The Proposal Box Set 1 / Volumes 1-10

by Lisa Shea

  She waved at him. “Sure, sure. Bring another bottle of that zinfandel - that was nice. Went well with the cheddar.”

  “You got it.” He stepped forward to brush a kiss on her cheek, as he always did. His voice dropped, filling with warmth. “Stay safe.” Then he was climbing up the slope, talking into his phone again. The grate of tires on dirt and the world settled into a quiet serenity.

  Emily switched on the flashlight hooked to her easel as the sun sank against the distant horizon. The different angle of the light threw new aspects of the landscape into relief. Areas which were previously in shadow now stood out with golden softness. Trees which once shown in focus were now muted parts of the background. Life was like that. Things which once seemed important could all but fade from view. Things which one might never have noticed could ease to the fore.

  Her hand drifted absently to where Rich had kissed her. He’d always been warm like that. Always attentive to her. Caring for her well-being. Supportive of her artistry, even in those rough early years where they could barely make the rent.

  What had they fought about, that was harsh enough to drive them apart? It was hard to even remember. The girls had been going through their normal rebellious years, not listening, talking back at every turn. The testosterone-filled boys coming around in their hot rods and football jerseys reminded him of a freedom he’d long since lost. He’d never really dated anyone else but Emily, he’d reminded her. Never seen the world. Never just cut loose.

  And then, one day, she’d told him to go. To go do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted. Because anything was better than living in this state of edged turmoil.

  And he’d gone.

  She shimmered golden peach along the canvas’s horizon, where the glowing orb of the sun met the endless stretch of the water. Two primal forces which were so different, and yet together they created such beauty. Rich was different now, and she knew she was, too. And, even so, they were both still the same, where it mattered the most. They believed in supporting their girls with whatever it took. They donated time and effort back to their community. They helped those who were less fortunate.

  A soft cry came from the rocky shore ahead.

  Her brow creased. She turned her head, the gentle whoosh of the ocean rolling through her ears.

  There, again, from down in the shadows.

  She put her brush down on her palette and carefully stepped around her easel toward the rocks. It wasn’t Cliffs of Dover high here, but a fall could still break an arm or leg if one wasn’t careful. And with the summer crowds long gone it could be morning before someone came out and discovered her.

  She peered amongst the rocks -

  There. A silvery possum with wide, dark eyes was crouched on a flat rock mid-way down the slope. Its foot was trapped in a crevasse and it tugged plaintively at it. As she moved forward it huddled in against the stone. She could see its shiver.

  She called down in soothing tones. “It’s all right, little one. Hang in there.”

  Its eyes never left her, and its body remained pressed tight, but its pulls at its leg seemed less frantic.

  She carefully picked her path down the rocky face, holding on to an outcropping here, a jagged root there. She’d grown up on the coastline of Maine. She and the girls, and Rich, too, in the earlier days, had probably covered every beach and mountain that the area had to offer. This climb reminded her of the time they’d taken a trip north to see the Bay of Fundy, with its mind-boggling tide differential. When the tide rolled out, it was like a Martian landscape was revealed on the ocean floor. And then to watch all of that massive tsunami of water boil back in, covering it all again ...

  She reached the small possum and knelt beside it. Its mouth was open and its breath was coming in sharp pants. She could see blood on its leg where it had tried to wrench itself free.

  “It’s all right,” she assured it. “I’m here now.”

  Slowly, oh so slowly, she reached out her hand toward the rock.

  She could almost see the decisions flicking through the small creature’s eyes. Should it fear? Should it trust? If it did not defend itself, could it be hurt? Or should it believe that this big presence before it might help it on its journey?

  Emily reached ... reached ... her fingers took hold of the rock and lifted.

  The possum wrenched its foot free, diving for the far corner of the ledge. But now it had a different problem. The choices were a long drop to the churning ocean or a near-vertical climb back to the surface above.

  Emily knelt there, putting her hands out, palms up, on the ground before her.

  They sat for long minutes, just watching each other. Slowly the possum’s breathing slowed. Its large eyes blinked.

  She eased toward it, a moment at a time. She murmured soothing promises to it.

  Her hands touched soft fur.

  Its body shivered with tension, but its eyes held hers, and it remained stock still.

  She carefully, slowly, drew up to her feet. Then she lifted her arms high overhead so that the possum was near the scraggly grass above.

  A leap and it was gone, scrambling into the deepening dusk.

  She smiled, brushing her hands off on her jeans. Well, that was a job well done. The poor little tyke had another chance at life now. Maybe it would settle down and raise a possum family. Live out its life in relative contentment, eating berries and nuts. Maybe the occasional slug as a treat.

  She looked up at the rocks. And now for her to climb up, pack up, and head on home.

  She reached up and found a solid purchase for one hand. Her boots settled on outcroppings. She moved up, nearing the grass. It would be nice having Rich over for wine later. It was such a relaxing way to end the day. It was almost like -

  The rock beneath her foot gave way, crashing its way down into the sea.

  Her hand came down hard on the outcropping before her, slicing a gash in her palm. She let out a cry -

  She plummeted back, her hands grappling to grab on to something, anything, before she -

  WHAM.

