Always the Last to Know(120)

The crowd burst into applause.

Noah turned me around and kept his hands on my shoulders. His big, warm, manly hands. “Sadie, I’ve looked at that painting every day since you gave it to me. It’s part of me.”

“Then why’d you put it up for sale?”

“Because I wanted to show what you do. How beautiful your paintings are. I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“But you won’t have it anymore.” A little sob popped out, and I covered my mouth.

“That’s okay. That was the old us. That painting has tortured me for years now, reminding me that I’ve only ever loved you.”

“Well, you’re quite a masochist then, hanging it in your house. You could’ve just burned it.”

“Absolutely not. Being mad at you was better than not having you at all. It was a way to see you every day. But, Special, I can’t do that anymore. I can’t keep you, and I can’t let go of you again. I love you. I love that you’re a painter. What you do is important and beautiful and . . . and magic. You just saw that. If you need to be in New York, I understand. We can make it work. I want to make it work. I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen. I’m not gonna wreck that again.”

I seemed to be crying. Nope. Definitely crying. My mother and sister watched, smiling.

“I don’t want five children,” I said. “I don’t know if I want any.”

“I already have the world’s greatest kid, and he has the world’s greatest mother.”

“I live in a crooked house that hasn’t passed inspection.”

“I can fix that. Or you can marry me and live in my house.”

“I have a place in New York.” I dashed a hand across my eyes.

“You can spend as much time there as you want. I’ll even come visit when you want.”

“Did you . . . did you just propose?”

“Yes. For the third time, I might add.”

He was smiling.

“Are you sure, Noah?” I whispered.

He dropped down on one knee, and the folks around us cooed. A few people whipped out their phones. “Home is where you are, Sadie. I shouldn’t have tried to make everything fit how I wanted it. Marry me. Be my son’s stepmother. Be my wife. Go to New York if you need to, but come home to me, Sadie Frost. I love you with everything I have.”

I looked down into his dark, dark eyes. They were full of love and happiness and . . . certainty.

“Third time’s the charm, then,” I said. “Yes, Noah Pelletier, I will marry you.”

I kissed him then, threading my fingers through his curly hair, feeling so much love, so much joy. My father’s word to me was the key to everything.

Home had never been a place. Noah, my wild boy, was my home, my heart, my joy. Part of me had always known it, and now I would stake my claim and build from here.





EPILOGUE





Barb


Two years after he moved into Rose Hill, John died. In bed. With Janet.

They hadn’t had a sexual relationship, she told me. They just liked sleeping together. I believed her. It was nice to think that he died next to a woman he loved, who loved him as he was, and had never known him any other way.

So I was a widow now. I never had divorced him. Just couldn’t bring myself to sign the final papers. I had Caro, who’d moved in almost as soon as I asked her to. I hadn’t known life could be so happy and fun, so free. I didn’t need a divorce, wasn’t interested in dating. I’d won another term as first selectman, and so I had at least two years more of working, and that was wonderful.

Juliet and Oliver were better than ever, and Brianna and Sloane were the lights of my life. I still saw them a few times a week, but . . . well, things had changed a little bit. Juliet was still my darling girl, but she had come into her own. She was more relaxed now, and I had to admit, she didn’t need me as much as she used to. That was just fine. That was wonderful, in fact. The girls were putting them through their paces, and she was handling it like a real champ. Her firm was going gangbusters, and gosh, I was proud.

Noah and Sadie had gotten married about a month after the art auction. Just a little backyard affair here, at my house, with Caro officiating, since she was a justice of the peace. Brianna and Sloane were her bridesmaids, and Noah’s parents came down from Ottawa. Nice people. Even Sadie’s little dog got to come, and ate some cake before it was time, but we just cut it from the other side.

Now, too, I had little Marcus, who called me Nana and often came running into the town hall to give me a hug when Noah was there, filing paperwork with the building department. Mickey was a hoot and a holler, and she was a regular at our family gatherings. She loved to tease Caro and me about being lesbian wannabes, and we’d laugh so much at her comments.

Sadie had made good on her promise to flip that little house of hers. Granted, her sister was an architect and her husband was a carpenter, but she did most of the work herself, and it was quite the little charmer when it was finished. Her friend Carter and his husband bought it and called it their country house and often had lovely parties there. Caro and I were always invited.

Sadie had started an art gallery here in Stoningham. The Frost Gallery. It had her own pieces and some sculptures and photos by other artists, too. The summer folks gobbled it up. Another way our name was growing. Frost/Alexander, now the Frost Gallery. Sadie lived with Noah most of the time, though she’d flit off to the city for a few days here, a week there. She was a little bird, my daughter, always flying somewhere, but always coming back. Sometimes Noah would go to New York with her, and Caro and I would petition to take Marcus for a night or two, letting him stay in the bathtub till his fingers were pruney, then cuddling him and reading to him, kissing his dark curls.