He threw his pen at the kitchen counter, and it ricocheted off some cookbooks before landing near the coffee pot. I happened to turn as he entered the room, so I saw his face the moment he’d thrown his pen. He was angry. I saw it in his tense body language and haughty gaze. This arrogant look was rooted in the trait I liked least about him; he believed that he was superior to most. Someone clearly crossed him on his last call. I knew not to talk to him until he’d cooled down.

My body tensed like it often did when he was like this. I turned around when I realized he hadn’t seen me. He was in his own world. I turned the sink on to finish washing my lunch dishes. We’d both been working from home for the last few months. The agreement was – he would use the office upstairs – I would use the guest apartment over the garage. But he often found his way to my space, which I’d begun to struggle with. Living with an angry man is hard enough. Living with an angry man and then working all day with him, is damn well near torture. At first, I was flattered. We had been living together for a year and a half by then and I often felt like I was walking on eggshells with him. But when he wandered into my space with his laptop, just to be near me, I secretly loved it. It temporarily tempered the nagging fear about his anger. Sometimes it was small things. Sometimes it was big, life stuff. Either way, his anger filled our big house until sometimes it was the only thing I could see and feel.

Like a noxious smell, it would float in ahead of him sometimes. It’s like I could feel the weight of the poison as he came in from the garage or outside. I loved him. I thought I wanted to spend forever with him. But I realized recently that I loved his potential. When he lived in that place of potential, he was adorable and funny. He could be tender and kind. This is the man I loved. Except that’s not the man I lived with much of the time. His anger strikes like venom from a snake. Sometimes, I almost wished he’d hit me. Maybe it would feel better to have a physical reminder of what he was capable of. I’ve come to see him as a cruel man – but only when he is like this. He’d turn on the happy, adorable version of himself and I’d forget what he’d done or said the day before. On one such occasion, he’d promised to go with me to a work event. It was a significant moment for me. I talked about it for weeks. I not only wanted him there, but I also needed him to be there. He didn’t show up for me. When I confronted him that night, his callous response was, “I’m really not interested in sitting through a bunch of lame speeches to see my girlfriend get some meaningless award.” He walked out of the room without further comment.

You would think that would have been the end of it for me. But the next morning, I came downstairs to him making all my favorites for breakfast. His mood was light and he was, once again, the man I thought I knew. My heart softened. My urge to run (always my first urge) was tamped down, as he doted on me. There was no explanation, there was no apology. Just a breakfast made for a queen, a dance in the kitchen, and the best sex we’d had in a while. All was forgotten. Until the next time.

Before he could say a word about why he was angry & what throwing the pen was about, I walked out of the kitchen, grabbed the dog’s leash, put it on her, and took her out for a midday walk to the park. In the half-hour I was gone, I made up my mind, when he left for his trip next week, I would move out. Every night until he left, I fell asleep to dreams of lighting the house on fire as I shut the door one last time. It’s not that I wanted to hurt him. I just wanted him to stop hurting me. I wanted to get away. I didn’t want to feel that venom pulse through my veins anymore. The only thing I knew to do was leave. But the fantasy to destroy him as I did, would live on for months.

On the morning, he left for Seattle, not even an hour after he’d left, the moving crew arrived. They packed up my personal belongings and the furniture I owned and bought myself and loaded it onto the truck. I travel light, as it were, so it didn’t take long. I packed the dog in my car, and the truck followed me to the mountains of North Carolina – 7 hours from him. I’d rented a small Craftsman bungalow in Sylva, sight unseen. My new landlord met me there with the keys. He gave me a tour before heading back to his office. The moving crew unpacked the truck, and after I gave them tips, they went on their merry way. When I shut the door to the house, I immediately locked it and then turned to look at my mess of a house, with boxes everywhere. I slid down to the hardwood floor. The dog trotted over to me and then rested her chin on my knee. There was no urge to turn on music or the TV. There’d been a constant compulsion for noise when I lived with him. Maybe it had been a subconscious need to drown out his harsh words. I sat in silence on the floor of my new home and eventually peace followed. But this time, instead of peace ruined by the constant fluctuations of a selfish and angry man, it stayed.

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As she left the house, she pulled her raincoat tighter and pulled the hood up to keep the frizz at bay. The rain had stopped – but only for a few minutes. Her weather app warned another thunderstorm cell was making its way toward the coast. It was just enough time to walk – if she was fast – to his hotel a few blocks away.

She arrived just as a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. She entered the hotel and her heart quickened. She took a deep breath – how did he still make her feel this way after all this time? When she reached his floor, she untied and tied her raincoat belt a couple of times. Wondering suddenly what would look better. Her anxiety has gotten the best of her. She’s missed him so much. She left the coat untied and knocked on the door.

He opened it with his characteristic, wide smile. His eyes were lit with that thing she used to see in his eyes every day. It was a mix of desire, love, and affection. “Hi,” he said.

She replied, “Hi.” He stepped aside so she could come into the room. Music was playing from his streaming account, the playlist displayed on the hotel room TV. It was a playlist she’d made years ago, before he’d officially asked her out the first time. She didn’t even know that he knew it existed. But then again, he was always studying her – always watching her every move, even when life took them far from each other – so maybe it wasn’t so surprising. The song playing is, “I love you, I’m sorry,” the song on constant repeat, the summer they fell in love.

“Can I pour you a glass of wine?” he asked.

“Of course.” She slipped off her coat and hung it across a chair.

When he turned around to hand her the wine glass, he smiled again. His eyes traveled the length of her body. “You look . . .” he paused and then continued, “incredible.” She’d found a lace halter slip dress at Anthropolgie months ago and bought it for him. They’d become ships passing in the night. She was traveling for work constantly. He’d taken a temporary assignment in New York. She spent more time than she would ever admit, planning their next trip or the next visit to the city because she missed him so much. He stepped closer to her and offered her a wine glass. She took it from him and then he pulled her close. “You smell amazing too,” he said, kissing her neck.

“Thanks. I figured you’d like the dress by the way. I bought it just for you,” she said, and then took a sip of wine. “Oh my. What is this?” she asked, holding up the wine as he released her, temporarily, from his arms.

“There’s a new wine shop next to the hotel. You should check it out soon. The wine is a gamay noir from the Sonoma Valley. I think that’s what he said. I don’t know. I try to remember for you, sweetness. But I always forget.”

“I love that you try. I’ll look at the bottle later. Right now, I just want to get a good look at you.” He smiled again. This time, his eyes filled with the tenderness that made her want him more than she’d ever wanted any man.

“Samuel Louis Smith!” he exclaimed, causing her to laugh. “Look at that, I actually remembered the name of the winery.”

“Thank you. I haven’t heard of it. Love the wine, though. I’ll have to pick up more. So, what’s with the hotel, baby? Our house is no longer good enough for you after your fancy life in New York?” He smiled and kissed her neck again – his kisses trailing up to her ear.

He whispered in her ear, “Just something a little different. Since I’m only here for a day, I thought it sounded exciting.” He nibbled her ear. She pulled him along - closer to the small table and set her drink down. Then she pulled him toward the bed.

“Any time I see you it’s exciting,” she said. She kissed him as she began unbuttoning his shirt and then grabbed his belt before unbuckling it.

“True. Especially these days. So, you’re not even gonna take me out to dinner? Just straight to it, huh?” She smiled as he reached behind her neck and untied the halter top of her dress.

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“Yep. Who has time for dinner when my husband is only in town for 24 hours?” Her dress slipped off - with minimal coaxing.

“That was easy,” he said. She smiled up at him, thankful for every second she could get these days - with the man she would love for the rest of her life. The easiest decision she’d ever made was loving him.

“Everything with you is easy. I love you,” she said.

“I will always love you more,” he replied.

Author’s Note: The characters in this short story are secondary characters in my novel, Land of Canaan. When secondary characters seep into a short story, it works a bit like a muse and helps me write more. The Cole family also makes an appearance in other novels that I’ve set in the same fictional town (Maple Ridge). This is in the same universe as Land of Canaan and the others - but five years in the future.

“I shall have no peace while you live, woman.”
– Tom Christie to Claire Fraser

I missed him every day for five years. But I’d chosen to accept what I could not change, long before that, basically since the day we met. I lived a good, quiet life despite walking away from him. Walking away was the last thing I’d wanted.

I can’t call my life peaceful, exactly. How can one be truly at peace, when a part of one’s heart is living somewhere out there in the world without you? I don’t regret anything. But I can’t call it a true peace. Nonetheless, I am happy. My family is priceless. My friends are like family. My home, my beautiful home is finally finished. I’ve spent four years pouring what extra time and money into it that I could, and my first guests arrive in two weeks. It’s my dream, a rambling farmhouse bed and breakfast on the Lost Coast of California. I farm a plot of land next to the inn with my vineyard manager – continuing to grow grapes in California’s Mendocino AVA – like the previous owners. The house is surrounded by redwoods and ferns on one side and windblown cypress and California chapparal on the other. The white blanket of fog reminds me, especially in the early morning hours, while I drink my coffee, that my life is beautiful. I want for nothing.

On my last day of work, just before I walked into the restaurant, to meet my team for my going away, I thought I saw him step out onto the street. He was crossing the road, headed in my direction, when he stepped behind a truck. I stopped in my tracks. Lucas? Ukiah was busy that Friday afternoon and I found myself suddenly surrounded by people. I lost him in the commotion. I didn’t see where he’d gone once the truck passed. But did it matter? It couldn’t have been him. I’m seeing things again. Wouldn’t be the first time. I had stopped hoping he’d find his way back to me long ago. My heart sank. How did this still happen all these years later? I fought back tears as I opened the door to Lily’s Café. Now is not the time. When I stepped across the threshold, cheers rang out. My small team, and much to my surprise, people from across the firm were on their feet – for me. Tears rose again. But this time it was the gratitude that did it. The turnout for my going away was almost enough to make me regret leaving them for the life of an innkeeper. The possible Lucas sighting was forgotten within moments.

Two weeks Later

My opening week has gone as expected – which is to say so many things have gone wrong – it has become comical. Thankfully, the one thing I got from my mom was her ability to handle a crisis like a champ. Even when the world is on fire, I’m calm, cool, and collected. Although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous about tonight. Tonight is not only my grand opening celebration and the first night I’ll officially serve my own wine publicly, but it’s my biggest wine dinner yet. I’ve been hosting these dinners for three years while I worked on opening the inn. Once I’d finished the kitchen, the garden, and outdoor dining area, I started hosting quarterly dinners with chefs, winemakers, and local farms. The goal was simple – good food, great wine, and stories about the hands that make it possible.

Though it started as a creative outlet while I worked on the house, it increased interest in the inn as attendees saw the transformation of the farm. When I finally started accepting reservations, I was booked for the season, within hours. My staff, though they are small, have worked hard, by my side, to get things in order for tonight. This despite the chaos of the week that included a plumbing disaster and my oven quitting on me in the middle of breakfast service. They took it like champs. And now I’ve entrusted them with welcoming my first guests, while I slip out to change into a more presentable ensemble than my raggedy shorts and a Metallica t-shirt with holes. A sure sign I trust my team is not having a second thought about disappearing as guests arrive. I trust them completely.

From the bedroom window of my suite, I look down on the yard after getting dressed. I’ve chosen a white and cobalt blue Otomi dress. This is a party I don’t want to forget, and the outfit needed to reflect that. I smooth the dress while I admire our hard work. Friends, neighbors, former colleagues, fellow business owners, and our first inn guests, are mingling under the white lights that are strung across the yard. Everything looks perfect. My heart is flooded with gratitude. I’ve been dreaming of this for so long I almost can’t believe it’s real.

