The Love We Keep

by Toni Blake

  “Do whatever you want,” she said.

  Sheesh.

  He tried to watch TV, and when he gave up and decided to go to bed, he found her asleep in the dark, and quietly crawled in beside her. He followed the urge to scoot close, wrap his arms around her. And he whispered in her ear, “I love you, Suzie Q.”

  “I love you, too,” she said. Only it came out sounding like something she regretted.

  “Don’t be mad at me, okay?”

  “I’m getting less mad,” she said. “And more sad.”

  “Don’t be sad at me, either,” he told her teasingly.

  She said nothing in reply. And he didn’t know what else to say—he’d never been skilled at this sort of thing. Hell, this was his first committed relationship. Moments like this he remembered why. Moments like this women seemed like mysterious and unpredictable beings. But things would surely look brighter in the morning. So he snuggled against her and fell asleep.

  * * *

  “I MIGHT SELL the cottage and Petal Pushers. And move back to the mainland.”

  Zack just blinked, then grimaced, sitting in a living room chair after his exercises. The morning had seemed calmer—until this. “What the hell, Suzanne?”

  She let out a sigh, appearing as tired as he suddenly felt. “I came here to get away from my problems, my losses, thinking a quiet life on a tiny island would be enough for me. And that I didn’t want or need love. But then you came along—and what we’ve had has been real, and dependable, and consistent. Until now. I didn’t ask Cal for what I needed, and it haunts me. So I asked you for what I need—to put me first. And now I know you can’t—maybe I always knew. I don’t want to settle for that. And I don’t want to live a life of worry. I don’t want to always be waiting and wondering where you are, when you’ll be back, if you’ll make it back. I don’t want to be Dahlia—on my deathbed wishing I’d done things differently.”

  Zack took all that in. It stung to hear, and he didn’t want her to suffer. But until yesterday it had never occurred to him she wouldn’t support him getting back to what he loved. He’d thought the promise, his commitment to her, was the thing that counted.

  “You might end up exactly like that if you go, Suz,” he told her. “I don’t want to live my life alone anymore, and I know you don’t, either. Why can’t we be together in spite of me getting back to the job I’ve always done?” Damn sensible question if you asked him.

  But she was having none of it. “Because it’s not just a job, Zack. It’s...escape. And if you want to escape, I can’t stop you. But it means we want two different kinds of life.”

  Zack sat there, dumbfounded. How had this happened? How had it all gone to shit so damn fast? Just yesterday they’d been fine.

  Suzanne walked to the shelf that held the teddy bear he’d given her on Valentine’s Day, picked it up, and sighed. Crossing the room once more, she shoved the bear holding the Be Mine heart into his hands.

  The very act wounded him more than he could even understand. “What’s this for?”

  “I can’t be yours anymore,” she said. “Not like this.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  IT WAS ONLY a toy bear, but it felt like she’d given him back an engagement ring.

  His heart turned cold in his chest as he flung the stupid toy to the floor, pushed his way to the door on the walker, and left. He didn’t need this shit. He didn’t need someone who wanted to control him and take away his freedom. He was a loner—always would be.

  If ever he’d wished he could move faster, it was now. He burned to put distance between him and that cottage. But he went as fast as the walker would take him, and he didn’t even think about where he would go—his path led, as always, to the water. The Emily Ann had been put back in from storage weeks ago. It was the only place in the world that was truly his, truly safe.

  Of course, he was nowhere near able to use the boat for fishing yet, but right now he needed to be on its deck, on the water. Maybe there he could think. Or not think. That had always been the freedom it brought. Maybe it was escape, but what was so wrong with wanting to be at peace, away from the troubles of the world? Getting out on the lake would be good for his soul, give him the solace it always had, take him away from everything hard.

  Once at the marina, he clanked his way along the planked dock until he reached the Emily Ann, thinking the act should feel more familiar—but the fact that he couldn’t walk freely, couldn’t just hop on and easily throw the ropes off, made it different. More difficult than he wanted it to be. Still, he maneuvered his way on, untied the boat from its moorings, and headed out into the straits.

