I'll Be Your Blue Sky (Love Walked In #3)(4)

“Okay!” I said. I took my hands away from my face. Cornelia handed me a paper towel, and I dabbed at my eyes.

“Was that possibly not the best example to bring up at the moment?” asked my mother.

I smiled. “I’m physically incapable of laughing right now, but I do appreciate the effort.”

We sat together in the lemony morning light, not speaking, my mother and Cornelia with their hands clasped on the tabletop, the centerpiece making temporarily suspended, and for one lovely, breathing moment, everything felt suspended, as if we three, the birdsong, the crisp, weightless air, and the wealth of flowers hung outside of time, so that it wasn’t the day before my wedding or any day. No irrevocable catering contracts, no hordes of guests arriving in waves over the next twenty-four hours, no gifts amassing like tires in a junkyard.

A tall, thin elderly woman in a loose chambray dress and green gardening clogs walked by. Leaning on a cane, with a book tucked under her free arm, she navigated carefully across the grass, her eyes on the ground, and then just as she got to where we sat, she raised her head—her white hair starry as dandelion fluff in the morning sun—and smiled at me.

“Courage, dear heart,” she said in a ringing, surprisingly young-sounding voice, then dropped her eyes, and walked on. We all watched her go, patient step after patient step.

“Thank you!” I called out to her. She paused, shifted her book to her other arm, and raised her fist in solidarity.

Once she’d disappeared, my mother and Cornelia stared at me, questioningly.

“The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,” I said.

“What?” said my mother.

“Oh!” said Cornelia. “Aslan!”

“When he comes to Lucy in the form of an albatross,” I said. “‘Courage, dear heart’ is what he tells her.”

“Good grief, how you loved those books,” said my mother.

The gardening clog woman’s voice came back to me, silver as a tossed coin: Courage, dear heart. Courage. Courage. Fine. Who was I to disobey Aslan?

“I was making a list,” I explained, and once I’d eked out those first five words, the rest came tumbling faster and faster.

“I’m not proud of it. But I honestly thought it would be easy. That’s why I started it because if it were as easy as I thought it was going to be, I’d know we’d be okay. I guess it was kind of a test. God, that sounds awful. Not like a math test or a trial. More like, what’s it called? Litmus. Still bad, I know. The point is I expected the reasons to just stack up neatly—click, click, click. But then I got stuck, and even some of the items I was dead sure about seemed, I don’t know, flimsy? But the worst part is that the more I worked on the list, the more I realized how terribly, awfully much was riding on it. Which is so wrong and stupid. The whole thing reeks of betrayal, not only making the list, not only not being able to finish it, but being desperate to finish it. Because I’ve already said yes, and this ship is smack in the middle of the ocean, no getting off, and Zach’s a good person; he deserves better than a stupid list or than a-a-a fiancée who would make one. And listen to me: I can hardly even get my mouth around the word fiancée! What in God’s name will I do with wife?”

I stopped, panting and hot faced, panic charging at me from every direction. I braced myself for the bone-shaking impact of it, but before it arrived, my mother and Cornelia exchanged one glance—blue eyes locked on brown—the tiniest movement, but you could almost hear the thunderclap of it, feel the earth shift on its axis: their forces joining. On my behalf.

“You’re a natural list maker, Clare. As soon as you could write, lists, lists, lists,” said my mother, calmly. “It’s who you are.”

“But this is different,” I said.

“Would you like to share the list with us?” said Cornelia.

“Now?” As if another time would be more fitting.

“You don’t have to, but it might help to haul that puppy out of your head and into the world. We can swear to reserve all judgment, if you like.” Cornelia lifted her right hand and slapped the left onto an imaginary bible. My mother did the same.

“Maybe I want judgment,” I said, twisting my hair. “I can’t tell. I’ve lost perspective.”

“We can play the judgment by ear,” said my mother. “Judgment as needed.”

“The items are in no particular order,” I warned.

“So much the better,” said Cornelia.

“Wait,” said my mother. “Just to clarify: What is this a list of, exactly?”

“It’s a list of ten reasons why I, specifically—not just anyone but specifically I, Clare Hobbes—should marry Zach.”

“Got it,” said my mother. “Shoot.”

“Let ’em rip,” said Cornelia.

I cleared my throat.

“One: he makes a perfect egg over easy.” A goofy flutter of a laugh escaped me. “I told you they were in no particular order.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Over easy is your favorite,” said my mother.

“And he stripes them with sriracha!” I said.

“Stripes!” said Cornelia. “How incredibly thoughtful.”

“Two: he really, really wants me to. Zach wants me to marry him more than anyone has ever wanted anything from me in my life.”