When I join the party a few minutes later, I’m instantly reminded of the promise I made myself nearly two decades before. So far, I’ve lived up to the promises I made myself. I stand in the middle of the courtyard and take it all in. I am a lucky woman. “Poppy!” From the other side of the yard, a friend calls out to me. As I walk through the courtyard toward her, I shake a few hands and give out a few hugs. Kate, a sommelier friend I’ve asked to be our emcee, is moments from kicking off the festivities. I catch her staring me down – trying to keep my ADHD brain on target is not easy. She taps her watch as a warning, as I walk further away from her.

I acknowledge her reminder. I put up my hand, “Five?” I ask her.

“Sure. But only five,” she says as I reach my friend Stella. She hugs me in her Stella way. Her hugs are like she’s never seen you before and will never see you again. They’re big and warm and just what I needed. I love a Stella hug.

“You look stunning,” she says. And then, “Everything is beautiful and dinner smells amazing. I am so excited for you. You are an inspiration. No one can chase a dream like you.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you could come.” As she releases me from her hug, she begins to introduce me to her table, a group of friends she’s brought with her. As she makes her way around the table, I can feel someone’s eyes boring a hole in the side of my head. The person briefly looks away, but is staring again moments later. I’m being watched very closely. I turn for a moment, trying not to be rude as Stella continues the intros. Lucas. It’s Lucas. As in Lucas Cole is standing in my courtyard, thousands of miles from where I last saw him five years ago.

After Stella finishes her intros, I turn in the direction of the stare – “Lucas?” I ask. As if there were any mistaking this man I would know anywhere.

“Hi,” he says, taking a step toward me. Time has aged him, but in a rugged and well lived way. “I know this is weird,” he says. “I can explain.”

But before he can say anything else, Kate taps the mic and kicks off the event without me. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Kate Reynolds and I’m your emcee for the evening. Please take your seats so we can get started. Poppy, will you join me up here?” she asks. I smile at Lucas and turn to face the crowd, who are either settling into their seats or clapping for me. I give a little curtsy with my own Poppy flair, causing people around me to laugh.

I turn back to Lucas. “Please come find me after,” I say, lightly touching his arm.

“I will,” he says, smiling broadly.

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After my guests are happily chatting away, the wine and cocktails now flowing, Lucas makes his way across the yard toward me. I’ve been watching him all night, so I know he’s on the way. I lean over to Kate, “How do I look?”

“Perfect. Good luck,” she says.

I stand up as he reaches the table. “Hi again,” he says.

“Hi. Can I have a hug?” I ask.

“Of course. I thought you’d never ask.” Lucas, the man I once said I loved more than anyone I’d ever loved, instantly feels like home. It doesn’t matter that five years have passed – he is like coming home. It has always been this way. His arms have always been, as long as I’ve known him, where I want to be.

When I pull away, determined to be the first to let go after what he put me through, I try not to say the first thing that comes to mind. Despite my joy over seeing him, there’s a little raging river flowing underneath it all. Why now? Why? I say, “How – like - what? I mean-”

He laughs and looks down at his feet in an aww shucks, kind of way, and then looks back at me. He cocks his head to the left. He smiles and my heart lurches. “I accepted a position with the Upper Lake Ranger District. I found a house in Ukiah. It wasn’t the original plan. The original plan was Mariposa Grove at Yosemite. But the Superintendent at Upper Lake left and they needed to fill the position quickly. They offered it to me. So, I took it. I moved here about three months ago. I’ve been getting settled, learning the job, and the area. I hoped I’d run into you soon. But if I didn’t, I figured I’d make a trip out here. I hope it’s okay. My Mom and Ben said you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. They know me well. I’m glad you came. Congratulations on the job! I know that was your plan all along. How’s Ellie? Is she adjusting? Must be a tough age to make this move.”

At the mention of his daughter, Lucas smiles again. “She’s with my parents. We’ll reevaluate the situation in a few months. I don’t like being so far away from her. But sophomore year of high school is a terrible time to move a teenage girl. She’s coming out for each break to see how she feels about it here. I think she’ll want to move. But we’ll see. I miss her.”

“I can imagine. You two are so close. I’m sure it’s hard for her. But she’s probably happy you’re giving her time.”

“She is. It took me about five years to be able to accept an arrangement like this. It was a little hard to-” he says and trails off.

“I know,” I say. “I know.”

“Is there any chance I can see you soon – talk and catch up, maybe?” he asks.

“I would like that,” I say. I say I’d like it, but how do I do this after so many years have passed us by?

Before we can continue our conversation, I’m interrupted by a local reporter. “Ms. Hart, can I get that interview now? I know you’re busy, but I have a few questions before I go,” she asks.

“Of course. Give me just a moment. Why don’t you have a seat at my table, and I’ll join you in a second.” I turn back to Lucas once she’s seated next to Kate.

“I would love to catch up, Lucas. My life is a little crazy right now with the inn though. Maybe not the kind of crazy in your life when we first met – but crazy just the same. Ellie jumping off the gazebo and knocking out her front tooth, gushing blood everywhere in the middle of our first date, is another level of crazy. But I did enjoy seeing how you managed a four-year-old in an Emergency Room. I thought I was a calm person.”

“I’d forgotten that” he says. “She was such a stinker. I don’t know how I survived those years,” he says. “I understand. You’ve got a lot on your plate. I’m willing to wait a bit if that’s easier.” Lucas reaches for my arm, resting his hand on my elbow. “You were very patient with me. It’s the least I can do,” he says. “If you need me to wait, I can wait.” He doesn’t move his hand. I’m almost positive, I’m blushing.

“Can you come by on Monday, maybe late afternoon? It should be a little quieter – as long as the plumber doesn’t run into any more issues.”

“I’m off on Monday. I will see you then,” Lucas says.

“See you then,” I say. I sit down at the table next to the reporter, but there’s only one thing on my mind – Lucas Cole.

On Monday afternoon, as the plumber is packing up and getting ready to leave, Lucas pulls up and gets out of his truck. I watch him from the window over the kitchen sink. He looks more handsome this afternoon than he did on Saturday night, if that’s even possible. There’s something about this particular mountain man in his jeans and a t-shirt that has always been so wildly hot to me. I love him now, like I loved him then. It doesn’t hurt that he’s even more handsome these days. Five years doesn’t seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but we’ve both lived a lifetime in the last five years. My hair is greying under the dye job. The crow’s feet are signs of a happy life – but I’m still self-conscious about them sometimes. I’m thinner now, my curves a little less so, after five years of labor on this house. That and being sick with love and loss. I’m not as anxious to make things happen now as I once was. He made my life hell in some ways. His indecision was like torture. His ultimate choice made perfect sense. I was still devastated. Where do we even begin?

Lucas catches me watching him from the window. He smiles and looks down at his shoes in the most shy and endearing way, just as he did the other night. I’ve always loved that about him. He jogs up the steps to the kitchen door. I meet him there as he’s about to knock. I am instantly terrified. Under normal circumstances, I am a very confident woman. I always have been. I don’t question how to draw a man to me. I don’t doubt my ability to distract, please, entice, or make a man fall madly in love with me. What I doubt very suddenly is how I’m going to get through this. My confidence with men suddenly seems meaningless around the man I love more than my very self. I have built a life of my own - far from the North Carolina mountain town where we met. I’ve wanted him near me nearly every day since I left. But a protective and necessary layer hardens around your heart after so much time has passed. Where do we even begin now? He was my best friend and the love of my life. It’s true what I told him years ago – I’ve never loved anyone like I love him. That didn’t change when I left. It hasn’t changed in five years.

Lucas looks nervous too. That I expected. “Hi again,” I say. “Glad you’re here. How about I get us something to drink, then we can go sit on the porch?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he says.

“What would you like?” I ask.

Lucas takes a seat at my kitchen table. His 6’4 frame dwarfs my dainty chairs. “How about a glass of that red I had the other night?”

“You liked that, eh?”

“I did. Best Pinot I’ve ever had.” He better like it. It was made for him. I think my confidence is returning a smidge. I take a decanter out of the cupboard. I feel like this could be an entire bottle of wine conversation and the decanter seems like a good call. While I get our wine glasses and open the bottle of my 2023 Pinot Noir, I ask Lucas nosey questions about his new life in California. He obliges me, but seems a little guarded. Or maybe he’s just nervous. It’s impossible to know with him.

After pouring the bottle of Pinot into the decanter, I motion for Lucas to follow me. His cologne fills the room, reminding me of how much I’ve missed him. We sit in the rocking chairs on the porch – facing out to my miraculous view of the Pacific. A view that I absolutely don’t deserve. “Wow,” is all he says.

“Right? I don’t know how I deserve this,” I say.

“You deserve it because you worked your ass off for it.”

“True. I sacrificed a lot to get here. And this place, while well-loved by its previous owners, was in disrepair so I did get a good deal, in spite the view and vineyard.”

“When mom told me you’d bought the place, I was so proud of you. She shared photos as you made progress,” he said.

“From Instagram?”

“Yeah. I eventually followed your account myself. You may have noticed,” he says, looking a little sheepish. I didn’t. I was so busy trying to get the inn open that social media was an afterthought most of the time.

“I hadn’t noticed. But don’t take it personally. I posted what my assistant at the firm told me to post. And now my staff manages it for me. Thanks for following. The fact that the illustrious Jane Cole is rooting me on from the High Country makes me very happy.”

“She’s quite proud of you,” Lucas says. “I am too. You’ve done everything you said you would do.”

“Apparently you have too,” I say. “Superintendent is the first step. I’m sure a Region is not too far behind.” He smiles humbly. “How are Ben and the boys? I haven’t heard from him in a while. I used to get texts from time to time.”

“He is good. The boys are good – growing like weeds. They’re hilarious. He’s a happy man these days. But that’s a story for another day.”

“A woman?” I ask, smiling. Hopefully the other Cole boy is finally happy.

“How’d you know?” Lucas asks. “She’s a real pip.”

I laugh. Lucas smiles and studies me. “Pip, eh? That’s one I haven’t heard in a while,” I say. “I don’t know a thing about her, but if she makes Ben happy and she’s a pip, I’m sure I would love her.”

“Oh, you would.”

“Tell me about her,” I say. Without any further worry or thought about where this goes, we fall into easy conversation. I shouldn’t have doubted it would be like this. After hearing about Ben’s love, Arden, it’s no surprise I haven’t heard from him much lately. I’m practically in love with her after hearing the story. I am wildly happy that we’ve slipped so quickly and easily into a dishy conversation about the beauty whose name means forest, that swept Ben off his feet.

“I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Lucas says casually. And then appears to instantly regret it. My heart can barely stand the implication.

***

After a bottle of wine and a second one opened and breathing - with a plate of charcuterie between us - and fairy lights glowing around us, we finally found our way to . . . us. He asks the question that opens the door. “So, we’ve talked around this, but I’m tired of pretending.”

“What?” I ask.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

In my head I scream at him. No, you idiot! There is only you. It’s only ever been you! There is no one else. But what I say is, “No, Lucas.”

“You haven’t dated at all? In five years?” he asks, incredulous.

“I didn’t say that. You asked if I was seeing anyone? I’m not. I’ve dated a bit in recent years. But most of the time it doesn’t go anywhere and I’m not all that interested. I’ve had so much work to do with the house and, I mean, until a few weeks ago, I was still a practicing attorney. I’ve been busy. I have poured every available minute and dollar into opening this place and making my wine. And-” my sentence trails off because I don’t want to be the one to say it. I don’t want to say it’s because I’ve never stopped loving him. I make a quick lane change, hoping I can steer away from what I almost said. I don’t want to be the first one to go there. I deserve more than that. “So, yeah. You?” I ask. And then get more specific, “are you seeing anyone now, I mean?”

