by Holly Jacobs
I waited for Gray in front of my apartment.
“Wear something comfortable,” he’d said when he’d called an hour earlier.
Normally those words at this time of year meant a picnic on the beach.
Gray took me often, though he said he didn’t understand my penchant for watching a sunset. After all, the sun set every day, and he felt if you’d seen one sunset, you’d seen them all. I tried to explain that every sunset was different. Sometimes it was a subtle difference; sometimes it was a huge one. It didn’t matter—each change could alter the entire experience. And even if they were all exactly the same, each time we came, we were altered—even if only by being a day older. And viewing things through a different lens changed everything.
As much as he complained, I suspected he enjoyed them as much as I did. During the summer he made an effort to bring me out to the peninsula often.
I’d gone to the state of Washington with my parents when I was twelve. We’d all watched a sunset on a rocky beach there. Afterward we all agreed that Lake Erie sunsets were just as beautiful . . . and possibly more so.
At the ocean there’s a smell of salt in the air. There’s a different thrum to the sound of the waves. Almost deeper. As if the weight of that whole ocean reverberated through each wave as it crashed onto the shore.
The vista on the lake—my lake—was as expansive as an ocean view, but the waves sounded smaller, more manageable. The large stone breakwalls at Presque Isle were covered with seagulls, and their cries frequently harmonized with the beat of the waves. And the smell was something else entirely. There, underneath the slightly fishy aroma that punctuates every large body of water, was a sweetness. A hint of pine and poplar trees.
As I waited for Gray, I wondered about the differences between ocean and lake sunsets, knowing that I would always prefer my lake.
Gray pulled up in front of my old college apartment. I’d thought about moving into something bigger, something more adult, after I’d graduated, but I’d gotten comfortable here. I didn’t need much space.
I got in his car and saw a picnic basket on the backseat.
“I was right,” I said as I climbed into the passenger seat. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You know I love sunset picnics.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight, though we can make it a point of going out next week.”
There was a flash of happiness in his eyes. “This is something new,” he said. “A surprise.”
Wherever we were going might be new, but this teasing, surprising side of Gray was newer still. Graham Grayson was not a man given to unexpected things, nor was he a man who was prone to teasing.
“Give me a hint?” I wheedled.
He shook his head. “Be patient.”
“I think that maybe I missed the patience line when they were handing out virtues,” I told him, not for the first time. “To be honest, I think we both know that there’s no maybe about it.”
“I might not have gotten a full dose either,” he said.
I snorted at his statement, then laughed when I realized that he actually believed what he’d said. “You are the most patient, methodical man I’ve ever met. You set a goal and then work your way toward it, one step after the next. You never seem to get sidetracked or frustrated. You just keep moving toward that goal with utter assurance you’ll reach it.”
“I am not as patient as you think,” he said cryptically. I noticed he drove with his hands at ten and two, just like the drivers’ manuals said. There was a slight paleness to his knuckles, as if he was clenching the steering wheel harder than necessary.
I stopped teasing and asked, “Gray, are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m fine, of course. I’m with you, aren’t I?”
Gray was not a man who waxed poetic. To be honest, he didn’t wax much of anything. Most of the time I did the talking for both of us. So, his I’m-with-you-aren’t-I was probably one of the most romantic things he ever said.
As I swooned over it, he added, “But, for the record, sometimes I set a goal and realize it’s unrealistic, then I rethink things. I am capable of changing directions.”
I snorted again. I’d yet to find an instance where Gray altered his course. But I was too happy to argue the point.
“So where are we going?” I asked, thinking my question might catch him unaware.
I should have known better.
“We’ll be there soon,” he answered.
“Captain Cryptic strikes again,” I muttered.
Gray reached State Street and headed south. State Street started at the bay and split the city into an east and a west side. It also split the city’s downtown park, Perry Square, in half.
I loved driving through Perry Square. They’d spent the last few years sprucing it up and I thought it looked lovely with its welcoming arches and its fountain.
Beyond Perry Square we passed City Hall, which sat on the west side of the street, and a couple of blocks up from the historic Warner Theater, which sat on the east side.
I found myself counting the streets, whose number increased as Gray drove away from the bay. Twelfth Street, Thirteenth . . .
We reached Thirty-Eighth Street and I was sure he’d take this other main street either east or west. Once he picked a direction, I might have a chance at guessing our destination.
But he kept driving. At Forty-First, he turned right, then a couple of blocks later, turned left, so we were heading south again, on Willow Lane.
He pulled the car over to the side of the road and said, “Let’s go.”
“Where are we?” I might have thought we were going to some colleague’s house, but if so he’d have asked me to dress up, not down.
“You’ll see,” he said.
