Every Breath(83)

“But I hurt you.”

He leaned closer and raised a hand to touch her cheek.

“Grief is always the price we pay for love,” he said. “I learned that with my mum and when Andrew moved away. It’s the nature of things.”

Hope was silent as she contemplated this. She stared up at him. “You know what the worst part is?” she said in a subdued voice. “About knowing that you’re dying?”

“I have no idea.”

“Your dreams start dying, too. When I received the diagnosis, one of the first things that went through my mind was that it meant I’d probably never be a grandmother. Rocking a baby to sleep, or doing paint-by-numbers at the picnic table, or giving them baths. Little things, things that haven’t even happened and might not ever happen, seemed to be what I missed the most. Which I’ll admit makes no sense, but I can’t help it.”

Tru was quiet as he reflected on what she’d said. “When I was in the hospital,” he finally responded, “I felt the same way. I dreamed about going hiking in Europe or taking up painting, and then I’d get massively depressed when I realized that I might not be able to do those things. But the batty thing is that once I got better, hiking and painting no longer interested me. I think it’s human nature to want what we might not be able to have.”

“I know you’re right, but still…I was really looking forward to being a grandmother.” She managed a small laugh. “Assuming that Jacob and Rachel get married, of course. Which I doubt will happen anytime soon. They seem to enjoy their independence.”

He smiled. “I know you said the walk this morning was tough, but you seemed all right on the way back.”

“I felt good,” she agreed. “Sometimes it’s like that. And physically, I feel all right most of the time, as long as I don’t overdo it. I don’t think there’s been much change lately. I want to believe that I’ve come to terms with it. It’s enlightening, because it makes it easier to decide what’s important to me and what isn’t. I know how I want to spend my time, and what I’d rather avoid. But there are still days when I get frightened or sad. Especially for my kids.”

“I would, too. When I was in the hospital, Andrew’s terrified expression when he sat with me almost broke my heart.”

“Which is why I’ve kept it a secret so far,” she said. “Even my sisters don’t know. Or my friends.”

He leaned in and touched his forehead to hers. “I’m honored you shared it with me,” he whispered.

“I thought about telling you earlier,” she confessed. “After you told me about your accident. But I was having such a wonderful time, I didn’t want it to end.”

“It still hasn’t ended,” he said. “I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else. And despite what you just told me, it’s been one of the best days of my life.”

“You’re a sweet man, Tru.” She smiled sadly. “You always were.”

She angled her face slightly to give him a gentle kiss, the brush of his whiskers triggering a sense of déjà vu. “I know you said that two glasses of wine is your limit, but I think I’d like another glass. Would you care to join me? There’s another bottle in the refrigerator.”

“I’ll get it,” he said.

While he was in the kitchen, Hope rubbed her face wearily, hardly able to believe that her secret was finally out. She’d hated telling Tru, but having spoken the words once, she knew she would be able to say them again. To Jacob and Rachel and her sisters. Her friends. Even Josh. But none of them would react like Tru, who had somehow eased her fears, if only for a moment.

Tru returned from the kitchen with a pair of glasses and handed one to her. As soon as he took his seat, he lifted his arm and she snuggled within his embrace. For a while they sat in silence, staring into the fire. Hope’s mind reeled with all the events of the day: Tru’s return, the book of sketches, telling him her secret. It was almost too much to process.

“I should have gotten on the plane,” Tru said into the silence. “I should have tried harder to find you.”

“I feel like I should have tried harder, too,” she said. “But knowing that you thought about me all these years means everything to me.”

“Me too. Just like today…it’s been all I ever dreamed of.”

“But I’m dying.”

“I think you’re living,” he said with surprising firmness. “And day by day, that’s all any of us can ever do. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be alive a year from now, or a month from now. Or even tomorrow.”

She let her head drop back against his arm. “That’s what people say, and I know there’s truth to it. But it’s different when you know for certain that you only have so much time left. If my dad is any guide, I have five, maybe five and a half years. And the last year isn’t so good.”

“In four and a half years, I’ll be seventy.”

“So what?”

“I don’t know. Anything can happen, and that’s the point. What I do know is that I’ve spent the last twenty-four years dreaming of you. Wanting to hold your hand and talk and listen and cook dinners and lie beside you at night. I haven’t had the life that you did. I’ve been alone, and when I learned about your letter, I realized that I was alone because I was waiting for you. I love you, Hope.”