The Long Walk Home

by Will North

  “Well, I didn’t know what he might ...”

  “I know. Neither did I. It was wonderful to have you here. The good news is we’ll have professional help starting tomorrow.”

  “What needs doing in the meantime, Mum? Have we guests arriving? Do you need me to do the marketing?”

  “No, I’ve told the Tourist Board not to send anyone and I called those who’d made reservations. As for marketing, I have some chicken in the freezer. I’ll think of something for dinner.”

  “You mean our resident chef will think of something.”

  “Alec. Yes. Well, I suppose I’d better look in on him. Shall I take the car?”

  “Yes, Mum. I can walk back down when I’m done here.”

  Fiona picked up the empty soup pot and carried it out to the car. She could see Owen opening a gate for David in a distant pasture. She wondered how much strength David had in him.

  Back at the house, she parked the car in the barn and carried the soup pot to the kitchen, expecting to find Alec there. But the kitchen was empty. She checked the clock and smiled. Nearly half eight and still in bed! She crossed the main floor and tiptoed up the stairs to Alec’s room, very carefully opening his door, hoping to surprise him.

  But the bed was empty, carefully made.

  “Alec?” She checked his bathroom. Empty.

  Fiona whirled around to the corner of the room where Alec kept his backpack. It was gone.

  “Alec?! Oh Jesus, God ... No!” she breathed, racing back down the stairs.

  “Alec!”

  Hoping against hope, hoping for a miracle, she burst into her rooms, wanting to find him asleep in her bed. Sooty looked up from his accustomed place, but ignored her. On her bed, instead of Alec, was an envelope with her name on it, written in his hand.

  “No!” she screamed. “No, no, no!!”

  She grabbed the envelope and ran out again. In the front hall she noticed her personal phone book was open. She looked at the page and saw the phone number for the taxi service in Dolgellau, the one she always used for her guests.

  She dialed the number frantically and got the dispatcher.

  “Did you collect a guest at Tan y Gadair Farm this morning?” she demanded, her voice quavering uncontrollably.

  “One moment please, madam,” the bored voice said.

  She looked at the letter in her hand and watched it shake. It was as if someone else’s hand held it, for all the control she had over it.

  The voice came back on the line. “We did indeed, madam. A gentleman. At about seven o’clock this morning. Took him to Barmouth for the early train.”

  Fiona felt dizzy. She looked at the phone and slowly replaced the receiver.

  She stumbled back to the kitchen, fell into a chair, and stared at the envelope in her hand. She tore open the flap and unfolded the letter.

  My Dearest Fiona,

  I used to think that watching Gwynne die was the hardest thing I’d ever done. To see life ebb from someone you love and be utterly powerless to reverse the decline—indeed, to pray that death will come quickly!—is desperately hard. It is unimaginable. And yet, I was wrong. The hardest thing I have ever done and will ever do is to tell you this: we cannot continue.

  I have spent most of the night here by the window, staring up at the sky. I suppose I have been looking for an answer there, in the patterns of the constellations—a different answer from the one I know in my heart is right.

  In this valley, on this farm beneath the mountain, there is no place for me—except, I hope, in your heart. I know you know that; I’ve seen it in your eyes in the past two days. You have a family to which I do not belong. There is no room for me here, darling. You and your family are part of a close-knit community. We could not carry on as we have and not cause harm—to you, to David, to Meaghan, to the entire fabric of your life here. I love and need you with an intensity and a passion so powerful they amaze me. When I leave you, I know the power of that love will break me. But I have no choice; staying here would dishonor you and those you love, and eventually cause you even greater conflict and pain. I cannot do that to you, no matter how much I need you.

  This is not a renunciation of our love—far from it. We are, and always will be, two souls united, two beings joined by our hearts, a man and a woman who would travel through eternity together if the constellations of our lives could be altered.