  Damn, he hadn’t expected to be on the water this way again. Those months of snow and crutches and fear seemed a distant memory now. The waves held him like a cradle as the trawler sailed into open water. He leaned his head back, grateful for the sun on his face, eager for everything else to float away—replacing it all with freedom, peace, and yes, even escape.

  But a knot still tightened his stomach.

  What the hell? That never happened, ever. Leaving had always, always lifted away every ounce of worry, fear, concern—about everything and everybody.

  He looked to the shore. The pastel row of buildings stood idyllically below the peaks and gables of houses dotting hills now spring green with trees getting their leaves back, and also pink and white with dogwoods and redbuds just beginning to bloom.

  From a distance, Summer Island had always felt like...a place he’d rather not be. Not when he had a choice. Something about land, buildings, people, civilization itself—for him, it had always represented complications, expectations, things he’d just rather not deal with. But damn if the place didn’t look different to him now. Damn if the café’s back deck didn’t look...welcoming. Damn if he couldn’t almost see the misty spirit of Dahlia standing there waving at him. Damn if the Summerbrook Inn didn’t appear warm and inviting, not the house he’d once had a love-hate relationship with because of Meg. And damn if...damn if the dark-haired woman walking up the street in a long, flowy skirt didn’t look like...home to him. Suzanne. Suzanne was home to him now.

  Shit. Who’d have thunk it?

  Dahlia, that’s who.

  He knew in that moment he couldn’t let Suzanne leave. He couldn’t let her run to...to the nothingness he’d been running to for years. And why the hell was he on this boat when he could be there, on the island, with her? Suddenly fishing had lost its charm.

  * * *

  ZACK PUSHED THE walker up Harbor Street toward Suzanne. He could see her in the distance, but walking away from him in the wrong direction. He had no chance of catching up with her, and he couldn’t let her get away—not now, not ever. “Suzanne!” he called. He didn’t care how much unwanted attention it got him; he didn’t care about anything but making things right with her before it was too late. He only prayed it wasn’t already. “Suzanne!”

  The streets seemed busier than even just yesterday. Tourists hadn’t started arriving yet, but shopkeepers were open for business, and out washing windows or planting flowers. Harbor Street bustled with bicycles and pedestrians alike. “Suzanne, wait!” he yelled again.

  Please wait for me. Don’t be the one who runs away this time. Give me another chance.

  Finally she stopped, looked back. Nearly the length of a football field lay between them—and he kept moving toward where she stood appearing almost wary. But he couldn’t let her keep looking that way. He needed to be the man she wanted him to be, the man she could depend upon. And so, much as he’d rather keep their business private, he threw that concern out the window, calling, “Damn it, Suzie Q, I love you.”

  Growing closer—he never stopped moving, running toward her now, even if he couldn’t exactly run—he saw the astonishment on her face. And he sensed people on the street stopping, watching, but he couldn’t worry about that—the only thing imp
ortant right now was Suzanne. And so he went on, letting his heart spill out of him in a way he never had.

  “I love you forever and always. I love you more than the water, more than that boat.” His hopes lifted when she began to walk toward him, too. “I want a life here with you. All the time—spring, summer, fall, and winter. I want everything with you. I promise.” She walked faster now, tears rolling down her cheeks, and he kept taking steps toward her, as well. “I’m not running anymore, Suzanne. I don’t want to throw away our love. I want to keep it. Like Dahlia said. I want to keep it.”

  And that was when he realized he was crying, too. In front of the whole damn town. He caught sight of Meg and Seth, paused on bicycles, and Allie and Josh on the porch of the knitting shop. And he didn’t even give a damn if only Suzanne would just believe in him, in them.

  When his sweet Suzie Q came to a stop right in front of him in the middle of Harbor Street, her eyes brimmed with emotion. She said, “Are you sure? Sure you can keep that promise, Zack Sheppard? Because it’s a big one.”