“Mr. Mysterious allies with his pal Captain Cryptic on another mad adventure,” I said in my best radio-broadcaster voice. “Join them in tonight’s episode as they set out with their sidekicks, Obie Obscure and Peter Perplexing—”
Gray interrupted, uncharacteristically joining in my weirdness. He did a mean radio-broadcaster voice as well. “As they set out to woo Addled Adeline—”
“Hey,” I protested. I muttered as I got out of the car, “The ‘addled’ part wasn’t nice, but I did like the wooing part.”
“I hope you like the rest of the surprise,” he said.
Gray grabbed the picnic basket. It was his mom’s, so there was a good chance Peggy had helped him pack our dinner.
His mom was an amazing cook. I frequently teased her that she should consider cooking instead of waitressing, but she laughed and told me that cooks get no tips so she’d be wasting her innumerable charms.
Gray walked to a gate in front of an unfamiliar house. It squeaked softly as he pushed it open. There was a wrought-iron fence that reached my waist. The gate, however, was taller. It was the same as the rest of the fence, but the top extended into a circle, beyond which I could see a well-manicured lawn that was split by a brick sidewalk.
That sidewalk led to a small, L-shaped, brick home that had a touch of a Tudor element.
Ivy draped around the arched front door.
This was a home that could be part of a fairy tale. I could imagine some princess in disguise waiting here for her prince.
“It’s adorable. Whose is it?” I asked.
“That’s the surprise,” he said, no less cryptic than he’d been in the car.
The grass-covered lawn was meticulously trimmed, as were the boxwood hedges that lined the porch.
We reached the arched doorway and Gray set down the basket, reached out, and opened the door. “Gray, you can’t—”
He cut off my protest as he scooped me up and carried me into what I quickly saw was an empty house.
“Do you like it?” he asked as he set me down on a wide-planked, hardwood floor that had some wear. B
ut rather than make it look neglected, the slight imperfections made it look homey. Inviting.
There was a bank of three windows, three-by-threes, and across from the windows was a brick fireplace that was flanked by built-in shelves.
“It’s beautiful,” I assured him.
There it was again . . . that smile I so loved. “It’s yours if you want it,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“I know you love Glenwood Hills and Tudor-style homes. When Ash and I were looking for an office, I mentioned to the agent that if he ever saw a screaming deal on something like this in Glenwood, he should call me. He remembered and called yesterday.”
The real estate agent called yesterday and we were here today? That sort of timeline was so not Gray-like at all. “And you bought it?”
“He’s got the paperwork on his desk right now. I just needed to know that you liked it before I had him make the offer.”
“This is your house, so it shouldn’t matter if I like it.” It shouldn’t matter, but I knew the moment I said the words, it would. Gray was asking if one day, when we married, I could live here.
“No, it would be our house,” he said.
I smiled, realizing how well I knew this man I loved.
Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a ring box. “If you still say yes.”
And at that moment, I realized that even if I knew him, he could still surprise me. I—who normally had enough words to fill in both sides of our conversations—was suddenly speechless.
“Gray” was all I could manage.
Graham Grayson was a man who planned everything out to the minutest detail. But this? The agent had called yesterday. And here we were this evening. And there he was with a ring.
My world had tilted.
“Addie, I need you to say the word,” he prompted.
I took the ring box from him. “Yes. Of course, it’s yes. It will always be yes. Yes.”
He smiled then. And it occurred to me that despite my previous assurance, he’d been nervous.
“And the house?” he asked.
I looked at the empty living room and nodded. “If you think we can afford it, yes as well.”
I thought he’d kiss me then, but instead, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. “Make the offer,” he said.
I opened the ring box and pulled the small diamond ring out of it.
“I’d planned something more elaborate, but if we’re buying the house, I can’t afford anything more right now. But someday I’ll replace it with something bigger,” he promised.
“Don’t you dare. This is perfect.” I slipped it on my ring finger and it fit perfectly. I’m not sure how Gray had gotten my size, but as always, he was meticulous. “The ring and even the house aren’t what I’ll remember about today,” I told him. “I’ll remember that you asked and I said yes.”
“I was nervous,” he admitted. “It’s not the way I planned it.”
“You and your plans,” I teasingly scolded. “Life happens while you’re making plans. I think I realized that first day of school when you took me under your wing that I was part of you. And you were and are most assuredly part of me. I definitely knew that my world was better when I had you in it.”
And then, the waiting was over. He finally kissed me. “I love you.”
Those three words sealed the deal. The house, the ring . . . none of it mattered as much as those three words.
I touched my thumb to the ring that bound us together in the living room of a house he’d bought us. A house where we’d live and raise a family . . .
I pulled myself back from the memory, my thumb still touching the ring I still wore. “The agent called before we finished our picnic. The sellers had accepted Gray’s offer,” I told James.
“And so did you,” James said.
I nodded. “Even without the house, I’d have accepted. I didn’t need fanfare, I just needed him and three little words.”
James quirked his eyebrow and I knew the question, just as I thought he already knew the answer.
