Watching the Sky Cry
Page 21
I looked from Miles to Billy, and it was all clear to me. I’d tell Billy what was happening in my life, he’d tell Miles, Miles would tell Quentin, and between the three of them, they made sure, after I’d fallen down in the worst way possible, they would be ready for me to make my life here. With open arms and open hearts, everything had fallen into place.
My bubble hadn’t burst with this knowledge; it just got a little bigger, to make room for everybody else inside. And I decided it was a good way to live.
“I’m sorry about your wrist,” Miles said as he reached down and took it gently in his other hand.
“It’s fine now.” I brushed it off, because it was really no big deal, and smiled up at him. I put my hand to his face, and he leaned right into it. “Thank you for loving my brother,” I said with fresh tears.
He looked Billy right in the eyes and speared both our hearts with his words. “We Miller boys, once we fall, we stay right where we land, Rylie.”
I took my keys from my pocket and removed the house keys, handing them to Billy. “I just came for one thing, and I’ll get out of your way.”
I went to the far shelf at the back of the garage and tried to reach one of the three boxes I’d packed away over three years ago. I remembered feeling almost haunted in that house, knowing all the memories I’d rather forget were settled inside the confines of cardboard.
Billy ran over to help, grabbed the box with ease, and handed it down to a waiting Miles.
“Do you want me to carry it to the car?”
“No, I just need a couple of things. I’ll keep it all here for now. But not forever, just until I’m settled in at Quentin’s.”
Miles laughed, the sound filling the entire garage. “It’s just as much your place, Rylie. He never said it, but I know you’re in every beam, board, and window.”
He grinned at me, and I decided to play coy and go about the business of opening the box I’d marked with a heart on the side. The sound of multiple layers of tape ripping from the seams echoed with each tear. And finally, I was able to get to the layers of bubble wrap that housed the precious contents inside. Billy kneeled down beside me and put his hand over the small white box on top. I nodded, giving him my blessing to take it out, which he did with a tenderness I would always remember in that moment.
He put his forehead against my own. “I love you, Rylie.”
“We’re home, Billy.”
And with the little box tucked safely in my purse on the front seat of my car, I made my way back home.
The one I now shared with my fiancé.
EPILOGUE
Sharon Miller died on a foggy autumn morning at the Bay House. The sounds of the ocean drifted in through the open windows, just as Sharon Miller drifted out. I hadn’t noticed the sea until that moment. The two men she’d loved were by her side. My mom, dad and aunt stood next to Uncle Lee. Quentin and I behind Pete, as were Billy and Miles. But for me, I was transported to another time, when the machines were turned off, the incessant whir and beep had ceased, and all you could hear…was nothing. For this shell of a woman, I watched the rise and fall of her chest. Something she’d been doing on her own, without the aid of machines. With Nick, as soon as the machines stopped, he stopped, and my world stopped.
Quentin hadn’t cried, nor had Miles. They both said they were more worried for their dad, for Pete, than anything else. He’d loved one woman, and a Miller, as Miles told me, only loves once.
But I knew from experience, you could have more than one love in a lifetime.
Through fall and winter, The Garden Café and its counterpart, The Garden Shed, took off. One weekend before Halloween, Uncle Lee let the local Girl Scout troop use part of the field for a pumpkin patch, something he planned to continue. It brought customers to the café and shop and didn’t disturb the people staying at the cottages and buses. So when the Boy Scouts asked if they could sell Christmas trees in the same spot, Uncle Lee said yes to that, too.
The buses were booked five months in advance, the renovations to the cottages were almost finished, and the entire family had a rotating schedule.
But us young folks—as Aunt Ardie like to call us—were more involved with the bar. And that’s where you could find Miles, Billy, and Quentin a good deal of the time.
The first warm weekend of the following summer, on a Sunday afternoon, the café and shop closed for the day. The field, which had been the playground of our childhoods, had been set up with three long tables. And friends and family gathered while Quentin and I exchanged a renewed promise we’d made when we were just kids.
When I asked Quentin about planting a rose, he went to my aunt and uncle and asked if we could create a little place in the same field. Dad built a trellis with a bench beneath. And only a few months after our wedding, my new husband kneeled down next to me as, together, we placed that little white box deep into the earth. Dad had the small gold plaque atop the box made from my wedding rings, engraved with two names:
Daddy Nicolas and Baby Rose.
Quentin held my fingers tight to his mouth and kissed them. “My sky has angels.” He then lifted our infant son from his bassinet, placing a small kiss on his head before bringing his lips to mine. “I love you, Rylie May, my sky.”
“And I love you, Quentin Miller, my earth.”
And when the small petals blew from that climbing rose, year after year, somehow, they blew right through the door of my little shop, reminding me that my angels were never very far away.
THANKS!
I’d like to take a moment to say thank you to a few special people in my life. First, to Nancy, MK, and Karen… as with every story I’ve written, the three of you have always been there. To cheer me on and keep me going, even when I wanted to give up and throw in the towel.
The same goes for Sandy. One day, I’ll get to taste your wonderful food. I know it’ll be an experience of the heart.
To Dana Mason for your incredible feedback and critique. Thank you for giving me such wonderful insight and helping me step outside the story.
To Tina for letting me complain, randomly spout expletives, and for giving me that brutally honest push we all need, but few friends have the cojones to give.
To Kimbo, because you always have my back, no matter what.
To Chrystal and Freda, my cheerleaders…it’s an honor to be a part of TEAMXTREME!
To Sara, Margaret, Josina, and all the Rock Chicks of the world. I’m so lucky to be part of this phenomenon, for it truly is just that. A woman and her words who brought us all together.
To my local, George Jones. Thanks for the Wifi, the awesome staff, and the cold drip coffee.
And to Lisa, who always sees me through.
And last but not least, the bloggers and readers who continue to take a chance on me.
ALSO BY J.B. HARTNETT
The Leaves Series:
Inky
Cole
Nico
Beachy Bride Series:
Bride in Bloom
Katherine in Gold
Standalone:
Genevieve Clare
CONTACT J.B. HARTNETT
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