“I’m not. I have had some first dates. I had a few second and third dates. But like you, it hasn’t gone anywhere. On my end, I thoroughly accept this is a me thing. I just don’t want it.” I’m tempted to be hurt because there is a part of me that wants him to beg me for a place in my life. Before I can ask him another question, he continues, “Mostly I don’t want them. I don’t want them because they’re not you.” He says this casually, as if he told me his boots are tan. “Letting you go was the dumbest thing I have ever done. It’s literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve missed you every single day since you walked out of my house, Poppy. Is there any chance-” he pauses, sets his wine glass down on the small table between us, and stands. He leans against the porch railing. He’s in front of me now, looking at me in the tender way he always used to – before our relationship crumbled in my hands. “Is there any chance we can try again? I don’t really deserve the opportunity. I honestly didn’t search you out with this in mind. I just wanted to see you. Actually, I was desperate to see you. I hoped we could reconnect and catch up. But the second I saw you, I was a goner,” he says.

“How do you know you’re ready now? What’s the difference now? You certainly acted ready when we met and then after I’d fallen madly in love with you, you . . .” My sentence trails off. I don’t want to rehash this. What’s the point? “Never mind,” I say, suddenly feeling defeated though we just started this conversation.

“I don’t want you to say, ‘never mind’ I deserve the questions. I honestly don’t deserve your kindness, patience, or another chance for that matter. You asked me for a hug the other night and I was worried you’d want to clock me. I deserve a punch to the gut – not a hug. It gave me a moment of hope that maybe there’d be a chance for us. I deserve the questions and more. The answer is, I’ve figured out a lot. I’ve healed a lot. I was in therapy for a few years after you left. I have a daughter that’s older and more independent. I learned that I’m an avoidant. I am not any longer – at least I’m pretty sure I’ve worked hard enough to be more secure. I can’t say I’ve gotten over Lane’s death. I’ll always grieve. But it has been a long time and grief changes over time. I still miss her. I still love her. With time I’ve learned to accept what is. I can’t change losing her – or losing her the way that I did. I also know she wouldn’t have wanted me to be alone all these years. To be honest, she’d probably hate me for letting you go. I was wrong. I chose wrong. I’ve regretted that for a long time.”

The tears have been flowing down my face since he said, “I deserve the questions.” Before, I felt like I was in a constant battle with Lane’s memory. I was never going to win. How could I? It wasn’t actually a contest to win. But somehow, that’s how Lucas treated it – as if I was trying out for a team and every slight misstep on my part, even if I was just being a human, became proof that I wasn’t up to the task of loving him and Ellie. He punished me for not being her. He punished me for being myself – though he loved me. Ultimately, it came out as though I didn’t deserve to be in their life. I know he didn’t mean it exactly that way. But it’s what his actions came across as. I was auditioning for a role I could never fill because I could never be Lane. And yet, I loved Lucas and Ellie more than life itself.

The way he’s looking at me now makes me question how I’ve even functioned all these years. How did I ever walk away? His genuineness and kindness are written all over his face. After a long pause, I stand and walk toward him. I stand next to him, our arms touching as I lean against the railing. I don’t want to look at him when I say this. It somehow feels easier. “Your choice was wrong, Lucas. But I also accepted what happened. I couldn’t change anything and I couldn’t convince you. I have lived well the last five years. I am happy.” I look over at him and if I still know him like I think I do, he’s worried about where I’m going with this.

“I can see it all over your face. It is one of my favorite things - to see you happy,” he says.

“I am happy. But I’ve not had a true and full moment of peace since I left. I have missed you constantly. The only way I knew how to deal with that, once I finally stopped hating God, was to pray for you and Ellie – which I’ve done every day since. I love you, Lucas. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Lucas pulls me to him. His right hand moves a lock of hair aside and he cups my cheek. The tenderness of this moment is almost too much for me. The tears flow once again. “Don’t cry, my love. I am sorry. I can’t change what happened. I can only tell you that I’m here now. If you’ll let me be.”

“There is nothing I want more than for you to be here now,” and then I add, “And always.”

Lucas pulls me closer, if that’s even possible. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says as he leans down to kiss me. His hands now in my hair – one last thought runs through my head before I’m lost in his kiss – sometimes we do get the love we deserve. Eventually.

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While the city was shrouded in a deep layer of fog, I walked the dog to her favorite park. Droplets of water hit my face as we walked and instantly turned my hair into a giant ball of frizzy mess. I pulled my coat around me and tied the belt tightly around my waist.

The fog looks like I feel. We walk along the marina. I can’t see the boats on the far end of the dock. I haven’t seen fog like this since I left home. We rarely see it socked in like this here. But at home, unless we were up on the hillside or in the mountains, the fog was a living and breathing being that was as much a part of out lives as the Santa Ana winds, mudslides, and fires - but not as dangerous. It was thick like a blanket God unfurled over the Southland. The fog has always been deeply comforting to me.

After I let my Ivy-girl run around the park a few times to get out the zoomies before my workday, I take her on a different route back to my apartment. She looks at me like I’ve gone mad - this isn’t how we do things she seems to say. “I know girl,” I say as I pat her head. “We can switch it up sometimes, don’t you think?” We walk through town to the small park on a tiny bluff, just about the river. There’s a statue there that likely marks some civil war battle that I don’t care about. I walk on the brick pathway to the railing along the water and pause for a moment in front of a single sailboat docked in the middle of the river - nowhere near the marina.

I feel like this fog and I feel like that sailboat. When Jack left, nothing made sense anymore. I was unmoored, heavy like fog, and lost in the consequences of choosing a path that nearly destroyed me. The thing about love after what I’ve been through, is that it’s janky. It’s janky, disorienting, and sometimes even a little terrifying. Am I seeing Jack as he is, or as I want to see him, I’d ask myself.

Is this my trauma talking and I’m living in a moment that happened four years ago, and not today? Or am I seeing red flags & warning signs? It seems impossible to know. My therapist once said that there’s no way to really know the ultimate outcome to even good relationships. Even the most discerning among us can end up in a relationship that ends badly - in spite of a clear picture of the themselves and others.

At one time, that was a depressing thought. Now? It feels hopeful. None of us have figured this out yet. While I stand staring out at the sailboat floating on its own in the brackish water, I am instantly filled with an inexplicable peace. I lost what was never mine & gained the confidence that comes from accepting what is.

I’m alone in this heavy fog, floating through my days. But, I do so free. I’m free to face the adventure of what’s next and free to accept life as it comes - which is a gift.

Fires – Short Fiction

I fell in love with him slowly and against my will. I fought it. I fought him. He is a fire - a slow burning fire that eventually consumed me like a hillside wildfire. When California welcomes the month of September, the devil winds whip up, the air turns drier, and the chapparal lights up quickly. Nature does its thing, without regard to the perfectly manicured lawns and mini mansions that litter the hills. One spark and a city is on fire.

I am on fire, like the hillsides at home. He ignited it and left me here smoldering while he talks of things I’ll never have. I longed for his bed, his name, his nights and mornings – to run my fingers through his hair when it grows long and to know all of his nothings and everythings. He knows this. And yet he speaks of things that make me ache.

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What cruelty is this? I knew I was in trouble the way he looked at me one afternoon. I knew what awaited me. I said to myself, "Oh no. Not this again." I promised the broken girl, fighting for her very life – nothing good will come of this. You will be heartbroken.

I am a scorched and blackened hillside. I am rummaging through what’s left, to reconstruct my heart. The thing he didn’t know when he played around with it, is that I have risen from the ashes before. I live with courage draped around me like jewels. I am fed by the nutrients that live under the black layer, now free to nourish & grow in the wake of devastation. I am the lover he wants and will never have.

I am the lover who cannot be compared to any other. He appears to have made his choice. And while I sift through this sooty mess, I rebuild a body he’ll never possess, and a heart consumed with a love he’ll always want but chose not to protect.

Written by: Elaina M. Avalos

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Dear Reader,

I’ve woefully neglected this space lately. I’ve had much to think about and do. I was going to write about a few things on my mind. But instead of a newsletter, I’m here with a short story.

Choices by Elaina M. Avalos

Why does he leave when I need him most? I stood on the top step of the front porch and watched him until he’d climbed into his car and disappeared. When the man you love is leaving and you need him to stay, you have a choice – forgive him and accept what is – or feel miserable. I choose grace and forgiveness. Sometimes I don’t particularly care for taking the high road. Sometimes I’d rather rage about it and make it hurt him like it hurts me. But where would that get either of us?

The thing about Graham is that he’s stubborn. He once held his ground in an argument with a neighbor that lasted three years. Both were dead wrong. But that didn’t stop either of them. When he makes up his mind and loyalty is on the line, he’s sticking to his guns, every time. I’ve known this about him from day one. In the he’d choose everyone but me, if forced to choose kind of way. At least in the beginning anyway. But when it comes down to it, I’ve lived with the fear that this man I adore so much, is always inches from disappearing on me because I’m not enough of a priority to him.

Graham is easily the most adorable human I know. He delights me. I love talking to him. I love the partnership we’ve forged from the beginning – friends first, lovers in time. We make each other laugh. I hate being away from him. I’d never felt that about anyone – at any time. I was too independent to be that obsessed with any man. Yet, I was when it came to him. He had my heart long before I realized. And certainly, long before I had his. Then again, in the list of priorities, I’m still pretty low – so maybe I’ve never fully had his heart.

When duty calls, he chooses duty. I’m not the only one. There are so many others like me who know what it is to lose their spouse to duty – like deployment orders or 14-hour shifts at the hospital or – like my husband, the needs of a non-profit in the heart of our nation’s capital. It’s that loyalty thing. I love him anyway when I fall lower on that list of his. I continue to hope that one day, his love for me will win out over everyone and everything else. It’s not that he doesn’t ever choose me. It’s just that I’m not the first choice, not ever. Or maybe I am sometimes. It just seems like it’s not enough on days like this when I need him. I guess it’s just not the way it is with us. Love the man – accept what comes with him, right? But I told him this morning I needed him – just like I’ve told him for two weeks I needed him. I need him by my side in a moment I don’t want to face alone. I asked him not to go. This is why it hurts. This is why I still question if he’ll come back to me.

After his car rounds the corner, I lay down on the porch swing. In the sweet, cool breeze of an early autumn morning, I’m instantly distracted by the beauty of the morning – as I usually am. In ten years with this man of mine, I have learned to accept what I can’t change, savor what’s mine, and be grateful for every last moment. This is the hard way, choosing him every day, no matter what. And finding every last ounce of beauty, even when it’s hard. I puff up the pillow on the swing a bit, close my eyes, and apparently drift off to sleep in the cool early morning air.

I wake up to Graham pulling the throw blanket up over me. I smile. He smiles back. “Hi,” I say.

He replies, “Hi Sweetness.” He lifts my feet and sits on the swing. He begins rubbing my feet after he sits down and readjusts the blanket.

“You’re here?” I ask. “Or have I been asleep all day? Did I miss my appointment?”

“It’s only been about 15 minutes. I got to the end of the road and couldn’t turn onto the highway. I’m sorry I left. I called in. They’ll be fine without me.”

I close my eyes hoping the tears won’t come. But they do anyway. I wipe the tears and smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry you even feel a need to thank me. It shouldn’t have been a question. I belong with you, especially today.”

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you, too,” Graham replies.