“I love you. Just those three words.”
He nodded, understanding.
I clutched the envelope. I was very aware of the rings that I still wore on my ring finger.
Why hadn’t I taken them off when I’d decided to divorce him?
Force of habit?
Or was it something more?
I felt a resurgence of those old feelings. It was as if the warmth of that long-ago day had somehow been rekindled.
“I know you said he was a planner, but that all sounded very spontaneous,” James said.
“It was. He caught me unaware.” I had thought I knew Gray inside and out. I liked that there was a constancy about him. I knew I could count on him . . . always. And I’d known when I took him the divorce papers I could count on his reaction. He’d see the logic and we’d part as . . .
Well, maybe not friends, but we’d part friendly. If I called him, I knew no matter how many years stood between us, he’d come. And vice versa.
“Maybe your husband simply couldn’t stick to his timetable. Maybe he couldn’t wait another minute to marry you.”
I shrugged. It would be nice to think so, but I thought it was more likely that Gray had decided the deal on the house made passing it up out of the question. And he’d probably budgeted for both our incomes in order to afford it.
I hadn’t thought of that at the time, but it had occurred to me since.
James continued, “Sometimes it’s hard to wait for what you want . . . sometimes it’s impossible. I know that waiting for Anne to get better has become impossible for our friends. But I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “She worries that she will never get back to her old self. That she’ll be less than who she was. I keep telling her less of her means more to me than any other person in this world. I’ll wait as long as it takes for a chance at just one more day with her.”
As I looked at James, so willing to wait for his Anne—willing to have her back in any state—I envied his patience.
And I wondered if maybe I gave up too easily?
If I should have waited a little longer?
Chapter Five
I sat with James for another half hour until the nurse came and got him. “Mr. Patterson, your wife is awake and asking for you.”
I squeezed his hand before he got up. “Good luck. I hope that Anne’s recovery is quick.”
“Me, too,” he said. “Good luck to your husband. I hope you don’t have to wait much longer.”
I watched as he walked out of the room next to the nurse. There was more of a lift in his shoulders, as if he was lighter now that the weight of his waiting had ended.
I missed him when he left.
It was odd to feel a connection to someone you’d just met—someone you knew so very little about.
I knew his name was James with an S and he was married to Anne with an E. And I knew that he loved her.
Maybe all the rest didn’t mean so much after all. Maybe what mattered was a man named James loved a woman named Anne and planned to wait as long as it took to have more time with her.
I’d always thought my love for Gray was limitless, but looking back, it couldn’t have been. I placed a limit on it. The evidence of that was in my hand.
I’d proven that I wasn’t willing to wait any longer.
And I wondered if that was because of Gray . . . or because of some inherent flaw in me.
No one sat in James’ seat. And I was left alone with only the hum of the televisions and bits of conversations as my companions.
Images from old television shows collided with my fears for Gray. People calling codes. Crash carts. Doctors in scrubs throwing bloody pads on the floor.
I desperately wished J
ames or Maude would come back and distract me from my imagination.
And as if on cue, JoAnn appeared and sat in James’ vacant seat, just as I’d assured him she would.
“I brought you granola and a charger,” she said by way of a greeting and handed me a baggie filled with dried fruit and nuts and a charger. “And coffee. And this . . .”
She leaned over and hugged me. “Harmon said he’ll check in with you, and Wills said to be sure I told you he peed in the potty. If you want to be accurate, he peed pretty much everywhere but the potty, but it was the attempt that mattered. You know what they say about being perfect in the attempt. Don’t tell him, but I’ll be even happier when he’s perfect with his aim, too. And before you ask, I’ll assure you that yes, I potty danced for the victory.”
As she said the words, she did a little wiggle in her chair. A ghost of a potty dance. Despite the heaviness of waiting, I couldn’t help but laugh.
I knew that had been JoAnn’s intent.
“Whoever knew that one day my children’s bathroom antics would be such a frequent topic of my conversations?” she asked.
I smiled. “You love every minute of it.”
“Wrong. I don’t enjoy cleaning up after Wills attempts peeing standing up. But otherwise, yes.” She patted my hand. “Bathroom exploits aside, I called Tom into work. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’ve got everything managed. Everyone at the store is pitching in, and they all send their love. I’ve got to get back soon.”
“Oh, Jo, I’m sorry. What about the kids?” She didn’t leave them more than for an hour or so with her neighbor. She still worked part-time, but only during hours when Harmon would be home with the kids. She often said she couldn’t wait until they were both safely tucked up in school so she could return to work full time, but I think we both knew that when that day came, she’d be heartbroken.
“Listen, the kids are fine without me for a few days. To be honest, they’re probably sick of me and welcome the change of venue.” She laughed as if it were a joke. I knew she wanted me to laugh as well. She was trying to lighten my mood, if only for a moment. But I couldn’t manage it.
