The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(113)

Instead of racing, my heart seems to slow as I approach Jimmy’s grave. Despite having been to it only once, I know exactly where it is. My knees are weak, but they haven’t buckled. My steps grow slower, my eyes skimming over the other names without really seeing them. I’m only here for one tonight.

There it is.

I stop.

Giacomo “Jimmy” Mirabelli, age 27.

Beloved husband, son and brother.

And you were, Jimmy. You were beloved. By all of us, but maybe especially by Ethan. Ethan, who forgave you.

My legs are shaking badly, but I force myself to take a step. And another. Another. Then I crouch down and put my hand on the cold granite of Jimmy’s headstone.

“Hi, honey,” I whisper, and my eyes flood with hot tears. For a few minutes, I just let them slip down my cold cheeks. The wind rustles the branches as I stare at my husband’s grave.

“I’m here, Jimmy,” I say, my face scrunching. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Memories flood my heart—Jimmy’s amazing eyes, his huge laugh, the strength of his arms. He was my world, and my future. He was the love of my life. My old life.

“Guess what?” I whisper. “I checked the toast, Jimmy. I saw his face. And yours, too, honey. I know everything.”

I smooth my hand over the cold granite of his gravestone, trace the “J” of his name. Far away, an owl calls, and the fallen leaves rustle in the breeze.

It’s so hard to say goodbye to someone you love, even if he’s already gone. Even if he left you first. For so long, I’ve been Jimmy’s widow. Maybe being widowed again wasn’t the thing I so feared. Maybe it was being more than a widow. Maybe it was this exact moment.

“I’ll always love you, Jimmy,” I whisper. “But I need to leave you now.”

Those words burn like a brand pressed to my heart. I bow my head and let the wave of sorrow wash over me…and recede. And after a minute, the pain in my heart fades, too.

I press a kiss to my fingers and hold them against his name. I’ll come back, I know I will, but it will be different. Tonight is the goodbye that has been so long in coming. I whisper one more thing, the last thing I need to say to my dead husband.

“Thank you, Jimmy. I loved every minute of my life with you.”

Then I stand up and wipe my eyes. I take a breath of the cold, clean, salty air, and another.

It’s time to go now, to a new life. To Ethan, the man who has loved me with absolute selflessness for all this time. Who loved me enough to watch me marry someone else, who stood at my side through the darkest moments of my life, who has been waiting for me for so long. The man I’ve loved for years, though I’ve never admitted it till now.

I take one more look at Jimmy’s grave. My breath catches.

At the base of the headstone, something glints in the faint light of the hidden moon.

A dime.

With a shaky laugh, I pick it up and kiss it. Despite the cold November night, the dime is warm, and I know, somehow, that this is the last one I’ll ever find. “Thank you, Jimmy,” I whisper. The pebble in my throat is gone. At last, it’s gone.

Then I tuck the dime in my pocket and start running, my legs strong now, the air pure and cold. Five rows, six, nine. There’s my father’s grave, but tonight, I can’t stop. “Wish me luck, Daddy!” I call. Good luck, Princess, I imagine him saying.

And then I’m out of the cemetery, onto the town green, onto Main Street where Ethan was hit. I’m flying now, my feet hardly seeming to touch the ground as they carry me farther away from Jimmy, from my past, and closer to the one I hope will be my future, and I run faster still.

GIANNI’S IS MOBBED. Clearly the Mirabellis’ anniversary party has mushroomed into a huge event. Every table is occupied, and more people stand near the bar, drinks in hands, laughing, talking as Tony Bennett’s mellow voice drifts out from the speakers. Waiters buzz around with trays of food, bottles of wine, baskets of bread. There’s my mom at a table with Corinne and Chris. Mom holds Emma and tilts her head up to say something to Captain Bob, who stands there, clearly waiting to be asked to join them.

I don’t see Ethan anywhere. I’m still panting from the run, adrenaline zinging through my joints.

“Hi, Wucy!”

I look down “Nicky! Hi, sweetie,” I say. “Where’s your daddy?”

“Guess what?”

“Can I guess later? I need your daddy.”

“I can burp whenever I want to,” my nephew informs me, then demonstrates his new talent.

“Is Daddy here?” I ask a little more loudly.

“Lucy? What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.” It’s Parker, emerging from the ladies’ room.

“Is Ethan here? I need to…I have to see him.” I stand on tiptoe to see the far side of the restaurant, but I can’t find Ethan.

“Why?” she says, her eyes narrowing.

“Is he here? Please, Parker.”

Something in her expression softens. “Is everything okay?” she asks, putting her hand on my arm. I nod. “He’s in the kitchen. Gianni hired some bozo to cook tonight, and he didn’t show, so Ethan took over.”

“Really?” I say. To the best of my knowledge, Ethan has never cooked for his folks…for me, sure. Yet another sign I’d so willfully ignored these many years.