The Color of a Silver Lining

by Julianne MacLean

  I chuckled at that. “Whatever you pick out will be fine with me.”

  Over the coming weeks, we settled into a comfortable routine together and focused on our wedding plans and honeymoon.

  We didn’t talk about what happened with the psychic. I certainly never brought it up, and neither did she. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t want to share it with me, or that she felt I didn’t believe in it—although I wasn’t entirely convinced it was real. I think she just wanted to move on and let go of the past. It was what I wanted too, because I was ready to build a future with her. I couldn’t wait to be her husband.

  * * *

  “I have to fly to Toronto on Wednesday to meet with some clients,” I told Emma when she came home from work one evening and found me in the kitchen making spaghetti.

  “How long will you be gone?” She stood behind me at the counter and wrapped her arms around my waist.

  “Just a couple of nights. I’ll fly back Friday.” I turned around to give her a passionate welcome-home kiss. “You could always come with me. We could see a stage play or go to a comedy club.”

  She considered that and let out a sigh of defeat. “I’d love to but it’s crazy at work this week. Maybe next time, if I had a bit more notice.”

  “Sure.”

  “When will you go next?”

  “Probably in December.”

  “Cool.” She kissed me again, then went upstairs to change out of her work clothes.

  A few minutes later, when the pasta was ready and she hadn’t returned, I went upstairs to check on her. I didn’t find her in our bedroom or in the shower, so I made my way down the hall, peering into each guest room. I finally found her in the smallest room at the end, sitting in the rocking chair, staring at the wall.

  She jumped when I entered. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you come up.”

  “Sorry about that.” I slowly walked to the window and looked out. “You know, I always thought this room had the best view because it’s on the corner of the house, and the sun sets right over there.” I pointed at the horizon.

  She continued to sit quietly, rocking back and forth in the chair.

  “That rocker belonged to my grandmother,” I told her as I faced her and leaned on the window sill. “Apparently, she used to rock my father to sleep in it when he was a baby.”

  Emma squeezed the armrests in her hands. “I didn’t know that.”

  “When my parents died, I took everything that had sentimental value. A lot of the stuff in this house came from them.”

  Emma tipped her head back and regarded me sleepily. “You must miss them. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to have lost both of them at the same time. And you were so young.”

  “I was nineteen,” I replied, “and yes, it was rough. It didn’t help that I was an only child. Suddenly, I didn’t have an immediate family. I had some uncles and aunts, but it was mostly friends who got me through the worst of it. And their parents. There was always a sympathetic mother who wanted to invite me for Thanksgiving dinner or Christmas.”

  Emma inclined her head at me. “Why didn’t you ever get married, Luke? I’m still astonished that you were single when I met you. Because you’re an amazing catch.”

  I turned to glance over my shoulder, out the window. “It’s not that I didn’t want to get married. I was in a serious relationship for most of my twenties and I honestly thought she was the one, but then…” I faced Emma and gestured with a hand. “Well, you know what happened there. She cheated on me with some older guy, and I was gun shy after that. I had a hard time trusting women. And once you hit thirty, it gets harder to meet people that you really click with. So I just tried to focus on my work. Then you came along. And there was something so—I don’t know—vulnerable about you. When you told me about what happened to Sammy, I understood that kind of grief and I just wanted to make you happy again. I wanted us to make each other happy.”

  Appearing serene, Emma continued to rock in the chair.

  I turned and looked out the window again. “You know, this room would make a great nursery someday.”

  She slowly stopped rocking and stroked the armrests with her open palms. “You already have the chair for it.”

  “We already have the chair.” I watched her carefully. “Have you given any thought to when you might like to start trying? To have a baby, I mean?”

  I would have been raring to go that very night if she was keen because I wanted children more than anything. I wanted to be a dad. But I knew it was a sensitive subject for her. I would have to ease her down that path gently and gradually.

  Emma’s eyes traveled up the walls and fixed on the ceiling. “I don’t know. It’s a big step. Let’s just get married first. Then we’ll see.” She stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “I’m hungry. Can we eat now?”

  “Sure.” I couldn’t deny that I felt disappointed as I followed her down the stairs. I didn’t like the sound of those words: we’ll see.

  * * *

  When I returned home from Toronto on Friday night, the house smelled like an Italian restaurant. I’d already texted Emma when I landed and she told me she was cooking something special, but she hadn’t mentioned what it was.

  “Welcome home.” Wearing a flowery sundress and high-heeled strappy sandals, she greeted me at the door, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. The feel of her soft curves made me extremely grateful to be home.

  “I got you something.” I reached into my pocket for the small gift-wrapped box from Birks.

  She gave me a flirty look. “Ooh. What is it?”

  “Open it and find out.”

  She took my hand and led me to the kitchen where I noticed a bottle of my favorite California cabernet, open and breathing on the counter. Next to that was a loaf of cheesy garlic bread on a pan, ready to be slid into the oven.

  Emma untied the gold ribbon, peeled away the paper and raised an eyebrow at me. “This is unexpected fun.”

  “It certainly is,” I replied, admiring her full lips and long eyelashes.