***

“Let me get that for you, Sweetness,” Graham says. He reaches across me – putting my water bottle on the arm of my chair where I can reach it with my left hand. With my right arm hooked up to an IV – it’s just easier. I’ll get my port next week and won’t have to worry about trying to read or get work done, while hooked to this poison - a poison that can destroy me or save me. It’s not my first round of chemo. It is the one I most need Graham for though. Mostly because this time feels different. This time we have Katy.

***

When we get home, Graham gets me set up in bed – fluffing my pillows, and setting up my nausea meds, some ginger ale, and crackers on the nightstand. “Will you be okay long enough for me to go get Katy?

“Yep,” I say. “I’m just going to watch some TV. That’s all I feel up to. Please tell Katy to come see me when you get home. Please?”

“Of course,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

***

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An hour later, my six-year-old comes barreling into our bedroom – the dog on her heels. She’s in the middle of a story she started telling before she even got to the door. She takes a running leap and jumps onto our bed, laughing as she goes. “Hey there, Turbo,” I say. “Slow down.” She quickly scoots up to me and burrows into my side. “I missed you,” I say.

“I missed you, mommy,” she says. “Will you swim with me? Daddy said I can swim today. It’s hot. I’m hot and I wanna swim.”

“I can’t swim today, Katydid. But maybe I will try to come watch you and your dad swim. Go get your suit on and I’ll try to come down in a little bit.” Katy does a barrel roll off the bed, in typical Katy style. She pops up over the bed with a huge smile and waves at me before dropping to the ground again and army crawling on the floor. Katy is firmly in her spy era and is convinced it’s her life calling. She’s the weirdest six-year-old I’ve ever known, which means she is very much the child of her parents. A few minutes later, the sound of splashing and Riley’s barking floats upstairs. It’s the sound of my greatest dream come to life. Except now it all hangs in the balance.

It takes some effort, but after taking it slow, I make it downstairs and stand at the sliding glass door as Graham throws Katy up into the air. Before she hits the water, her laugh, deep and raspy, echoes around me, a reminder of what’s at stake. I close the door behind me and sit on the glider chair under the porch. “Hi mommy!” my girl yells. She waves her hello before her dad throws a ball for one of our children – either the four-legged one or the two-legged one to catch. It’s hot. But I’m chilled to the bone. I tie my robe tightly around me and drag the glider into the sun. I curl up on the chair, my knees to my chest, and watch the love of my life and our miracle girl, play and laugh, as if there is not a care in our world. This is why I needed him today. I’ve always needed him. But I really needed him today. I’ve never needed anyone more. Almost as if on cue, Graham looks my way, smiling widely. “You need anything, Beautiful?” he asks.

“Just you and Katy,” I say.

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He walked me to my door. I didn’t expect it. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to. Our evening didn’t start out as a date – or at least that’s not what I thought when we planned it. It was an interview for my book. Maybe he’d had other ideas from the moment we met. Either way, it absolutely turned into a date. I stood at the door, Jason stood close behind me, while I fumbled for my keys.

It was the first Friday evening of summer. A lightening bug lit up in front of me when I walked down the sidewalk to his car, earlier this evening. They were always a reminder that the long, slow days of summer had arrived. The humidity was just beginning to settle in. The breeze was enough to keep the air from slipping into oppressive levels of heat. A bead of sweat dripped down my neck, just the same. Lovely, I thought. He was close behind me, making me even more self-conscious than usual. As I fished around for my keys, he reached for me and his hands rested on either side of my waist. He pressed into me a little, whispering in my ear, “Am I making you nervous?”

I laughed. “No, sirrree,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I hope I didn’t leave my keys in the restaurant when I knocked my purse over. I’m such a klutz.” I tried to pretend for just a moment that his massive man hands weren’t on my waist.

But he leaned in, brushed the hair aside, kissed my neck lightly, just below my ear, and said, “You’re not a klutz. You are adorable and a little ungraceful. But not a klutz.”

Thanks? I think to myself. “Ah! There they are,” I exclaimed, sounding far too nervous for my own good, in spite of what I’d said earlier. I unlock the door and push it open. I step into the house, standing on the step in the doorway. I’ve broken free from his grip on my waist. We are nearly eye to eye, now. “Thank you for dinner,” I say.

“You’re welcome. I had a great night.” He reaches for my hand. I smile. I cannot help myself. He kisses my hand and holds it in his. “Katie,” he says.

“Yes?”

“Please tell me you’ll see me again. I mean – like see me, see me. Date me. As in tomorrow. Can I see you tomorrow?” He sounds more nervous than me now.
I smile again. He makes me feel giddy, but it has been like this since we met. Tomorrow? This is a new one for me. He wants to see me again…tomorrow? It feels like my delay in response is eons - but I’m sure it is only seconds. “I would love that. What time are you picking me up?”

“6:00 PM sharp,” he says. He pulls me in, holding me close. “I can’t wait,” he says, kissing me.

When he finally pulls away, I say, “Ditto.” He smiles.

“Until tomorrow,” he says.

“Until tomorrow,” I repeat. I stand in the doorway as he walks back to his car. When he gets to the driver’s side door, he looks up, and waves goodbye. I smile again. He smiles too. I forgot what it felt like to smile through a conversation and goodbyes. I certainly didn’t intend to get here. But, here we are.

Somehow it seems as though we were always meant to be here.

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- Vows -

When she was 6, her dad called her a bitch and then hit her so hard, she was hospitalized. He went to jail. Lacey would spend much of her life convinced she was unlovable. She made a vow then - she’d never trust anyone - ever.

When Lacey was twenty-six, she stood next to her father’s bed in an ICU room, with a dirty floor. Machines kept him alive. She said, “It’s okay. I love you. I forgive you. It’s okay to let go.”

He let go.

She made another vow not to let him take another day from her.

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Our wedding is tomorrow. Three months ago, amid planning for our big day, I turned to the love of my life, who was sitting on the couch next to me, and asked him if he’d be disappointed if we scraped the plan and started over. He looked at me like I was crazy.

The wedding, after all, was supposedly my dream. Except it wasn’t really. He is my dream. I didn’t want or need all the rigamarole. “I’m thinking Big Sur,” I said. “We can get married in the woods. No one around except the kids, our parents, and our best friends.” He reached for my hand. It engulfed mine. He had a way of making me feel safer than any man I’d ever known. His fingers intertwined with mine.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I’m tired. We’ve got a big year ahead. There’s too much going on. The only thing that matters is you, me, and the kids. We don’t need the big to-do. We could always have a reception later when we get through the crazy. What do you say?”

“What about a honeymoon?” he asked.

“We can stay a few days by ourselves at Deetjen’s or something. Our parents can hang out with the kids. Then we can take the whole fam damily camping in Mendocino - somewhere in the middle of nowhere.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” he asked.

“A few weeks. I think it’s why I still haven’t found a dress. I don’t want to wear a real wedding dress. This is about you and me - and our kids. I don’t need all that extra stuff. So, let’s just make it about us.”

“I’m game. All I care about is being your husband as soon as possible. Let’s do it.”
And just like that we booked Castro Cabin at Deetjen’s and got rooms for our kids and parents at a bed and breakfast in Monterey. We paid for a special use permit for our wedding in the redwoods. And after months of being exceptionally underwhelmed by white wedding dresses, I found a tea-length dress embroidered by women from the Otomi tribe in Mexico. The dress was vibrant, its brightly colored embroidery made my heart happy. It is perfect. Tonight, the family and our best friends will gather at the restaurant at Deetjen’s for dinner. Tomorrow, I will become Jay’s wife. It’s all that really matters anymore. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted.

***

On a path under towering redwood trees, with ivy and fern under the trees - surrounded by the quiet of the forest on a late spring morning, I married my best friend and love, the man I’d waited for, for more of my life than we’d had together. We said our vows while our favorite musician played his guitar. The fifteen people we love the most stood nearby. When you strip everything away, they’re the only thing that matters. Jay and the kids are all that matters. And now they are mine for however long I have left on this earth.

***

Gathered on the patio at Nepenthe, our family sits along the stone wall that looks down on the Pacific Ocean. When we arrived in town and throughout this morning, the ocean was blanketed by fog and clouds. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of water visible all day. Though looking down on the fog is its own kind of beauty, I was ecstatic when we walked the long steps to the restaurant and the teal green of the Pacific met us instead of fog. After everyone was seated and the warmth of chiminea stove kept the chill of the setting sun at bay, Jay stood up and with a clink of his glass got everyone’s attention.

“The day I met Ruthie, I told Ty that I would marry her someday. And here we are two years later. Besides the kids, Ruthie is the greatest thing to happen to me. The last few months haven’t been easy, as you guys know. After Ruthie’s diagnosis, I came home one night, and she was pretty sick.”

I didn’t know he was doing this. Tears instantly rise in my eyes. I know exactly the night he’s talking about. It was the night I knew I was finally home - I was finally safe. He continues, “The chemo had been a lot that week. I got stuck in the city for a late meeting and Jane brought her home and stayed until the last second to still catch the train. I got in about an hour later. But not soon enough. Ruthie was in pretty bad shape. I felt horrible that she was there alone and that work had kept me away. She doesn’t know I was going to tell this story, but I feel it’s necessary.” With his champagne glass in his left hand, he placed his right hand on my back and rubs it just slightly.

“I love you,” I say, before he continues.

“I love you, too. But let me finish before I start crying.” Everyone, including our server, laughs. “So, there my beautiful fiancée is - laying on the floor of our bedroom. She’d gotten up to get something to drink and fainted. She’d gotten sick and was too weak to reach for the bucket. I picked her up, took her to the bathroom, and got her cleaned up and dressed for bed in her comfiest jammies.”

Now I’m crying, crying. I wipe the tears from my eyes with a napkin and the server steps in handing me another napkin from the table next to us. It’s now I realize that though the restaurant isn’t crowded, we have an audience. “I crawled into bed next to Ruthie and felt horrible that she’d been through that alone and I knew then I’d take some time off work. But the real reason I’m telling this story is that when I told Ruthie that was the plan she said-”

I jump in and interrupt, “I said, I’m a mess. Save yourself now and find you a woman that doesn’t puke all over herself on the floor of the bedroom. You guys, it was gross. Like gross, gross,” I say. As I’d hoped, our family and friends laugh.

“Anyway. She is and always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Look at her,” he says. “Besides being gorgeous, she loves me and the girls, takes care of us, while raising an awesome son, and doesn’t miss a beat keeping us all together. I idolize her. I don’t know how she does it all. Besides all that she is loyal, hilarious, and kind. I adore her.” Our friends ‘aww’ and now I’m really embarrassed. But leave it to Jay to make me feel like a million bucks while I’m losing my hair and planning my exit in every room, in case I have to puke. “So, there she is laying next to me and I am looking at her wishing I could relieve all her pain but still amazed that the day before she’d been at the kid’s school helping with an event and then showing up at soccer like she didn’t have to get up the next day and get her body pumped full of poison. Her hair curls when it’s wet and I didn’t take time to blow dry it. It was curling around her face in this perfect way and all I could think about was how lucky I was to have found her. Do you know what she says to me?”

I can’t believe he’s telling this story. “I was a mess, you have to admit,” I say.

He continues, “She says, and I quote, ‘I think we should delay the wedding. I don’t want you feeling stuck with this mess. If I make it through treatment - maybe then. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay. Me and Lucas can move in with my parents and then if I get out of this, we can discuss the future then.”
My mom, sitting next to me, reaches for my hand and squeezes it. She didn't know until now that after she left to catch the train, I'd fainted. “There’s clearly no chance that would happen,” Jay says. “Which is what I said. I also said she was stuck with me, and this was a ‘in sickness and health’ situation for both of us. I knew what I had laying there beside me. Ruthie would be my champion if the diagnosis had been mine. So, all that to say that the moment you realize you’ve found your forever, you don’t let her get away, under any circumstances. I will love you for the rest of my life. Thank you for being my best friend and truest companion.” The restaurant patio erupts in applause and I'm so touched by the response. I stand up and steady myself with my chair, as I reach for Jay. He takes me in his arms. There is nothing I could possibly say in response to top this. He whispers in my ear, “I love you, sweetness.”

