Which your brother knew, hence the obnoxious behavior."
There was an awkward moment of silence before Michael interjected. "Marcie's not getting in till Thursday so we're having Thanksgiving dinner at the Palace."
"Oh," Natalie said not really sounding that interested, "I hear they do a good Thanksgiving." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear; she seemed really uncomfortable.
"So what do you and Jonas have planned?" Micahel asked.
"Jonas?" John asked before he could stop himself.
Natalie flashed him a forced smile but said nothing to his exclamation. "Oh, you know, the usual. Dinner at Mom's. Probably have to put in an appearance at Asa's." She looked past them suddenly towards the bar and called out loudly, "Jack Manning, you might as well put the fake ID away! Everyone here knows you're under age!"
A sullen looking fair haired teenager at the bar glared back at her. "Excuse me," she said, "I may have to have my cousin arrested. But hopefully I'll see you before you go back," she patted John on the shoulder, "Good to see you."
"You too!" he called after her as she swiftly made her way to the bar, but he wasn't quite sure if she'd heard him.
"What kind of a name is Jonas?" John asked as they climbed back in Michael's car.
"I don't think it's his name that's bothering you," Michael smirked.
John glared at his brother. "Yeah, I bet you think that little stunt you pulled was real cute, huh?"
"Oh it was hilarious," Michael laughed, "If you could have seen the looks on your faces…"
"You could have warned me," John grumbled.
"Probably."
"You could have told me she was in town," he insisted.
"And you could have asked me about her, but you didn't," Michael pointed out.
"Because this is exactly the kind of information you know I would expect you to volunteer," John said angrily.
"Yeah," Michael nodded, "but I thought you needed to work for it." Changing the subject he asked, "You sure you want to stay in a hotel? Marcie and I have a very comfortable couch. I should know, I've been exiled to it a time or two."
John smiled slightly in spite of himself. "No thanks."
"Okay, well if you want, you can drop me off at home and take the car. I can use Marcie's. That way you won't be stranded while I'm at work tomorrow," he offered.
"Yeah," John said, "that'd be nice. Thanks."
"She's living with her mom if you want to go see her. She's usually home during the day," Michael said. He kept his eyes on the road but John could see him smiling.
"She probably doesn't want to see me," John said running a hand through his hair, "besides--apparently she's with this Jonas guy."
"He's not her husband, John," Michael said, "I don't think Jonas is nearly the competition you think he is."
"There is no competition," John said sadly, "Natalie and I were a long time ago. I don't think I'm in the race."
"Maybe," Michael said tauntingly, "but it couldn't do any harm to go see her. You two have a lot to talk about regardless."
John didn't say anything else on the subject. He was still angry at Michael for deliberately throwing him and Natalie together like that, but he couldn't deny feeling a certain giddiness at seeing her again. Nine years. He should be past that.
And yet, apparently he wasn't, he thought the next morning as he stood in front of Llanfair and rang the door bell.
To be continued.
Author's note: Sorry about the fact that nine years have passed and the prologue only covered four. And only covered Natalie's half. I promise everything you need to know about the past nine years will be revealed… eventually.