  Time … passed …

  She blinked. How long had she lain there in the darkness? She couldn’t tell. The sun had set and a sprinkling of stars danced high overhead. The lighthouse blinked and ebbed in its slow pattern. The ocean rolled beneath her, smooth, serene.

  She pushed herself to sitting up, groaning as pain shot through her left ankle. If it wasn’t broken, it was definitely sprained. She carefully felt along the rest of her body but didn’t find any other injuries, other than the cut at her palm. She took off her bandanna and wrapped it around her injury, neatly tying it in place.

  Then she looked up.

  Climbing wasn’t so bad in the daytime. There were plenty of rocks to hold onto, as long as they stayed where they were supposed to. But night was another matter altogether, and with a bad foot she’d have to hop her way up.

  The alternative was to sit down here all night long and hope for someone to eventually realize she was missing. But who would? She’s gone for her weekly shopping run yesterday; they wouldn’t miss her for a while. Her emails with her daughters were sparse. Even the gallery only called her every week or two when they’d sold a painting or asked after a few more works to add to the walls. She could just vanish from the Earth and none would notice -

  A warmth eased through her.

  Rich would notice.

  He’d billowed steadily back into her life, like a morning fog rolling off the ocean, and she’d hardly noticed when it’d happened. He’d become more and more a part of her regular routine. He’d check in on her in the morning, on his way to the coffee shop. He’d swing by in the late afternoon when she was painting. He’d sip wine with her under the stars, sharing their thoughts on the day. In many ways he was far more present in her life now than he had been before they split up. It was like they had been early on, but better. They were mellowed now. Wiser. More settled. They knew each other in and out. They understood each other in a way that f
ew other people could.

  He would come for her.

  She hopped her way to standing and held onto the rocks. She looked up into the dark night. Her voice called loud and clear, echoing off the pines and granite.

  “Rich, I’m here! I’ll wait for you!”

  She carefully lowered to sit again.

  The stars whirled across the sky.

  The crickets eased their soft calls into silence.

  The ocean’s waves came and went, came and went, in their inexorable rhythm.

  The sound of a car’s tires pulling onto dirt.

  Rich’s voice came, hard, tense, ringing across the landscape. “Emily? Emily?”

  “I’m here!” She scrabbled back up onto her feet. “Rich, I’m here!”

  A flashlight’s beam swept in long movements as he approached. “Emily! What happened?”

  “I’m down here. I came after a possum and I fell. I think I twisted my ankle.”

  His face appeared at the edge, haggard, and the creases eased as he took her in. “Oh, Emily. You’re sure you’re all right?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be fine. Just help me up.”

  He dropped to a knee at the side of the cliff and propped the flashlight up on a rock. Then he put down his hand. “Grab hold.”

  She reached up and latched her hand into his firm grasp. He leaned back, hauled, and with steady strength he drew her up the face. She used her free hand and uninjured foot to find purchase along the way.

  A few moments later and she was up. Then she was in his arms, held tight in his strong embrace.

  He spoke against her neck. “Oh, Emily, when I got to the house your car wasn’t there. The house was dark. I didn’t know what to think. I worried you’d gotten in an accident on the road. That you’d hit a deer or something. I traced your path back to this ledge. And when I saw your car was still here ...”

  “It’s all right,” she murmured, nestled into his warmth. “I’m all right.”

  At last he released her, His eyes shone with emotion in the moonlight. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  They packed up her paints and easel and tucked them into her truck. There was something comforting about having him follow her back home. Like having a guardian angel. Soon they were pulling into her driveway. He came around to her car door, helped her out, and guided her through the house and out onto the back porch. The lanterns gave a soft glow to the Adirondack chairs and the stone steps down to the rocky beach. The stars twinkled their same merry light here as they had by the lighthouse, but somehow they were gentler here, now that she was home. The wrapped her in comfort.

  Rich vanished back into the house and a moment later he brought back two glasses of wine. He put them down on the teak table between the chairs. “You should probably have some of this. It might hurt, getting this hiking boot off of you, since it’s had time to swell.”

  She nodded, drinking down a third of it. “Well do I know. Remember that time we went out to Quoddy Head, to see the biggest whirlpool? Ginny decided to go for a swim in that strong current, and I nearly killed myself getting her back in again.”

  He nodded, a half smile coming to his lips as he undid her laces. “I didn’t sleep for weeks after that. I gave serious thought to buying bungee-leashes to keep on those two rascals.”

  He began with the right shoe first, pulling that free and putting it to the side. Then he looked up at her. “All right, then. Ready?”

  She took another long swallow of her wine, then nodded.

  He carefully eased it off.

  She leant back against the pain, closing her eyes, but he was good. It was done quickly. Then he was removing her sock and gently massaging her foot.

  “Yup, sprained,” he reported. “You’ll have to be off the foot for a few days, at least. Lucky you have that walking stick I got you when we hiked Mount Abraham. It’ll serve you well.”

  She ran a fond hand through his greying hair. “Thank you.”