  They say the flutter of a butterfly’s wings can alter the course of humankind and I believe that. I believe we met for a reason, Fiona, and I believe we will find each other again. Until then, think of me when you look at the North Star—the one true, fixed certainty in a swirling universe—and I will think of you. Know, with all of your heart, that my love for you will be just as reliable, just as bright. Remember what you said in town the other day: I’m easy to find; you just have to look up.

  I love you—now and forever.

  Alec

  Fiona found herself at the kitchen window, as if by standing there long enough she could make the flash of royal blue appear again as it had only a week before. But it did not. She imagined a jagged fissure moving up the lane, splitting the farmyard, and then the house, and then her heart, in two. She clutched her chest as if to keep it in one piece, drifted through the house to her rooms, slipped the letter into a drawer, climbed onto her bed, curled into a ball, and wept.

  Meaghan found her there, asleep, an hour later. There was no sign of Alec Hudson. She thought perhaps she understood.

  But of course she did not.

  December 18, 2005

  epilogue

  AN ETERNITY SEEMED TO PASS in a moment.

  She felt his warm hands cup her face.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was kneeling before her on the stone-flagged floor of the entrance hall.

  “Fiona, dear God, I’m so sorry,” he said, his face stricken.

  “Alec,” she whispered.

  Alec Hudson rose, wincing as he did so, and drew Fiona to her feet. He wrapped her in his arms and she tucked her head into his broad, flat chest, as she had done before, so long ago.

  And, very quietly, she began to cry.

  They stood that way for a long time. She had the strange sense that they were fusing. Alec’s chest rose and fell irregularly, and she realized he was crying, too.

  After a while, Fiona pulled away and looked up at Alec. He had aged more than she might have expected. Then again, she thought, perhaps she had, too. His face was gaunt and deeply lined. But his blue eyes still shone like searchlights. His body felt hard, just as she remembered it.

  “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, suddenly at a loss.

  “No, Fiona. I would like to kiss you.”

  Fiona smiled. He leaned down and their lips met. His kisses were as tender and sweet as she remembered, and she lost herself in them. Then, as before, she became insistent, pulling him closer, holding him tight.

  Back in the direction of the kitchen, a door slammed and a woman’s voice cursed, “Bloody weather!” Moments later, she trooped into the dining room and froze there, transfixed by the scene in the hall.

  “Mother?” she said, her mouth agape.

  Fiona turned to her daughter.

  The young woman, who was very pregnant, stared at them both for a moment, utterly at a loss for words, then plodded toward the hall.

  The man smiled.

  “Hello, Meaghan.”

  In a perfect imitation of her mother, Meaghan’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widened in disbelief, her free hand fumbled for the chair, and she dropped heavily into it.

  A moment later she lowered her hand and said simply, “You two were in love.”

  “Correction,” Fiona said, “are in love.”

  “Don’t let her fool you with that embrace, Alec; that’s how she greets all our guests now,” Meaghan cracked, her eyes dancing. “It’s done wonders for the business.”

  “Meaghan!” Fiona exclaimed.

  “I don’t doubt it in the least,”
Alec said, for which he earned a sharp poke in the ribs from Fiona.

  And then all three of them were laughing.

  “But Alec,” Meaghan said, “you disappeared.”

  Alec’s shoulders slumped and he looked away, as if across a great distance. His voice, when he responded, was barely a whisper. “It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do ... it was so hard. I wanted to come back—not just that first day, but every day since ...”

  Fiona turned to Meaghan. “Would you excuse us for a while, darling? We have a bit of catching up to do.”

  Meaghan nodded and hoisted herself from the chair. She gave Alec an awkward hug, her swollen belly coming between them.

  Alec wiped a tear from his cheek. “Congratulations, little mother,” he said.

  “Congratulations, my foot! As soon as Owen and I figure out what made this happen, we’re never doing it again!”

  Meaghan lumbered off in the direction of the kitchen and Fiona led Alec through the low oak door to her rooms. She did not stop in her sitting room, but continued though to her bedroom. There, she removed her clothes and then helped Alec out of his. Then she pulled him into her bed and held him close.

