by Toni Blake
“Yeah,” she said, trying to smile. Then asked, “What sounds good for breakfast?”
He let out a sigh, looked lost. “Nothing,” he said with a shrug.
“I get it,” she said, “but we should eat. You especially. It’s important to keep your strength up and your energy level high.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I hope you’re not expecting me to exercise today.”
She thought it over and replied, “I’ll give you a day, but no matter how hard it is, tomorrow we have to get back to it. You’ve come too far to stop.”
Pressing his lips tight together, he let out a sigh and said, “I don’t know if I believe in heaven and all that, but I guess if Dahlia is some kind of an angel now, if I drop the ball on this she’ll come down here and kick my ass.”
Suzanne got closer to a smile this time. “You’re right, she will.”
That was when he leaned back his head, shut his eyes, and she saw him remembering again everything they’d experienced last night. It came out sounding a little choked when he said, “I’m gonna need you to help me get through this, Suzie Q.”
“I’m here,” she assured him. “And you’re right—we’re in this together.” She reached a hand up to his stubbled cheek, then rose on her tiptoes to deliver a gentle kiss to his mouth.
And as they emerged from the bathroom, a ray of hope shot through Suzanne’s heart. Zack could have easily crumbled over this, but she truly believed he would somehow rise above it and be okay. And he wanted her help with that. In that moment, it began to feel a little safer to love him. He didn’t want to be alone in the world—he wanted her by his side.
That was when her nose caught the scent of sweet perfume, drawing her eyes to the dining room table. Where her bulbs had blossomed into bright yellow daffodils and pink hyacinths. “Oh, Zack,” she said, “look. Dahlia made my flowers bloom.”
* * *
THAT FIRST DAY was mostly about mourning, and talking through Dahlia’s astounding ruse, and how much they wished she’d let them in, but also how much they knew Dahlia had to do things her own way. They talked about Giselle, who was—of course—so much less mysterious now. They talked about the sadness of Dahlia’s regrets.
On the second day, Zack and Suzanne read their letters. They sat across the room from each other, each quietly absorbing what Dahlia had to say. Suzanne’s came on pale buttery yellow stationery that, Dahlia wrote:
...reminded me of the sun and the sun reminds me of you. Perhaps because you give life to things, make things grow. Or maybe it’s because I know the winters on the island are still hard for you, that you hunger for the spring.
The letter left Suzanne feeling loved and trying to soak up wisdom. Every message she’d gotten from Dahlia in the end was about being brave enough to risk loving without fear. Dahlia knew she’d suffered over Cal, and now she clearly hoped Suzanne would find a lasting love with Zack. I want that, too, Dahlia—and I think it’ll happen. I just wish you’d be here to see it.
When they were both done, Suzanne said, “You know, all this time, I kept thinking if we could just make it to spring that everything would be all right. But I was wrong.”
Soon after, though, she pushed Zack to do his therapy. And she noticed the same thing she had on that long, miserable trek to Dahlia’s: that he was using his right foot better. “You’re putting more weight on it,” she pointed out.
He looked down. “Guess I am.” Clearly, with everything that had gone on, he hadn’t noticed his own progress.
“Does it still hurt when you do?”
He took another step and said, “Not as much.”
Despite herself, Suzanne’s first real smile in a couple of days snuck out. “This is another huge step forward, Zack—literally.” And she couldn’t help thinking that maybe, despite their loss, spring would still bring good things.
The third day became about practical matters. Not many people died here in winter—the year-round population was small and most anyone who was sick relocated to the mainland until spring. But they learned Dahlia had already arranged to be airlifted on the first clear day after her death to the mainland, where she would be cremated. And it was indeed the first clear day.
Giselle told them by phone, saying it would be better if they didn’t come. When they heard the whir of a helicopter, they opened the front door to watch it touch down in Lakeview Park. An hour later, the whir came again, and they quietly listened to the helicopter fade into the distance. After that, Suzanne bundled up, took Zack’s keys, and located Dahlia’s purple box at the café, bringing it back to the cottage. As she walked in the door, she heard Zack on speakerphone with Giselle.