“I love you, too. Thank you for being the safest place I’ve ever known,” I say, as he kisses me. The thing about finding your person is that sometimes when you’ve been hurt a lot, it’s hard to trust you’re finally safe. Even more so when your body is literally wasting away, destroying itself from the inside, out. But Jay just keeps showing up. I will love him for the rest of my life.

I fought with my husband most of the day. He is infuriating. He is selfish sometimes and when he is - he’s wildly bad at seeing anything but his own way of doing, well – anything. On the other hand, I am sometimes an asshole who is tired of taking care of all the things. At our worst today, I had a moment. An ugly thought entered my head, and I questioned why I was even here. Why, I thought, did I give up my peace, and choose the hard way? In a moment of sheer frustration with me, he ran his right hand through his hair. In that instant, the man I love – the man I committed the rest of my days to - reappeared before my eyes.

When we met, this was a thing he’d do. He’d run his hand through his hair, and I’d initially interpreted it as a sign of . . . disinterest, exasperation, fatigue, frustration – I don’t know. Whatever it was, I was convinced it wasn’t positive. When I started losing my heart to him, it became endearing. I loved running my own hands through his hair. We were young then. Everything seemed so easy. Infatuated and in love, the long hard days were few and far between. I realized, the more I understood him, that in those moments when he ran his hands through his hair, his vulnerability was at an all-time high. The hand going to his hair became a sign of the truest part of him. But it also represented my longing for him. In those early stages of a love affair, as you get to know someone, you notice the little things. The little things become big things. This was one of those little things. It began to remind me of everything good thing I saw in him. In the kitchen that day, I was on my last legs – exhausted and tired of choosing the hard way. The moment he ran his hand through his hair I knew that he was in it with me. He was frustrated and tired too. I took a step toward him, and his eyes immediately softened. I leaned into him, and his arms surrounded me. And just like that, the world felt right side up again.

***

A couple hours later, after we’d talked through the conflict – a conflict that died that day, never to be resurrected again, we walked through the grocery store together, tackling our list, aisle by aisle. As we rounded a corner into the aisle with magazines and haircare products, we ran into an elderly couple standing in the middle of the aisle. The husband held a magazine in his hand and held it open for his wife – pointing at something only they could see. The wife laughed. It was one of those true, deep laughs. Joy seeped out of her crinkling eyes. When she recovered from her belly laugh, she looked up at him with a smile spreading across her face. He was already watching her with total delight. His face, worn and weathered, had softened the longer she laughed. She kissed his cheek and said, as she pushed the cart past him, “Travieso!” He laughed and continued flipping pages while she wandered down the rest of the aisle.

Graham slips his hand around my waist and pulls me a little closer. He kisses my hair and then returns to his job grabbing my favorite shampoo from the top shelf - which I can’t reach. I look back at the old guy and he’s still thumbing through the pages of the magazine. I think about the sheer number of inside jokes they must share after so many years together. When he showed her the magazine, all he did was point. Not a word was uttered between the two of them until she called him a troublemaker on the way to finish grocery shopping. I reached for a box of business size envelopes, just to the left of the old guy and chucked them into my cart. From the other end of the aisle, his wife called out, “ándale mi viejo!”

He set the magazine on the rack, and we make eye contact. He says with the slightest hint of an accent, “She’s very loud, no? She’s losing her hearing. I’m slowly losing my eyesight. We’re a perfect pair. Been falling for her every day for 51 years.”

I smile at him. “It seems so,” I say. “What’s your secret?” I ask him.

“We’re best friends. We never forget that. No matter what,” he says.

“That’s sound advice,” Graham says.

“It’s great advice,” I say. “Thank you.” He nods his head, gives me a little wave and then wanders off toward his wife.

Graham whispers in my ear, as he puts my shampoo in the cart, “It’s like looking into a crystal ball, eh?”

“Oh yeah, for sure, mi viejo. Good to know we’re on the right path.”

“That we are,” my husband says. “What’s next on the list?”

I hit play on my phone and Aretha Franklin’s (You Make me Feel) Like a Natural Woman, plays through my stereo console’s speakers. I pour a glass of Matthiasson’s cab and chop the vegetables I’ve just washed, for dinner. A few sips into my glass of wine, the door from the garage to the kitchen finally opens.
              “Hi,” I say, hoping I don’t sound worried.
              “Yeah. Sorry I’m late.”
              “Everything okay?” I ask. I stand in front of the sink, washing a few of the dishes I’ve used while cooking. Andy is in the family room, taking off his shoes and greeting the dog. He stands, after a quick game of keep away with Abby, and I can’t help but smile. I know he’s stressed. How do I tell him I’ve never loved him more? He’s tired. I know he’s tired. Things have not been easy lately – mostly for him. Things haven’t been easy for me, because I hate seeing him like this. Andy loosens the top button of his dress shirt. And as he steps into the kitchen, he rolls up his sleeves. I turn the water off and face him.
              He notices me watching him. He stops just before he finishes rolling his second sleeve. “What?” he asks.
              “Just enjoying the view,” I say.
              “Who knew rolling one’s shirtsleeves would be so enticing.”
              “Entirely enticing. At least when you do it, baby,” I say. I smile at him and then get back to the stove. “You gonna answer my question?”
              “It’s as okay as it’s going to get at this point,” he says. He pours himself a glass of wine and takes a sip before setting his glass on the counter next to him. He takes a couple of steps toward me and slips his arms around my waist. He leans down and kisses my ear, then my neck. “To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it.”
              “Then don’t talk about it. I just want to know if you’re okay. Screw the rest of them.”
              He whispers in my ear, “This is why I love you. Yes, I’m okay.” He kisses my neck again and then steps away to pick up his wine glass. “Maybe we can talk later after we eat?” he asks, as if he needs permission to talk to me about what’s on his mind. These are the moments when I’m half sad he still hasn’t been quite convinced. I adore everything about him, even the way he rolls his sleeves when I’m working in the kitchen, as if he would never even consider not getting his hands dirty. After a giant gulp of wine, chugging what’s left, he starts cutting the onion, my least favorite cooking task of all time. We’ve got this down now – two years in – and we just move around the kitchen as if we’ve always done it, for all of time. Maybe we have. I used to tell everyone who would listen that I would know the one when I met him because we would have left wherever we were before, to immediately find each other again in the next life. It’s really stupid and not actually how I see the world and whatever after-life that meets us. But that’s how tied to him I feel, as if we were always meant for each other.
              One of my favorite songs comes on a moment later.  It’s I Hate the Way You Love Me by John Paul White. Andy hates this song. He has never understood it. It makes him uncomfortable. He says it makes him uncomfortable because he still struggles to believe that someone could choose to love him at his absolute worst. That, in a nutshell, is what that song is about. Andy has taken his sweet time in coming to understand what I mean when I say I love all of him. Before he can say it, because I know it’s coming, I grab his shirt and pull him toward me. I sing the lyrics, “… And I hate myself for staying/Where I should and should not be/With someone I know I don't deserve/And doesn't deserve me/… I wouldn't have it any other way.”

              “I love it when you sing to me,” he says. “Even if it is this song.”
               “The entire song is his way of saying it’s hard. But he wouldn’t want anything else with anyone else. I get it. It’s how I feel. I wouldn’t want anyone else but you,” I say.
               “As you were singing it, I kind of got it a little more. I was being way too literal before,” he says. “Also,” he continues, “I don’t want anyone else but you either, even if you have questionable music taste from time to time. But I’ll allow it,” he says.
              “You’ll allow it?” I ask in an amused tone. By now my arms are around him. I won’t be letting go any time soon. “Bold choice. But I like this side of you. So, I will allow it,” he laughs as I pull him closer still and kiss him. His arms wrap around me. There’s not a kiss I want more than his. He kisses my neck again, which is a surefire way to ensure we burn our dinner. When I say, “I should probably get back to work,” he pulls away a little. I smile.
               “Promise me something,” he says.
               “What’s that?” I ask.
              “Promise me you’ll never stop looking at me like you are looking at me right now.”
              “Easy,” I say. “As long as you promise to never stop rolling your sleeves and cutting my onions for me.”
               “Is that all it takes?” he asks. I shake my head yes, as I lead him to our bedroom.

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Coming Home

After the longest Friday in the history of ever, I left my office facing South Front Street and drove home – stopping at the Piggly Wiggly for my last moment of quiet for the weekend. I already know, once I pull into the driveway, all hell will break loose. Don’t get me wrong, the chaos at home right now -or what I expect is chaos – is everything I’ve always wanted. But today was crazy and I’m tired just the same. After a quick stroll through the store to pick up the things I forgot earlier in the week, I get back on the road and drive the quiet back roads of Pamlico County. My house sits out on the furthest point of a gravel road. That road - Stuart’s Lane – is home to four other families. We barely see each other’s homes from our own properties with mine being the furthest away - on the edge of the brackish Neuse River. It’s my dream house and land, it’s often filled with people I love. I bought it by myself, which is the absolute best part.

When I became a mom, I lived in a condo overlooking the Trent River. The condo was walking distance to my office. At the time, I didn’t have a plan to buy this old place. It's a lot of land and a lot of house for the three of us. When I brought my babies home from the hospital, I was overwhelmed but the happiest I’d ever been. Well, almost. But basically, the happiest I’d ever been. I was just missing this one little thing. Adoption changed my entire world. Becoming a family of three reordered my world and suddenly the fancy condo, with its designer finishes, and vaulted ceilings didn’t seem quite as important. Now all I could think about was wanting to watch my kids running and playing in the yard, teaching them to ride horses, and muck stalls, and care for animals like I’d been taught growing up. I was the parent of two beautiful babies and suddenly I was thinking about how they’d know how to do real chores and care for plants and understand the river’s moods like I’d known since I was tiny. I was thinking about a life a few years down the road, but I couldn’t help but think about them having the life I had.

After a long drive in the country to settle them one night, I asked a realtor friend to send MLS listings for land and houses in Pamlico. And three months later, I was putting the condo on the market and moving to the house I’d dreamed of my whole life, though I’d never set eyes on this particular house. Within a few months of buying this place, I knew I’d never call anywhere else, home. We call it The Grove. This weekend, my best friend is getting married at my home and both families and our closest friends have descended on The Grove from the four corners of the earth. I mean that literally. Friends have come from all over the world for a day Kate swore would never come – her wedding.

When I pull into the circular drive, both kids are waiting on the porch – our nanny keeping a watchful eye from her favorite rocking chair. I know before they even say a word, they want me to settle an argument. What else is new? Who knew four-year-olds were so argumentative? True to form, they’re talking at me, both at the same time – pointing fingers at the other. They race each other down the steps and tousle over grocery bags after I pop the trunk. They even fight over who will help me more. While they bicker, I stop for a second and close my eyes. Autumn is always slow to arrive in Eastern North Carolina. Summer seems to get longer and hotter, holding on for dear life. But autumn finally made its appearance a week ago and now, there’s a bit of a chill in the air and a perfect breeze off the river. The weather this weekend will be stunning. I follow the kids into the house and by the time we make it to the kitchen with the grocery bags, Clare and Theo have moved on from their fight and are currently laughing at Kate’s fiancé, Ellison, who is wearing shorts on his head, Clare’s heart-shaped sunglasses, and dancing around the family room – purely for their entertainment and as a distraction from the bickering. I love my friends.