  “I never stopped loving you, Alec Hudson. I never stopped believing we’d be together again. It had to be; it was meant to be.”

  “Tell me I did the right thing, Fi.”

  “It shattered me, Alec; I won’t pretend otherwise. I didn’t think I’d ever recover. It was worse than a death, because there was always a hope you’d return. Because I couldn’t give up that hope.”

  “I’m so sorry, Fi,” Alec said, burying his face in her neck. “So very sorry. It was so hard. It’s been so long.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve no need to be sorry. Do you know why?”

  She could feel the dampness from his cheeks on her breast as he shook his head.

  “Because you did the right thing.”

  He pulled her closer.

  “And in the end, that only made me love you more,” she whispered.

  They stayed that way, skin on skin, clinging to each other, for a very long time.

  It was nearly dark when Alec awoke. Fiona was crossing the room toward him. She had changed and was wearing a form-fitting wool jersey dress in an earthy olive. She climbed up onto the bed facing him.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Damned jet lag.”

  “I’m sure that’s what it was, and not that you’re an old relic,” she teased.

  He lurched upright and grabbed her. “Here’s what I want to know,” he said, pulling her close and running his tongue down her breastbone. “How’d you manage to stay so gorgeous?”

  “Clean living and fresh air,” Fiona said, pulling away and striking a pinup-girl pose.

  “And here’s what I want to know,” she countered. “What brought you back now?”

  Alec smiled. “Could you hand me my trousers, please?”

  She looked at him for a moment, head cocked, then hopped off the bed, and brought them to him.

  He fished his wallet from a back pocket, opened it, removed a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Fiona.

  She unfolded it and recognized it immediately. It was a small notice from the St. Mary’s parish newsletter:

  Meaghan Dorothy Edwards and Owen Thomas Lewis, both of Dolgellau, were married on 12 June 2004 at St. Mary’s Church. The groom is the son of Anna Llewellyn Lewis and the late Raymond Lewis. The bride is the daughter of Fiona Potter Edwards and the late David Edwards. The couple will reside at Tan y Gadair Farm.

  “How?” Fiona asked.

  “I subscribe.”

  “But that was more than a year ago!”

  “I know. And David died two months earlier. I read his obituary in the newsletter, too. But when I saw the notice, I thought it would be unseemly to contact you until some time had passed.”

  Fiona leaned against one of the four-poster’s corner posts, crossed her legs, and looked squarely at Alec. “Your problem, sir, is that you are far too concerned with what is respectable. You have cost us an entire year of being together!”

  Alec turned away. “After I left you, I had no idea whether you would ever want to see me again.”

  Fiona smiled at the love of her life. “You must be the dimmest man alive.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was a long silence during which the two of them looked at each other with idiotic grins.

  Fiona’s face sobered. “How long have you come for?”

  Alec looked at her, the years of longing etched into his face. “How long will you have me?” he asked quietly.

  Fiona threw herself across the bed and into his arms.

  “As long as you like,” she said, pressing her tiny frame into his. “We have a policy here of never turning away guests.”

  “How do you feel about forever?” Alec asked.

  She looked down at him. “I think that could be arranged,” she said with an earthy giggle.

  They held each other for a while, each of them absorbing what they’d just confessed. Fiona sat up abruptly.

  “What in heaven’s name have you been doing all this time?” she asked.

  Alec climbed out of bed, naked, and rummaged through the pockets of his sport coat.

  “What are you after now?” Fiona marveled at how trim Alec’s body was still.

  “Your birthday gift, of course,” Alec mumbled. “Ah!”

  He straightened, returned to the bed, and handed her a small parcel.