“I wanted you to know the airlift went smoothly. And that I stayed behind at her request—to put the cottage back in order. After that I’ll move into one of the inns until the ice thaws.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Zack told her. “Unless you prefer it. Stay at the house as long as you want.”
“That’s kind of you.”
A few minutes later, Suzanne and Zack sat down at the kitchen table, the spring flowers between them, and Zack opened the box. In front was an envelope with his name on it, and after so much emotion the last few days, he looked wary—enough that he handed it to Suzanne and said, “You read it.”
She braced herself, then broke the seal. Inside, two sheets of old-fashioned stationery with flowered edges. She unfolded them, then announced, “It’s a list. Just a list.”
Things to do after I’m gone:
Read the will in this box, in which you will find that I bequeath you the cottage and the café. You may sell or keep them.
You will also find statements for two bank accounts, for which you are the beneficiary.
I would like my ashes sprinkled somewhere on or around the island—surprise me!
After they read the list, Suzanne waited for him to start through the rest of the box’s contents, but instead he said, “This really tells me everything I need to know right now, don’t ya think?”
She agreed, unable to fault his unspoken logic—dealing with details would be easier once the snow and ice had melted, especially if Zack needed to meet with bankers or lawyers. And though she didn’t want to pry, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Do you have any idea what you’ll do—with the house and café?”
“Way things look with my leg, I might need the money. Or...” He stopped, sighed. “I kinda hate to sell the café—she built it from nothing and it’s an island staple. But what on earth would I do with it?”
Suzanne cautiously suggested, “Run it? In Dahlia’s stead? Just not be as hands-on?”
His brow knit. “What do I know about running a restaurant?”
She tilted her head. “Nothing, but...it’s something you can do sitting down. Or moving slowly.”
His eyes rose from the list to her face. “You think I could? Run the café?”
“I think if you want to try, I’ll help. I do know something about operating a small business. It’s something to think about.”
On the fourth day after Dahlia’s death, Suzanne went to Koester’s for groceries. The sky was blue, the sun shining, and the temperatures above freezing. Dahlia was correct that Suzanne hungered for the sun, and she liked to think Dahlia was making it shine for her right now. Everyone she encountered gave their condolences, reminding her they weren’t the only ones who’d lost their dear Dahlia—the entire island had. Dahlia might have ended up with regrets about her romantic life, but there was no denying she’d made a true home here and been part of the fabric of this community.
People said to let them know if there was anything they could do, and to give Zack their love. They also inquired about his health, seeming relieved to hear what positive strides he was making. She promised to pass on their good wishes, and she left the market feeling some of the weight of loss being burn
ed away by the sun.
And she realized...the snow was starting to melt. Icicles dripped from rooftops and gutters, and the trickle of running water could be heard. The snow was deep, of course—and it was only February so it would surely snow more before the spring thaw truly came—but it still assured her winter wouldn’t last forever and life would go on. It would be different than before, but it would go on, and summer would eventually come again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“ARE YOU READY?” Giselle asked Zack, sitting next to him at Suzanne’s table. His aunt’s nurse had come for a visit, bearing a photo album of Dahlia’s.
“Sure,” he said. “But I’ve seen this before.”
“Do you know the stories that go with the pictures, though?”
He met her gaze. “I think I do. But maybe I don’t.”
If Giselle had stuff to tell him about Dahlia that he might not know, he was happy to listen. And so over the next hour, he discovered Giselle did have new insights to share that filled in some of the gaps about Dahlia in his mind.
When she finished, he thanked her. And she smiled, adding, “Dahlia opened up to me a lot during our weeks together. She also told me about meeting you—about the two of you dancing in your grandma’s living room when you were little, and how much she always worried about you.”