  He couldn’t blame her for asking, for wanting him to prove they weren’t just empty words. He had to make her know this was real. “I was out there just now—on my boat,” he told her. “I thought it was where I wanted to be. But then I looked back and I spotted you, walking up the street, and I knew I was in the wrong place. It was—” he shook his head “—a habit, a reflex, where I’ve always thought I belonged, so I assumed it would still be that way. But it wasn’t, Suz. I belong here now. With you.”

  Even if in his peripheral vision he became aware of Lila Sloan and Beck Grainger holding hands nearby, Trent toting a gallon of paint from the hardware store, and Jolene sticking her head out the Skipper’s Wheel door to watch the unfolding drama, he kept his eyes planted firmly on the woman he loved. She covered his hands where they curved around the walker and said to him softly, “Do you know what this means?”

  “What?” he asked, hoping, praying.

  “Everyone we know is out on this street right now,” she told him, “and I’m going to officially cement my title as Island Crazy Person with No Sense of Decorum, because I’m about to kiss you like there’s no tomorrow right in front of them all.”

  And so she did.

  EPILOGUE

  ON A SUNNY June day, Zack and Suzanne sat on a park bench situated beneath billowing trees rippling with a warm breeze and lilac bushes just starting to bloom. Harbor Street crawled with tourists—bicycles wove between pedestrians, the clop of hooves signaled the island’s horse-drawn carriage rolling leisurely past, and the toot of a horn meant the ferry was pulling out for St. Simon. More colorful bicycles leaned against lampposts hung with baskets of flowers, their blossoms spilling over the sides, and sun gleamed off the round roof of the South Point Lighthouse beyond a row of pastel storefronts.

  “Hard to believe how much everything has changed in just a year,” Suzanne said, looking out over the idyllic summer scene.

  Zack nodded, adding, “In some ways, a lot has changed in just the last month.”

  She couldn’t deny it. The moment she’d seen Zack declaring his love for her in front of everyone they knew, she’d understood that things were truly different, that he’d somehow let go of his past and could see a new, better future. “You saw the light,” she teased him.

  “I saw you, Suzie Q.” He squeezed her hand in his.

  “And then we finally found out about Dahlia’s other secret,” she said.

  Zack blew out a breath. “Still trying to wrap my head around that part, Suz.”

  Upon finally digging into Dahlia’s papers, they’d found more than just a will and property deeds. Suzanne would never forget the moment Zack said to her, “Am I seeing this right?” as he held out a bank statement that showed a far larger balance than they could have dreamed. Later, they’d found out Dahlia’s second husband had left her well off. Turned out she was full of surprises, even from the great beyond.

  “And you’re a businessman now,” Suzanne said to Zack.

  He’d opened the café last week, grateful for people’s patience as he found his footing as proprietor, also grateful for employees that got over it when he groused and grumbled at them. He was a new man in many ways, but Suzanne was pretty sure he’d always wear his grumpy moments on his sleeve. At the same time, he’d sold his beloved Emily Ann like it was nothing, to a larger family outfit, seeming glad the trawler would be put to good use.

  “I have a feeling,” he said to her, “that learning to walk again is gonna seem easier to me than learning to run a restaurant.” He tapped the cane at his side.

  That was another new thing—a few days ago he’d traded in his walker for a cane. Suzanne had feared he was rushing the transition—but as with every phase of his miraculous recovery, he was acing this one, too, and she could see how happy the new freedom made him.

  And if all that wasn’t enough, Zack had blown her away by standing up before the Summer Island town council and proposing Lakeview Park be renamed Delaney Park, in honor of Dahlia. The motion passed unanimously on the spot, and the new sign had been erected just last week at a rededication ceremony that Suzanne was certain had Dahlia laughing joyfully from beneath a slightly tilted halo. Zack had insisted the sign be done in a very tasteful purple.