  She pulled off the gift wrapping and found a slender book. She turned it over and looked at the cover. There was a banner across the top: “The National Bestseller!” The cover was a soft-focused photograph of a gently curving slope, dipping down and then rising again. She was about to go look for her reading glasses when she realized it was a close-up of the small of a woman’s back. The title of the book was Skin Hunger. The author, Alec Hudson. She opened the book and found a collection of poems. The title poem, the one she’d read years before, was first. There were many more. She was about to close the book when she came upon the dedication page. Surrounded by white space were three small words:

  For Fi,

  Forever

  And again the tears came. Fiona thought they must have been stored up over all those empty years and wondered whether they would ever stop.

  Alec took her in his arms. “I’m glad to say that’s not been the response of most of my readers.”

  He felt her laughing through her tears.

  “Is this about us?” she asked, sniffling and waving the book.

  “It could be if we want it to be.”

  Fiona pushed the tears from her eyes and stood up. “Put some clothes on, you wonderful, idiotic man; Meaghan’s made me a lovely birthday dinner, and you’re invited.”

  “Do you mind if I clean up a bit?”

  “Of course not, but be quick about it!”

  And with that she fairly skipped out of the room, clutching the little book to her breast.

  Alec bathed in the familiar claw-foot tub, shaved, and changed. Someone had fetched his suitcase while he slept.

  As he approached the kitchen the aromas were rich and exotic. When he entered the room, he found Fiona and Meaghan, arm in arm. At the Aga, stirring a large pot, was Owen Lewis.

  Owen heard him and turned, crossed the room, and wrapped Alec in a bear hug. Alec’s heart was so full he could hardly stand it. “Owen,” he said, holding the younger man’s embrace longer, “I am so happy for you and Meaghan.”

  Owen stood back and held Alec by his shoulders.

  “Welcome home, friend,” he said.

  Alec sat at the kitchen table and looked around the room he had thought about so often over the years—the beamed ceiling, the limestone floor, the warm wood and cream-colored cabinets, the massive stove. Little had changed. Fiona walked around behind him and ran her fingers through his hair.

  “Dinner in moments
,” Meaghan said, taking Owen’s place at the cooker.

  “Get you anything in the meantime?” Owen asked him.

  “Is there a decent glass of wine in this establishment?”

  Owen went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. “It’s from Australia; will that do?”

  Alec frowned. “Is it alcoholic?”

  Owen looked troubled. “Um, yes, I suppose it must be.”

  “Then it will do!” Alec cried, and the four of them laughed as Owen poured. Alec stood, gestured to Fiona’s daughter, raised his glass, and said, smiling broadly, “To new beginnings.”

  Meaghan’s lips quivered and tears filled her eyes. She took her husband’s glass of wine, touched Alec’s, took a small sip, and said, “For us all, Alec; for us all.”

  Meaghan had made a fragrant Mediterranean fish stew, thick with shellfish and saffron-infused vegetables.

  “It’s all your fault,” she chided Alec. “You got me started cooking!”

  “Did I? Oh good,” Alec said, as Meaghan passed around the laden bowls.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Owen said, patting his belly. He’d put on weight. “Hard to know which of us is having the baby!”

  Dinner was a noisy affair, full of laughter and storytelling and catching up. As they finished, Alec rose to clear the dishes.

  “You never learn, do you?” Fiona scolded, slapping his hands away.

  “That reminds me ... ,” Owen said, dashing out the back door. He returned a few moments later with a large cardboard box. He set it on the table and removed its top to reveal a triple-layer, dark chocolate birthday cake, with the number “50” traced out in butter cream icing.

  “It’s from Brandith,” Owen explained. “We were going to add all the candles, too, but ...”

  “... it violated the fire code, right?” Alec added.

  “Hey!” Fiona cried, hands on hips. “Who are you to talk?”

  “I’m fit as a fiddle, I’ll have you know,” Alec countered. “Never felt younger!”

  Fiona leaned close and whispered in his ear, “We’ll just see about that later.”

  Alec lifted an eyebrow and Fiona stifled a giggle as Meaghan passed around slices of birthday cake.