Hearing that made Zack glad he’d brought the memory up to Dahlia not long ago. Though he felt bad as he said, “Never wanted her to worry.”
“Of course not. But when someone loves you, it’s part of the package. She was worried about you now, too—how you would take the loss. But you seem to be...doing better than she thought you would.”
That drew a small laugh from him. Dahlia had known him well. “For her,” he tried to explain to Giselle. “I’m trying to be strong because I know she’d want that.”
And hell, no wonder Dahlia had been worried. A few months ago she’d been alive and he’d been healthy, and he’d still been mired in depression. How was it that he’d lost his only family, his livelihood, and his ability to move freely in the world, but he was somehow more secure and stable than he’d ever been before?
There was only one possible explanation. Suzanne.
He’d loved Meg—but with Suzanne it was different. She had a way of keeping him afloat—even through these darkest of storms. She’d been the tether that had kept him from drifting out to sea. She’d been the light that breaks through clouds after the rain. She’d been compassionate when he’d had nothing to give her in return. She’d given him hope when he’d believed all was lost. And she’d shown him love at the time when he’d felt the least lovable.
Suzanne had ventured out to a knitting bee tonight, though he was pretty sure she hadn’t really wanted to socialize and had gone only so he could have time alone with Giselle. That was Suzanne—always doing the right, best thing for others. When he’d been with Meg, and Suzanne hadn’t liked him, he hadn’t quite understood why—but he supposed she’d been doing the right, best thing for Meg. She loved fiercely, his Suzie Q. He hoped Meg would take Dahlia’s words to heart and forgive Suzanne for being with him. Sometimes you couldn’t do the right, best thing for everyone all at the same time.
After Giselle left, he was tempted to call Meg, try to talk to her about the situation—but he decided it wasn’t the right move. Less than two months ago, he’d still been pining for her. Now he didn’t feel that way anymore—and he wouldn’t want her to think he did.
Pulling himself up on his crutches, he headed to the kitchen, grabbed a can of soda—and wished he could grab a snack, but he wasn’t that skilled yet, so he stuffed the can in the front pocket of his hoodie and returned to the living room. Maybe soon he’d advance to a walker—on which he could attach a sack to tote stuff. It was the little things in life we often took for granted, like the ability to carry something across the room. But he refused to fret. He’d rather be thankful that he was using his right leg better all the time. Thankful to pop open his drink and take a sip staring into a warm, crackling fire. Thankful to reach for his phone and pull up his music app to turn on some early Rod Stewart, then Three Dog Night.
When the door opened and Suzanne stepped in, he asked, “How was knitting?”
She shrugged, unlooping a long, fuzzy scarf from around her neck. “Eh, since I don’t knit and everyone wanted to talk about Dahlia—which was sweet, but heavy—all in all, I’m glad to be home.”
He gave her a small smile. “You really didn’t have to go.” He recalled the morning he’d found her crying in the bathroom, trying not to burden him. “We’re in this together, remember?”
She nodded pleasantly as she shed her coat. “Guess I’m still getting used to that. How was your evening with Giselle?”
“Good,” he said. “I want to tell you all about it. But first, I’ve been doing some thinking.”
She was bent over, unzipping her snow boots, yet now she lifted her gaze. “Oh?” She stepped out of the boots, set them aside, then padded across the room in cozy socks. “Go on.”
As she sat down in the chair next to his, he told her, “Maybe I won’t sell the café. Maybe I will try to keep it going. Maybe. Lot of questions still to be answered. I just need to see how some things pan out once the ice melts. But you’re right—it’s a job I can do without being very mobile. And it would make Dahlia happy.”
“That’s very true,” she responded with a smile.
“Something else I’m thinking about, too,” he told her. “You. And me.”
“Oh?” she said again—and he could feel her caution. She was still afraid to really “be in this together,” all the way. And he supposed, given his history, and how alone her own losses had left her, he understood why. But he didn’t want it to be that way.