  He looked up. “For what?”

  She gave a smile. “For rescuing me.”

  He stilled. “I will always be there for you, Emily. You know that.”

  Her eyes held his. Warmth swept through her - a rich completeness that took her breath away.

  He drew in a breath. Then he put his hand in his pocket. It came out with a small box.

  He opened the lid.

  Within was a ring with three sets of diamonds. There was a left setting, a center setting, and one on the right. They were held together by a golden chain.

  His voice was hoarse. “You gave me back my mother’s engagement ring when we split up. Said you didn’t want to keep a family heirloom. I put that in the first spot. Ginny and Madison, they chipped in and bought you the diamond for the center spot. To represent their time with you. And this third stone ...”

  His throat grew tight. “That third stone is from me, Emily. It’s from me to you. It’s my promise that I’ll always be there for you. For this new stage of our life. A new beginning. A fresh chance at being together.”

  Her gaze went from the beautiful ring to the man kneeling before her. It was almost too much to take in. “Oh, Rich ...”

  He took her hand in his. “Just say we can try. That we can try reassembling the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle of a life we have and make a new picture. It won’t be the same, and it won’t be perfect, but it will bring us contentment. I know it will. This past year has proved it.”

  Golden joy shimmered through her. He was right. This past year had been about as wonderful as she could imagine. And it had all happened so effortlessly.

  She smiled and nodded, stretching out her finger.

  He gently, attentively slid the ring onto its spot.

  Then she was in his arms, that familiar warmth was around her, that scent of him that brought comfort and peace. She lost herself in him, in the man who had been by her through so much.

  At last she gave a low laugh. “What is Ginny going to think, when she comes for that visit next week?”

  He ran a hand through her hair, his gaze deep, oh so deep.

  “She will think she’s come home.”

  Book 6 – Bennington

  Ginny rolled out her yoga mat on the dew-sparkled grass, pointing it out over the stone wall and down the slope to the stretch of forest beyond. Behind her the various buildings of Bennington College were arranged in quaint New England comfort. The autumn equinox had finally arrived. That perfect balance point between night and day, between dark and light. The cycle was renewing itself. And soon would come the beautiful autumn foliage with its crimsons and golds. Then the first snows, and Bennington would shine like a diamond nestled in its white blanket. She lived in an Eden -

  There was a retching sound, and a young blonde, barely nineteen, staggered out of the nearest white clapboard dorm. She struggled to get to the thick-leaved bush, folded in half, and emptied the contents of her stomach.

  Ginny sighed, running a hand through her short, black hair. It was always exciting when the freshmen arrived, their first time away from home. The first time without rules or parents. Suddenly every forbidden fruit was on the menu. She wondered how half of them made it through those first months without succumbing to alcohol poisoning or sexual exhaustion. Or both.

  She shook her head, smoothing out her black yoga top with the white cow silhouette on it. It was her own private joke. The cow’s “moo” was a reverse on the traditional “OM” seen on many women in the area. She’d taken the gentle bovine on as her emblem after that time she tried out an in-person yoga class, down in the town’s yoga studio. She’d asked why the instructor couldn’t simply call the set of poses “cat and cow” like the rest of the world did. The instructor had haughtily retorted that no woman in Bennington wanted to think of herself as a cow.

  Ginny hadn’t gone back - but she’d embraced the cow.

  She went through the poses. Warrior. Tree. And, yes, cat and cow. She didn’t mind thinking of herself as a cow, or as a cat or a warrio
r for that matter. She gladly stretched her limbs up into dead bug and laid back in corpse. They were all just different stages in life. Parts of the cycle. She was as curious as a cat. Strong as a tree. Fierce as a warrior. Curvy as a cow? Maybe that, too. She didn’t mind. Let those giggling freshmen with their toothpick-thin bodies point all they wanted as she did her yoga on the school common. She wouldn’t be driven back into her tiny apartment. She relished being able to breathe in those fresh breezes and look out over the wide horizon.

  This was her school, too.

  She settled into the cross-legged pose that was the end of her routine. Well, Bennington had been her school, for four long years. For four long years she had sparred with teachers and fellow students about what it meant to be a woman and what the world owed them. It seemed she was fairly alone in some of her stronger-held opinions about how humans should relate to each other. One would think, as soon as she was free of school, that she’d run back to Maine to be closer to her parents. Especially now that it seemed they were finally getting back together again.

  She shook her head. And yet, here she was, deep in the forests of Vermont, preparing to apply for a job at the school.

  Her cell phone rang and she took it up from her purse. She glanced at the name and sighed. And here was the other complication.

  She put the phone to her ear. “Hey there, Sanjeev. You know I don’t like phone calls.”

  “I know, I know,” he apologized, “but I’ve sent you like twenty texts and you haven’t responded. Aren’t you done with your yoga yet?”

  She looked down at her phone. Sure enough, text after text was stacked up from Sanjeev, asking her to contact him.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I got a late start. There was a scuffle in the apartment next to mine - apparently two girls were dating the same buxom redhead and it came to blows. I thought I should intervene before the cops were dragged into it.”