***

            After the rush of the wedding rehearsal, a dinner under the stars, and Kate marrying Ellison an hour ago, I finally have a moment to enjoy something to eat. The reception might be the best party I have ever hosted. That’s saying a lot, because I’m pretty good at the party thing. But a Nora Jane party wouldn’t be complete without at least one moment of absolute craziness. This evening, that has come in the form of a dog – my dog - running loose in the yard, headed for the river, just as I sat down to eat. If he was just going to go for a little swim, I wouldn’t be so worried about it. But that’s not Roo’s style. He’ll go for a swim and then head straight for the guests, shaking river water all over them, while begging for chow. I slip out of my shoes, hike my formal gown over my arm and make a run for it. Roo finds this exciting and runs just a bit faster. In the excitement of the moment, he decides this is a fine game and changes directions, heading toward the front of the house and the road. I run around the side of the house hoping to surprise him. But I don’t see him anywhere. It takes me a second to realize he’s already been found and is being held by his collar - by a guy in a suit. My dress still slung over my arm; I try to process what I’m seeing. “Ben?” I ask – as if four years are enough to make me forget what the love of my life looks like.
            “In the flesh,” he says, stepping into my personal space with my unruly dog. The scent I can only describe as Ben White – fresh like soap, bougie skincare and cologne - floats by me. I step back, still trying to wrap my brain around the man who is now standing in my yard, a man I haven’t seen in years and thousands of miles ago. He inches closer to me once again, taking up real estate in my bubble. He’s found some confidence while he was away, apparently. “Good to see you,” he says.
            He says it, but I’m sure I’m disheveled now, my updo is falling down around my face and my dress is still gathered and hanging over my arm. “Yeah. It is good to see me,” I say, remembering who I am - after his absence and silence for so long. “As you can see, I’ve got some guests over. I don’t really have time to chit chat.” I run up the front stairs of my house, with the dog. Ben follows me inside. This time, I won’t take any chances and put Roo in the kennel that he should have been in from the beginning. Ben is standing in the doorway of my office when I turn around after putting Roo in the kennel.
            “I know. It certainly is good to see you. You look amazing,” he says. And then continues, “I got an invite from Katie. I should have been here earlier but my flight into RDU was delayed – had a business trip I couldn’t change. I was on the road late driving down here.”
            I walk past him, brushing his arm as I go. I walk through the kitchen and back porch so I can join the party once again. Ben is steps behind me. I’m still trying to process what’s happening. As I reach the back porch, applause and whistles have broken out from all over the backyard. “Katie invited you?” I ask, after a minute of silence between us. “I’m so confused,” I say, Ben still on my heels.
            “What else is new?” he asks in a sarcastic tone.

***

Later that night, after Clare and Theo are asleep, the guests have gone home, and the event company has cleaned up the mess, I carry a bottle of wine out to the edge of the grass to my fire pit. Over the seating area, white Edison lights hang and glow in a perfect, sparkling way. The moon is high and though chillier than I expected, a fog has settled in, making the air damp. Ben is waiting for me in an Adirondack chair. “I’m surprised you waited,” I say. “And you started a fire. Thanks. I think we’re going to need it. It’s chilly out here.”
            “I told you I would wait,” he says in reply.
            “We told each other a lot of things, Benny.”
            “True. But you do have to admit I’m a man of my word. Eventually.”
            I give him a wine glass and then a fat pour of my favorite red blend. I pour myself a glass then and set the bottle on the small side table behind me. I haven’t taken a seat and I’m not sure I want to. I’m partially afraid if I sit down, I won’t be able to get up. It has been a long day and I’m getting too old for this. But a little distance between us is probably best. I don’t want to ice him out. Or maybe I do. Who knows? Since I’m so confused, distance seems best. I never dreamed I’d see him today. I have no idea what comes next. I don’t know why he wanted to wait. I can only guess. I just wish it hadn’t taken so long. Ben White is and always will be the love of my life. I’ve had no desire to date other men since the day we said goodbye. And so, I didn’t. The years didn’t change how much I missed him. There wasn’t much for me to do but to pray. I prayed for him. I prayed for me. After I brought the twins home, I wished constantly, far more than was healthy, that they would have the opportunity to know him. I’d believed from the beginning he’d be the one I raised my kids with. But there wasn’t much but silence on the line between us. Although a few months ago I ran across a song he’d written, and I could have sworn it was about me – about us. The song was beautiful – haunting almost. I heard it and instantly thought of Ben. There was a moment in the song when the woman sings, “come home before another day is lost.” I heard that line and thought of the one e-mail I’d written to Ben after I moved back home, from the winding coast of California, where we’d met.

It wasn’t the exact words I’d written to him, but they were close. After that line tumbled over and over again in my head for a few days and a dozen more listens, I searched for the song on my phone while I waited for a client to show for a meeting. There in black letters on one of those lyric websites was the name that sometimes felt like my own, as if he was an extension of myself. Lyrics and music by Ben White, it read. Ben White is a common enough name. But my Ben White had been writing country songs for most of his life. He hadn’t done a thing with any of the music he’d written. But he’d been writing them all his life, just the same. I bugged him about it for years. Maybe my influence finally paid off. But I had to face the facts, he’d written a song about our love affair – a sad one, with a disastrous ending. The song was very Poison and Wine, coded and that was hard for me to face. The anxiety and dread that followed me around in the final days of our relationship quickly came back in an instant the day I realized he’d written it about us. The anxiety gripped my chest – clawing at me like it had nearly constantly at the end. And now that he’s here in front of me, I expected its return. Instead, I am determined to remain detached. I sit in a chair as far away as I can get without being too obvious. I reach for the blanket I’d grabbed on the way out, spreading it over my lap. “So . . .” I say in reply.

“So,” he says. “Shall we toast?”

“What?” I ask. “What are we toasting? I got nada,” I say.

“Seeing old friends? Love? Katie and Ellison are finally married? That’s reason enough to toast, don’t you think?” he asks, getting up from his chair. He walks over to me and reaches out to clink glasses. “To love,” he says. And then he continues, “To coming home.” Our glasses clink as his eyes focus on me in that way they always did. The way he looked at me made me forget literally everything in the world but him.

“Cheers,” I say. Instead of sitting back in his chair, he pulls another close to mine. So much for keeping some distance between us. “I sat over here on purpose, by the way.”

He settles in close to me. So close I smell his Ben White-ness all over again. The arms of our chairs are touching now. “I don’t want to yell across the fire pit. I want to catch up. I wanna hear about the kids. I want to hear it all.”

“How’s Lucy?” I ask.

“Was that really necessary?” he asks, instantly annoyed.

I look down at my glass of wine and then off in the opposite direction. My words can sting sometimes. Some would say they should sting, considering how he left me. “No? Yes? I don’t know, Benny. You left me when I needed you most to go back to a woman that never had and never would love you like you need or want. I forgave you a long time ago.”

“You sure about that?” he asks, interrupting.

“Yes. I’m sure. But what I didn’t expect was to see you on my doorstep after four years with no contact – not so much as a Christmas card or a ‘I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing’ kind of thing. You caught me off guard. You’ve been awfully flirtatious tonight. You spent an hour talking to my sister and mom. And were playing with my kids earlier. I don’t think it’s weird that I’m a little weird about this. Don’t you think I have a right to be a little weird?”

“Yeah. When you put it that way, yes. Lucy and I haven’t been together in three years. She’s getting married again. She seems happy. Happier than she ever was with me.”

“Well how nice for her,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So where are you living these days?”

“Durham.”

“As in Durham, North Carolina? As in a few hours from me?” I ask.

“Yep. That’s the one. Don’t look at me like that. We just moved there. I started a new job in May. The kids moved after the school year ended. They’ll be with me full-time and spend time with Lucy in the summer and we’ll split major holidays. They love it here. I ran into Katie and Ellison at Viceroy in August, by the way.”

“I love that place,” I say.

“They mentioned it was your favorite restaurant. Ellison and I talk from time to time. Mostly text. But we call each other once or twice a year. I knew basic details about how you were doing. But I knew enough to know you wouldn’t let them tell you about me and the kids. Anyway, I felt like running into them was a sign that I needed to say yes to coming to the wedding. I wanted to try to make amends. So here I am.”

“To make amends?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.

“Yeah. And because I needed to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“Let’s talk about that make amends thing.”

Ben’s laugh fills the space around us, and I close my eyes for a second as the warmness of that sweet sound - one I’ve longed for so much, is an instant balm to my soul. I’m instantly reminded of everything I love about this man. And that’s the key word, love. I currently love him. I will always love him. “Okay. Fair enough.” Ben shifts in his chair, so he’s facing me. “I’m sorry, Nora. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I walked away when you needed me most. I’m sorry I missed so much of your life. I’m sorry that I lost four years with the only woman who has ever loved all of me. Most of all, I have missed you every damn day. I am sorry I haven’t been here for you.”

I’m crying – which I started the second he said, ‘I’m sorry, Nora.’ So much for detachment. I’ve always been a sucker for a man that apologizes and tells me how he feels. I wipe the tears from my face. I’m thankful for the apologies. But now I have no idea what to say or do. “Thank you,” I say, wiping my tears away again. “I wasn’t expecting this turn of the conversation. I’m a little…”

Ben interrupts, “You’re emotional because I broke your heart and you still love me,” he says. But he takes this newfound boldness, which is not a norm for Ben White, one step further, by reaching for my hand. I let him take it despite this being both my greatest fear and greatest hope. “I still love you. That never changed.”

“Then how is it that I’m just now seeing you?” Through tears and stumbling over my words, I eek out more, “I – needed you, Benny.”

“I know. I’ll never forgive myself for that. But after Lucy was finally gone, gone – I realized what a mess I was. The kids and the job were all the energy I had. What little was left was spent on therapy and working my way out of the pit of a marriage that should have ended long, long before it did. I went to therapy. I worked out. I took the kids hiking on the weekends. I found myself again. I found the man I should have been.”

“The man I always saw,” I say. His fingers intertwine with mine. “Do you still go to therapy? Or are you too grown for that now?” I ask.

He laughs and smiles. “I still go to therapy. Finally found a new therapist now that I’ve moved. The kids go too. I was going to bring them today but thought it might be too much. I was out of town anyway, so they were with my brother and sister-in-law, and I decided they should just stay there while I came down for the wedding. I have to get home to them as soon as I can in the morning.”

“Of course. How are they?”

“Hope is . . . Hope. She hasn’t missed a beat – which is why she probably needs therapy more than Benjamin. He’s been more obvious with his struggles over the change. But we do our best to co-parent. It helps. They’re doing great in school and Hope loves dance still. Benjamin is non-committal about sports right now, but I think once he feels settled at his new school, he’ll want to play baseball again. Durham is getting the juices flowing for him again. We’re walking distance to the Bulls athletic park. Lucy has moved on, which means she’s not making life hell for us. I’m happy. We’re good. There’s just this one thing missing. Or maybe more specifically – there are three people missing from this life we’ve rebuilt.” He smiles at me and squeezes my hand a little. I smile back at him. I can’t help myself. “Tell me about Clare and Theo. They’re real pips!”

“Oh yeah. Pips they are. I believe my grandpa would’ve said they’re full of piss and vinegar.”

“Yeah, that too,” Ben says. “Clare told me that she didn’t like men named Ben.”

This time it’s my turn to laugh. “I’m sorry. She does that sometimes. The name usually changes though. She’s a little weird about new males.”

“Been a lot of new males around her?” he asks, fishing.