He pressed his lips together, tried to think through the right way to say it. “Thing is—I don’t know where I’d be without you, Suzie Q. And I wouldn’t want to find out.” He paused, took a deep breath. “I’ve never committed to a woman in my life, Suz—but I love you. And...even with all the stuff we still don’t know, the one thing I’m sure of is...you. I want you and me to be...” He stopped again, stuck for words. “Hell, how do you say it when you’re a grown-up? I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to go steady,” he said on a laugh. “Hell, I’d give you my class ring to wear on a chain around your neck if I had one, but I don’t.”
Next to him, she cautiously bit her lip and smiled prettily, looking somehow more bashful than he’d ever seen her. “You gave me a bear that says Be Mine.” She pointed to the Valentine’s Day teddy bear, sitting on a built-in shelf. “That’ll work.”
“That’s it exactly,” he said. “I want you to be mine.”
* * *
IT WAS REAL. Zack loved her. Zack wanted her in a way he’d never wanted another woman. She ached to tell Dahlia. She ached to tell Meg, her best friend. But she couldn’t tell either of them. So she held his words close to her heart and occasionally danced around the room a little when he wasn’t looking.
She hated that it had taken so much loss and pain to bring them together, but she also knew that sometimes a person had to be stripped bare to rise up and transform into someone new. The Zack Sheppard she’d known six months ago couldn’t have made promises. The Zack she’d known six months ago had been an entirely different man.
She, too, was different. Taking care of him had required her to dig deep and shed some protective layers, as well. Finding the part of her that had compelled her to be a nurse had reminded her she was stronger than she knew. And somewhere along the way, she’d let herself learn to feel things again, too. Not just in strong ways, but also in vulnerable ways.
She sat at the dining table, a blank sheet of paper before her, making notes for a memorial service. Dahlia’s death had been such a shock, and the conditions here so limiting in terms of funerals, that it had taken them this long to consider such a
n event, but this morning she’d suggested it, and Zack had agreed. They wouldn’t have Dahlia’s ashes until spring, but that seemed too long to wait.
Now she gathered the courage to text Meg. A thing that used to be second nature—something she did multiple, easy, mindless times a day. Now it took effort, and precision. We’re planning a memorial service for Dahlia. Would you like to be involved?
Meg answered right away. Yes. Thank you for including me. We could have it here, at the inn, if you’d like.
She and Zack had discussed doing it at the café, but the inn might feel more inviting this time of year. That sounds perfect.
And so it was decided that a celebration of Dahlia’s life would take place on the first Saturday in March. As word spread across the island, people offered to bring food. Using Dahlia’s photo album and pictures collected on all their phones, Suzanne made a slideshow for the TV in Meg’s parlor. They took a framed photo from the café of Dahlia holding up the first dollar she earned there, along with a few other framed pictures Giselle located at Dahlia’s house, to create a display. Zack insisted on compiling a playlist of some of Dahlia’s favorite music, which neither Suzanne nor Meg thought seemed especially reverent, but then he reminded them both, “This is Dahlia, remember? She wouldn’t want reverent.”
A couple of days before the event, Suzanne took Dahlia’s phone, which Giselle had given to Zack, and did what she’d been putting off since the night of Dahlia’s death. She simply hadn’t had the heart then, and she didn’t have it now, either, but it had to be done. As the only one in Dahlia’s circle who’d really spent any time with Mr. Desjardins, the task fell to her.
In his contact information she found an email address, which allowed her to say everything she wanted, closing with: I have every reason to believe she had fallen in love with you, and that if her health had not failed her, she would have asked you to stay in her life.
The way Zack had asked Suzanne to stay in his. The way Meg had invited Seth into hers. Of everyone, Suzanne thought that sweet Mr. Desjardins was the one getting the worst of it, because he had no one to soothe him through the loss, no love to hold on to in the end. The very fate Dahlia had warned of.