  An additional part of Zack’s proposal was to convert one corner of the park into a flower garden, with white benches, a fountain, and a commemorative plaque that christened it Dahlia’s Garden. It was a work in progress—Suzanne and her newly formed Summer Island Garden Club would plant bulbs in the fall for next spring, and just yesterday they’d put in annuals and some perennials that would last the summer. Suzanne had used a variety of summer flowers, but had of course included plenty of vibrant dahlias.

  “There’s Meg,” she said now, pointing.

  Zack looked up as Meg approached on a winding path that led from the street. It was nice to see her—and even nicer to know he felt nothing but friendship and an appreciation for old memories with her now. She’d been good to him—better than he deserved—and he was sorry he hadn’t been the man she’d needed him to be, but he was coming to understand that for everything there was a season.

  “Ready?” she said to them with a smile.

  While the rededication ceremony might have seemed a more obvious time, they’d decided to make this activity private, between just the three of them. As Zack pushed to his feet, he looked over at Suzanne, who held the little wooden box Dahlia’s ashes had come in.

  And then, unnoticed by anyone else enjoying the sunny Summer Island day, they walked into Dahlia’s Garden and took turns sprinkling her ashes there to be part of the place forever. After which they walked down to the Pink Pelican, Dahlia’s favorite watering hole, and lifted a glass in her honor.

  After the toast, Zack instinctively leaned over and gave his Suzie Q a kiss—then wondered if it was awkward for Meg. But a glance in her direction revealed her waving to Seth, who had just walked in and was coming to join them. And that everything was okay. Everything was...shockingly, almost impossibly okay. They all had someone to love, the right one to love.

  He squeezed Suzanne’s hand under the table, then looked over at her. She didn’t notice, didn’t look back—she was saying hello to Seth, flagging down the waitress so he could order a drink. But he just kept looking at her. I’m going to marry this woman one day. She doesn’t know it yet, but when I can walk again, really walk again—no cane, just my two feet—I’m going to marry her in Dahlia’s Garden and make her mine forever.

  It had literally taken losing the ability to walk to make Zack stop running. But once he’d slowed down, he’d realized it was okay to quit, to just be, that there was really nothing to run from anymore and no better place to try to get to. Summer Island and Suzanne were his safe place now. Early in life he’d not found many things or places that seemed worth clinging to, but he’d come to understan
d that Dahlia was right—in the end, what mattered was the love, and the people you shared it with.

  * * *

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  WRITING THESE BOOKS has been a true journey for me in many ways. And as we seldom complete long journeys in life without the support of others, I want to thank those who took the time to help me make these books richer.

  Thank you to Lindsey Faber and Renee Norris for early feedback on parts and pieces of the manuscripts. Your responses and input, as always, were invaluable to my process.

  Thanks to the Mackinac Island Tourism Bureau and the Mackinaw City Chamber of Commerce for answering various questions about wintertime on a Great Lakes island.

  Much gratitude to Dr. Yasmeen Daher and Dr. Syed K. Mehdi for suggestions and help on some injury-related issues in the final book. My apologies for any missteps in the writing, with hopes that I represented the variables and possibilities in a true and realistic manner.

  It would be impossible for me to acknowledge every website or article I drew some small bit of insight from along the way, but among noteworthy online sources are: Main Line Gardening, Diane Vautier and Care24.

  Thanks to Lisa Koester for taking my messy map of Summer Island and turning it into an adorable work of art.

  Sincere appreciation to my longtime agent, Christina Hogrebe, for championing the first book, and for supportively and patiently sticking by me through a long illness that sidelined me for a while during the writing of it. And to everyone at the Jane Rotrosen Agency for many years of wonderful representation.

  And finally, thank you to my incredible editor, Brittany Lavery, for such an uplifting publishing experience: for insightful and detailed editorial input and for helping me make these books the best they can be. And to the whole team at HQN Books for giving Summer Island an amazing home.