“Not a one. Unless it’s in the community or at church. I haven’t dated a soul since I left California. She’s stubborn and wild and silly. She’s also very opinionated. If she says she doesn’t like men named Ben, next time I’d recommend saying, ‘well you’re gonna love me.”’

“Noted. They’re both adorable.”

“They are the cutest stinkers. How about you?”

“Dating?” he asks. I shake my head yes. “I haven’t dated anyone. When we were together, as you remember, I made a disastrous decision to try and make a failed marriage work again. When I finally settled that there was no hope for my family, and I’d broken your heart in the process, I knew I was no good to anyone. I didn’t want anyone but you anyway.”

“Well, that’s a coincidence because I didn’t want anyone but you either. I still don’t. I’ve spent the last few years raising my kids wishing you were doing it with me. I wished they knew your kids. I wished one day you’d show up on our doorstep. Every day. Nothing has changed. I’ve hoped to see you every day for years.”

“I know. I’m sorry that it took so long. But the truth is, I needed the time.”

“So, you don’t need anymore time? You’re not gonna come barreling through the door of my heart and then take off chasing someone else, once you’ve got me wrapped around your finger?”

Ben takes a deep breath like that one stung too. “No. I’m here to stay – as long as you’ll have me. We’ll have to take this slow. I just moved my kids to Durham. But I’m here to stay.”

“Slow is good.” I take a deep breath again, my lungs filling with the humid salty air I love so much. I’ve missed you, Ben.”

“I missed you, my love.”

I wiggle my fingers free from his hand and stand up. I pour us both another glass of wine and sit back down. “To going slow. To forgiveness. To starting over,” I say, holding my glass up to his.

“To starting over. And to coming home,” Ben says.

“To coming home,” I say.

***

“As the storm grows stronger, deeper, and wide
My faith's a winding river with no riverside
As the years grow longer I will be here by your side
Ashes to dust and stone by stone
Forever I will always be your love

Nobody has to cry to make it seem real
Nobody has to hide the way that they feel
If you stay right here tomorrow you'll be fine
I will be here for you standing by your side
So come home, come home, come home”
Lyrics by: Ryan Adams

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~ Two ~

Beaufort, NC

Growing up, I couldn’t turn down an adventure, even if that meant being brought home by the security guards in our gated community, or jumping in - feet first, into the biggest mud hole in the neighborhood. My years with Burns had buried some of that thirst. After Katie’s funeral, which was nearly two years ago now, Burns left me. In one fell swoop, I lost my baby and then the rest of my family. During our divorce, I fought for shared custody of the kids. It became my sole pursuit in the dark days of grief that followed Katie’s death. Though Burns’ political career came to a swift end after news of his affair broke, his friends in legal circles were in every nook and corner of Virginia. Between his far-reaching circle and his determination early in our marriage to keep me at arm’s length when I would bring up adoption, I knew I stood very little chance of getting 50/50 custody of Harper and William. Though I had spent most of their lives raising them, and thereby had the legal standing to fight for custody, power prevailed. Despite what should have been, Burns won.

His power, though diminished during a scandal of his own making, outweighed mine. I got visitation rights, after a protracted fight, that went on for close to a year. For the year following that, Burns and his Legislative Assistant played constant games with visitation. My scheduled phone calls and Saturday visits grew further and further apart. If I had to change the scheduled visitation because I was on call, Burns would twist it around. It was proof of my lack of desire to see the kids – as if I’d refuse a visit offered. We are still playing that game. The kids and I lose nearly 90% of the time. We have found ways to creatively talk. But visits have diminished significantly. My broken heart broke even more in that year following the custody fight. I used to think of myself as a strong woman – fearless and determined. But the grief and loss of all that I had built and believed my life was meant to be, turned me into a shell of my former self. I started looking anywhere and everywhere for something new, a new job, a change of scenery, a new haircut – I mean anything. I even bought a regular old truck – giving up the expensive cars Burns bought me throughout our marriage.

On a hot D.C. afternoon, after wandering around Eastern Market, my cell phone rang. It was Pepper Moore, a friend I met at Georgetown during our residency. We caught up on life. She knew some of the details of my failed marriage and custody battle because she watched it play out on cable news, like the rest of the country. When you’re married to a pretty-boy Senator who temporarily became the face of the conservative movement, it happens. I filled Pepper in on the details that the press didn’t cover. In the middle of our conversation, I told her that I finally faced reality. I needed to leave D.C. Pepper, never one to mince words or waste an opportunity to boss someone around, told me what my next big adventure should be. As I made my way back to my Georgetown townhouse, she told me exactly what she thought I should be doing. “So, here’s the deal. You were always the one that needed a new adventure. You said you want a change of scenery. I have an amazing idea.”

“Uh-oh. Should I sit down?”

“Maybe? My partner moved to Raleigh, and I have a medical missions trip to Uganda coming up. I could use a hand. We, I mean I, am one of the few pediatricians in Down East Carteret County. The practice provides a lot of low-cost medical care in the community and I run a clinic for some of our migrant workers during part of the year. I need help. The change of scenery will be great for you. It’s quiet, beautiful, and there’s absolutely zero chance you’ll run into that witch, Jenny. It’s meant to be – I need someone to step in for me and you need to get out of that swamp.”

“Huh. Interesting,” I said in reply, mostly meaning it.

“It’s more than interesting and you know it, dude. Think about it at least?

“Easy. I’ll totally think about it. When do you need an answer by?”

Pepper replied quickly, without missing a beat, “Tomorrow. I’m not giving you time to over-think this. I know how you are. You know in your heart this is the answer. I need you. You need me. It will be perfect.”

Just like that, I knew. I didn’t think, pray, or waffle. I knew I had my answer. I needed to walk through this door. I hoped with all my heart the distance would bring enough healing so that maybe I’d find myself again. Truth be told, though that first conversation was three-hours long, Pepper sold me on the idea the moment she brought it up. Though the deal, with terms, timing, and the nitty-gritty details were worked out over the course of a few months, I made my decision about twenty-minutes into the conversation. And here I am, on the road to my new home and a life I didn’t plan for or expect.

I took the back way this time and wound through the countryside staying as far away from the Interstate as possible. I drove through farmland and lonely stretches of pine tree forests, cut down in places and lined in perfect rows in others. I stopped somewhere after turning onto Highway 101, to pick up some cotton fluff that lined the highway. The harvesting of cotton, just beginning, had been another sign of my new world. The golden light of sun through pine trees is warming. This place is all at once swampy and forlorn and then lushly green.

On Live Oak Street, after passing Ann Street in downtown Beaufort, the water comes into view. The sun is nearly blinding on the water. Sailboats dot the creek. I turn right at the end of the road, onto Front Street. The street is nearly abandoned, though it’s the middle of the day. I look at the clock on the dash of the truck, struck by the stillness of the street, though it’s nearly lunch time. I drive a couple of blocks and then reach the front of my house. The house is a southern slice of heaven with its white paint and black shutters. It has two porches - each porch wraps itself around the two stories, hugging the house in the warm way a porch should. Just up the street from my house there’s a small park with a gazebo that sits out on a little point. Near the park, red, yellow, and teal kayaks sit on the muddy banks of Taylor Creek. I stop in front of the house. From my vantage point, I see one woman walking a small dog. As I begin to pull away from the front of the house, a car passes by. In the span of those brief few moments I see two people. Crowded metros and busy city streets, overflowing with tourists, packed-in like sardines’ federal employees, car horns, sirens, and the sounds of construction, were my daily reality. I wanted change. But two people?

I pull my truck into the driveway behind the house and stop in front of the detached garage. “Well, buddy, we’re here,” I say without much emotion. Charlie sits up and looks at me, cocking his head to the right. “We’re home!” I exclaim hoping I sound more convincing. He whines in reply. “Come on,” I say, getting out and opening a door for him. Charlie jumps down and immediately heads for the gate that blocks the guest house and backyard from the view of the alley and the neighbors. I open the gate and Charlie charges ahead into his new domain. He wanders as I walk across the yard. I fumble in my purse for the keys to the French doors that lead into the Carolina room. Once inside, I set my purse and overnight bag on the floor of the back porch.

When I stand, after putting everything down, I look out through the bank of windows that are nearly floor to ceiling in the Carolina room. As I scan the entire yard, from one end to the other, I see a bright blue bouncing ball under a hedge of azaleas along the back fence. The couple that lived here before me had four children, ten grandchildren, and a handful of great grandchildren. They couldn’t understand why I’d want a big house like this. But in today’s real estate market, they didn’t argue with my offer. An ache twists my heart, like it’s a piece of paper, crumbled and tossed in the trash. The ache takes over as it sometimes does. The pain is unbearable most of the time, but it grows in moments like these when a very simple thing – like a kid’s ball - triggers my grief. I stare at the ball for a second longer. I unsuccessfully try to push the intrusive memory of a blond nine-year-old boy, bouncing a ball against the side of the house, out of my mind.

That day, more than a year ago, I watched him play from the window in the kitchen at our house in McLean. The Dutch door was half open. The rhythmic thud of the ball, as it hit the wall, was all I heard over the sound of the television on the opposite counter. The ball would hit the concrete and then the wall - over and over the pattern repeated. I should have stopped him. But there had already been too much. I couldn’t. He turned and looked straight at me at some point. My memory of that moment is as vivid and clear as if he stood there in the backyard of a house in Beaufort, NC. He smiled a wide, silly grin and waved. Even on the worst of days, William Cooper made you smile. Despite the death of my daughter, the signed divorce papers, impending changes, and the ring-less hand, I smiled back at him. It had been my last weekend with the kids. Burns employed what I had taken to calling the “nuclear option,” as if everything we had already been through wasn’t enough. Though the visitation agreement would give me one Saturday a month, once-weekly phone calls, and few days each summer, it became clear from the get-go that Burn’s Legislative Assistant Jenny, would ensure that agreement would be ignored.

Though I’d been able to smile at William then, I’m not smiling now. Standing here in the afternoon light, as it spills in through the porch windows, tears run down my face, probably carrying my makeup with them. This is a regular routine. I can’t help myself. I wipe my face with my right hand. “Charlie. Come on, time to go inside,” I say, my voice, smoky from the tears. As is Charlie’s custom, he pretends he doesn’t hear me. But as soon as I turn around to open the door to the house, Charlie’s dog tags betray his steadfast stubbornness. As I open the door, he’s there at my feet, ready to follow. “We’re home, Charlie. We’re home.” We step inside and I shiver in the chill of an empty house. I walk to the entry hallway, searching for the thermostat. I switch on the heater and turn the heat up to 70, hoping it won’t take long. “Now what?” I ask looking down at Charlie. If a dog could shrug, Charlie did. He sighs in that heavy way he does and then trots off, his nose sniffing out lord knows what. He leaves me standing alone in the hallway.

That’s when it fully sets in. I’m alone in an empty house. My mind wanders, before I can stop it, to the old reality again. I would give anything, anything, for the kids to come through the front door. I’d give anything to yell at them to stop running in the house. I’d give anything to hold Katie one more time. Anything. I turn and face the front door, as if I expect them to run out of my heart, and into the house. But that’s about as likely to happen as their father growing a heart. Unsure of what to do next, I open the front door and walk out onto the porch. I sit on the top step and rest my elbows on my knees. Now it’s my turn to sigh. I take a deep breath, hoping that it will cleanse my brain of the images that fill it and of the sounds of the kid’s fighting. Or laughing. Or of something inappropriate on the television I’ve told them to change a million times.

But it doesn’t work. The memories fill my mind and heart, until my cell phone rings to break the spell. I hit the speaker button. “Hello?”

“Dr. Cooper?”

“Yes?”

