The Wedding Veil(41)
I focused back on Hayes, my sadness compounding. “I am always here for you, Julia,” he said. “I promise. You are my first and only love, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Ever.”
I smiled. “I feel the same.”
He stood up, and I stood too. He wrapped me in a hug, and I lingered there, my head on his chest, knowing it would be the last time, praying that I was making the right decision. He kissed me, and I let him. It was goodbye. It was forever. Then I watched as he made his way down the dock, walking with that distinguishable swagger that was his and his alone the entire way. He stepped onto a boat that would take him to the ferry. He turned, blew me a kiss. I didn’t catch it. I didn’t need it anymore.
I waved, watching as the boat pulled away from the dock, getting smaller and smaller and then disappearing into the blue horizon, the sky meeting the sea and obscuring everything—even this great big love that, like a river swallowed up by the ocean, had finally run its course.
BABS Young Life
I kept telling myself, as the Summer Acres movers put the last box in their truck, that this was going to be a lovely surprise for my daughters. Although they might not exactly be thrilled that I had decided to move with practically no notice, wouldn’t they at least be impressed I had managed to get all my possessions packed for the new town house without their help? Although I knew that not bothering them was perhaps what they were upset about most of the time.
Summer Acres had sent over a team of three ladies for three days to help me pack. I was paying them handily, but it was worth every penny to make decisions with unemotional bystanders who, for some reason, kept asking, “But does it bring you joy?” I didn’t know. Could a person get true joy from an inanimate object? Plus, joy was a relative term. Easy Spirits were never going to bring me joy. Jimmy Choos brought me joy. But my feet would probably answer that question differently.
I was leaving almost all my furniture and larger possessions behind, but it was shocking how much I’d accumulated over the years. I had imagined leaving my house with a suitcase and a rack of hanging clothes. Instead, I was taking a rack of hanging clothes, a few pieces of special furniture, and nineteen boxes, six of them filled with books I positively could not leave behind.
I had promised myself I wouldn’t have a dramatic parting with my home. I would still be here often to visit, after all. But the night before the move, unable to sleep, I had walked from room to room taking in every detail, as though, after eighty years of this being my family beach house, I might forget something. Sure, the bathrooms had been updated, the kitchen redone, furniture moved in and out. But the wood paneling and original floors remained. The peerless view was the same, although the beach shrank or expanded from year to year depending on the storms. The wide front porch was as it had always been. It was only I who had really changed.
When had this place that had felt as natural to me as my own hands become frightening? When had the quiet become scary?
Deep down, I knew the answer.
I tried to remember the warm, cozy parts of that terrible night, the ones that reminded me of a crackling fire and a fresh vase of flowers, both of which had been part of the scenery.
I was sitting in my white upholstered club chair, across from Reid’s recliner, catching up on my reading for the Friends & Fiction Book Club, while Reid, ever consistent, was engrossed in a Reader’s Digest issue. He broke the silence when he asked, “Do you think we should get a dog? It’s quiet around here.”
I slammed my book shut and gasped. “Reid! I’ve been thinking the exact same thing! I didn’t want to say it out loud because it’s so impractical at our age.”
“I was thinking maybe we should get a rescue dog, a little older and calmer.”
“Really? I’d prefer a puppy. We can still rescue one.” I stood up and started pacing around the room because I was so excited. “We could put his bed right here.” I gestured to the spot between our chairs. “And we could take him for walks every morning.”
“And potty train him.” Reid groaned. Well, yes, perhaps we had done enough of that in our lives. But still. You must take the good with the bad.
“But that warm puppy nose and those ecstatic tail wags!”
Reid closed his magazine now and looked at me, amused. “You really want a puppy?”
“I think it would brighten things up. We could use some new, young life around here!”
I never could have imagined the irony of that statement.
Later that night I’d stood in the bathroom, brushing my teeth in my silk pajamas. Reid had wrapped his arms around me from behind and nuzzled my neck, kissing the spot where it met my chin. I had smiled at him through my toothpaste foam. We held hands as we fell asleep.
That was what I wanted to remember.
When I woke up early the next morning, I was surprised that the sun was already shining through our bedroom windows, radiating off the crashing waves. I hadn’t gotten up once to use the bathroom? A miracle! I looked over to see if Reid was stirring, to decide if I should let him sleep or if I should get up and make coffee.
His face looked pale, his lips a little blue. Dread washed over me. “Reid!” I squealed in a pitch I thought only schoolgirls were capable of. “Reid!”
I touched his neck, frantically searching for a pulse, my hands shaking. That spot where his pulse should be, that spot on me where his lips had been not eight hours earlier, was cold.