“This is Tony, ma’am. We spoke yesterday about your move.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. It has been a long day of driving. What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to let you know that the truck is headed your way ahead of schedule. In fact, you can expect them within the hour.”

“That’s great and unexpected news. Thanks for the update.”

“No problem, ma’am. I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled.”

“I am. I’ll be here when they arrive.”

“Great. Please call if we can be of any further service.”

“Thank you. And I will,” I say as I end the call. Things are looking up already. A house with stuff in it is better than a completely empty one. Maybe.

***

“Ava? You in here?” A knock on the front door follows. I look around the corner of the kitchen, down the long hall, to the front door. I wave until Pepper sees me.

“I’m in the kitchen. Come in!” I exclaim, false cheer saturating my voice like thick, sappy honey. She will see through me – why even bother? She always had a knack for that during our first year of residency when I tried to figure out how to juggle school, being the wife of a Senator from the Commonwealth of Virginia, and a mom. I turn back to putting knick-knacks on the shelf that overlooks the sink and look out the large window. The bouncy ball taunts me again from under the hedge. Note to self . . . destroy the bouncy ball in the backyard. I turn as she enters the kitchen; her arms are outstretched. “Hey,” I say.

We hug as she says, “Hey back. So glad you made it safe and sound.”

“Me too. Me too.”

Pepper pulls away and looks around the kitchen. “Wow. You’ve been busy. The place is looking like Ava Cooper already.”

“I can’t take all the credit. The movers were fantastic. Pretty much all that’s left after they unpacked, is hanging pictures and putting my own spin on the place. They were incredible. Thanks for sending them my way.”

“No problem. I’m glad that worked out. So uh, I know you’re probably not ready for jumping into small-town life but some of my oldest and dearest friends are having a welcome home party for my friend Macon, their son.” I nod my head. She continues, “He just got back from Afghanistan.” I hope there will be a way to get out of the invitation that is surely coming. “Anyway, he got home recently and it’s going to be a big to-do. Everyone will be there. And I mean ev-er-y-one. I mentioned that you were in town and the Thompsons would love for you to come. The party starts at 6:00 tomorrow night.”

“Where is it?” I ask, aware that I probably can’t weasel my way out of this, even though I’ll give it a valiant effort. Not if I want to help run a successful business in this tiny town, that is.

“It’s next door. Macon’s parents live there.”

“I’m not sure I’m in any shape to meet anyone at the moment,” I say.

“I know you just got here but it would be good for you to get out and meet people right away. This family basically owns half of Carteret County. Plus, they’re just awesome. Come on!”

“I’ll try. I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try. I’m not sure I have anything appropriate to wear. Most of my stuff is still packed.”

“This is Beaufort. Not DC.”

“Okay, well, like I said, I’ll try.” Although internally I’m running through my ample supply of standard excuses to find a way out, I know I can’t. Thinking of the box of liquor sitting on the dining room table, I suddenly need a drink. Perhaps going with a slight buzz is the best way to tolerate a house filled with people I’ve never seen before, let alone met.

Chasing Hope

~ One ~

Highway 306
Pamlico County, NC
September 2022

In a stroke of sheer genius, or maybe it’s a sign of a quickly approaching mental breakdown, I left D.C. seven and a half hours ago and headed toward the coast of North Carolina, with the pain of my greatest loss, taking up the most space in my truck. Besides my personal things and the furniture, I brought into my marriage, I left everything else in my brownstone or on the curb. The truth is, my ex-husband and his Legislative Assistant have most of our belongings. I’m not sure what one should feel when you leave your life in a pile at the curb, but I’m damn near certain it feels about like this. What’s this you ask? Doom. And perhaps a little paranoia. Definitely fear. When my marriage ended, I thought we could peacefully co-exist - like normal divorced people. You know, like the rest of America. Burns would keep our houses in McLean and Ridgemont and I would live in Georgetown. I forgot that Burns Cooper is not normal. Leaving is the only way.

On this early autumn day, it’s warm with just the tiniest hint of cool swirling about. There is a promise of crunching leaves and football season floating on the edge of the breeze. I roll my front seat windows down - the fresh air providing some much-needed therapy. My hair blows in every direction. I will not tell a lie, it gives me smug satisfaction to know that by the time I get to Beaufort, I’ll be a hot mess. Burns would not have tolerated that. One could sum up my ex-husband in one word: controlling. Then again, I could think of a few other words and hand gestures to describe or talk about him. On days like these, when the world is beautiful and the air is just right, I feel good. Not happy. But I feel good. I’m convinced I will never be happy again.

There’s something about the wind blowing through the truck, roughing up my hair as it goes, that gives me a bit of calm amid the hurricane that has become my life. My hope is that leaving D.C. will be enough to get me somewhere in the neighborhood of neutrality. You know, somewhere in between misery and happiness. I think I could live right there in the in-between. Charlie, my Boxer, stirs in the backseat, pushing himself into a sitting position and stretching. He barks once and then whines, just in case the message isn’t clear. “Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on,” I say to him, looking in the rear-view mirror. “We’ll be there soon enough.” I turn up the jazz - Miles Davis’ Flamenco Sketches, already filling the truck, in case Charlie decides to make a habit of whining. He sighs with a flare, sounding more like a teenager than a dog. He doesn’t stay quiet for long. His whining increases until I say, “Fine. Hold on.”

I pull the truck over near an abandoned house. The house had been white at one time in its long life, but the years had added grime and mildew to its color - making it a dingy gray. It has a sagging, sad front porch, covered in Kudzu. The suffocating vine covers the ground behind the house, and then climbs and winds its way up the pine trees that stretch out as far as I can see. I take a deep breath, my eyes fixated on the porch of the old house. It reminds me of me. Memories of our front porch in McLean push their way forward. With it come the sights and sounds of William and Harper – my stepchildren - chasing each other around on the front lawn while I watch them from my favorite chair.

***

I am a doctor. A good one. I went to the best schools. Harvard for undergrad, Johns Hopkins for medical school, and my Meds-Peds residency was at Georgetown. The competition to get into that program just about killed me. Yet, despite my success, there is only one thing I’ve wanted my entire life - to have a family. I don’t say this out loud . . . ever. There are few people in my life who understand the depth of my longing. There’s an assumption that the life I created before I met Burns and the kids, is exactly what I wanted. But I’m not going to lie, medicine had been a way out. I didn’t want for a thing growing up in a privileged family. Let me clarify - I didn’t want a single thing that money could buy. My family life growing up had been unhappy. Dysfunction exists in all families in some form or fashion. But ours is legendary. Our household knew knock-down drag-out fights, or long periods of silence. Either way, my brother and I were mostly raised by a woman my parents paid. She loved us. But there’s always an innocent and entirely normal desire in every child to be loved unconditionally by their parents. It always felt like something was missing for me and my brother. So yes, medicine was my way out. My mom wanted me to stay and take over her business. My dad didn’t care what I did. For my mom, medicine wasn’t the type of career a “woman like me” should pursue. Therefore, I went after it wholeheartedly.

Flowing under every dream and hope I built my life on, there lived this longing for a family. When friends said they wanted to be a doctor, lawyer, ballerina, or architect, or whatever else, I did too. I may have said “doctor” but under my breath and in my heart, I said, “Mom.” I spent hours playing with my dolls and thinking about what my family would be like – it looked nothing like the family I was raised in. I cut out pictures from magazines, tore out recipes, and spent hours looking at catalogs thinking about my home, a home I wanted to be beautiful, happy, and warm. This is my dirty lost secret. Women today are not supposed to admit this. We are supposed to want a career. We are supposed to leave our children with nannies or at a childcare center. If we are stay-at-home moms, society makes us feel like we’re less than. But that’s what I wanted. When the opportunity presented itself to do just that, I grabbed hold. Harper, who had been three years old when we met, had this angry snarly way about her. She didn’t want to be loved, touched, or held. Her father complied, lacking a basic understanding about how a child seeks to get their needs met. William was one and happy as a clam. From the moment I met them, I knew their paths were meant to cross mine. I loved them as if I’d given birth to them myself. Their mother, by all accounts, had the sweetest personality that most of her family and friends say perfectly matches William’s. I wanted to raise them as she would have, totally certain she and I would have been great friends had we ever met.

When I found out I was pregnant with Katie, life could not have been more perfect. I mean, I could have had a loving husband but other than that, my life really looked like everything I’d ever dreamed. Katie was perfect. Except for her heart. She was a beautiful baby with a head full of brown hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I took a lot of time off after I gave birth, because of her surgeries. I will never regret taking the time off, in spite of what many of my colleagues thought. After we brought Katie home from the hospital, after her long NICU stay at birth, I marveled at every little thing about her, from her tiny fingers wrapped around mine in quiet moments in the nursery, to the way I could see myself in her. Katie didn’t make a fuss about much of anything. She let you know when she needed to eat and be changed, but quietly. I love her and my step kids in a way I never dreamed possible, but hoped to experience for as long as I could remember. Six months after Katie was born and had recovered from her first surgery, I put her in her car seat and drove to Harper and William’s school to pick them up. It had been a rare luxury as my work schedule didn’t allow for very many afternoons like it normally. On the way home, I took them for cupcakes. With Katie in my arms, as I tried to eat a cupcake and listen to the kids talk about their day, I thought that life looked exactly as it should. Exactly. But my life is nothing like that now. Everything is gone, even the two-story townhouse I bought in Georgetown after the divorce. I hoped against reason that Burns would wake up and see what he had done. He didn’t.

I shove the memories down deep, as fast as I can. Charlie and I trudge through the high grass, walking away from the parked truck, closer to the abandoned house. The dog wanders to the end of his leash. He sniffs in a circuitous route as he goes. In the early afternoon dappled light, the sun’s beams dance through the spindly, Q-tip like pines that line both sides of the highway. The air is filled with the smoky goodness of burning leaves, smelling like a campground bonfire. I close my eyes and let it all sink in. The last car passed by us ten minutes ago. Clearly, this is as different from D.C. as one place could possibly be.

Which is the point.

It is summer. Eastern Carolina is a sight to behold in the summer, even more so on the coast where the air is like a sultry, sexy Flamenco. It just seeps way down deep into your bones. The light in the early evening is like this living thing. It almost breathes. Deep. It wraps me up - safe and content.

He, the beautiful man of the hard way, is a challenge I am sometimes convinced I can’t meet. Even after all these years. Today, in a quiet moment in the midst of a busy day, I thought about the way his eyes hold mine. There has been fire and light for me in his eyes – for me, for as long as I can remember. Me. His fierceness lights me from the inside out with just one look. In the middle of an everyday moment, I look up to see his eyes on me. And there in that moment when I’m nothing special on my own and living in the mundane, I am all there is in his eyes. I am the only one in a room filled with people.

And then as quickly as he is fierce and passion, strength and fire, he is vulnerable. His tenderness for me still churns my insides like it did from the beginning. In those moments, I think I love him more than I knew was possible. On nights like these when the lightening bugs pop and flash in the approaching night, as we sit quietly on the porch, I’m overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. There is stillness and quiet between us just like it used to be in the beginning, when he said all he needed to without a word spoken. The heat surrounds us in spite of the encroaching darkness. The rising moon isn’t bringing relief from the swelter.

But somehow, in spite of the sweat that trickles, and the air thick, all I can think about is the way fire and heat burn off the dross. We have been tried and tested in the fire. In the quiet, he reaches over and takes my hand in his. Ten years and a handful of days after the first time he did that very thing, it lights me up inside. Still. I close my eyes, lay my head back, and breathe deeply of the contentment that comes from loving him above myself – even when we do it the hard way. Even when we are tested in the fire.