  She opened the box and found a pair of diamond earrings—one full carat each—that matched her princess-cut engagement ring. She laid her hand over her heart and gasped. “Oh, my goodness. Luke.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “Are you kidding me? Of course I like them. I love them.” She removed the silver hoops she was wearing and moved to the mirror in the hall to put them on. “Look how they sparkle. I can hardly speak right now.” Turning to face me, she hugged me. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “Me, too.” I kissed her neck and held her close.

  That night, we enjoyed a candlelit dinner at home. Then we took the dogs for a walk in the moonlight before falling into bed, entwined in each other’s arms.

  * * *

  I woke alone in bed the next morning. Checking the clock to see how late I’d slept, I discovered it was only 8:15. The sun was shining so I decided to go for a run before breakfast.

  Downstairs, I found a note from Emma on the kitchen table.

  Good morning. I was up early and didn’t want to wake you. I went to the gym for a yoga class but I’ll be home by nine. I’ll bring croissants!

  That sounded good. I put on my sneakers and took off out the front door.

  An hour later, I returned and passed Emma’s car in the driveway and hoped she hadn’t been kidding about the croissants. I paced around outside for a few minutes to catch my breath and wipe the sweat from my face with the bottom of my T-shirt. Then I climbed the steps and went inside.

  The dogs must have been out on the back patio because they didn’t bark or arrive at the door to greet me. I was about to call out to Emma when I overheard her in the den, talking on the phone with the door closed.

  She spoke in hushed, intimate tones. Something in me tightened with apprehension. I couldn’t keep from leaning closer to listen.

  “I know,” she softly said, “but I guess I never really imagined this day wou
ld come.” She paused. “I know, you’re right, but it’s hard.” There was another long pause. “I don’t know what to say. Yes, of course I want to be involved. No, please don’t do that.” There was a long, drawn-out silence. “I haven’t talked to him about it. No, not at all.” She started to cry. “I’m so sorry, I can’t have this conversation right now. Please don’t do anything yet. Yes, I know. We need to do it together. Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She ended the call.

  I quickly tiptoed to the kitchen to get a glass of water, because I didn’t want her to catch me eavesdropping. Glancing around, I didn’t see any croissants.

  At last, the door to the den opened and she emerged with puffy, bloodshot eyes and a balled-up tissue in her hand. She stopped abruptly when she spotted me standing at the kitchen sink.

  “Hi,” I said, facing her squarely.

  “Hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  I gestured toward the den. “The door was closed.” We said nothing for a few seconds, and it was painfully awkward. “Is everything okay?”

  She wiped her nose with the tissue and moved past me to switch on the coffeemaker. “Not really.”

  When she didn’t elaborate, I squeezed her shoulder. “Why? What’s going on?”

  She moved to the fridge to get the coffee cream. “Carter wants to sell the house.”

  A tense silence ensued. I stood there, measuring her for a few seconds.

  “I thought that was what you wanted. It was all laid out in the divorce settlement—that you would sell the house within a year and split the proceeds fifty-fifty.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she replied, moving about the kitchen without ever meeting my gaze. “I just didn’t expect to feel this way. I can’t stop thinking about the little playhouse in the backyard and how we had such big plans for it when Sammy got older.”

  I wanted to say: “But Sammy’s gone now and he’s never coming back,” but I bit back those harsh words because I couldn’t be that insensitive with her. It wouldn’t help things, and she might never forgive me for such a comment.

  At the same time, my frustration was on the rise. I’d been waiting a long time for her to truly move on, to focus on our wedding, and to dream about playhouses for our children in the future. It was what she said she wanted when we first met—a new beginning—and she had taken great strides forward every day.

  Until she saw that psychic. With Carter. Things had been different since then. I felt like I couldn’t really reach Emma.

  She stood at the coffee maker, waiting for her cup to fill. I told myself this was just a speed bump, and once the house was sold, her life with Carter would be a thing of the past.

  Moving closer, I laid my hand on her back and spoke gently. “I understand. It’s not easy, but I think it’s the right thing. You just have to get through this, and then I promise, when we have a child of our own, I’ll build you the best playhouse this town has ever seen. And a monster swing set in the backyard. All the neighbors will be jealous.”

  The corner of her mouth curled up in a small smile, and she turned around and stepped into my arms. Our bodies melted into each other’s.

  “I don’t know what I would do without you,” she said in a shaky voice. “And I’m amazed that you can put up with me. I’m such a wet rag sometimes.”

  “You’re not,” I replied. “You loved your son more than anything in the world and that’s why I fell in love with you in the first place. It’s why I want to have children with you.”

  She stepped back and wiped at her eyes. “The next few days are going to be rough. I’ll apologize to you in advance, because you might not see me much.”

  My stomach dropped. “Why not?”

  “Because I told Carter I want to be there when he cleans out the attic and the basement and Sammy’s old room. His room is still… It’s the way it was when…”

  Still the way it was?

  I moved away from her and leaned back against the center island. I tried not to frown. Maybe I didn’t understand how these things worked because I’d never lost a child—I’d never even been a parent—but I figured they would have taken care of that by now. It had been four years, for pity’s sake. How could they just forget about it?

  I supposed that was the point. They hadn’t been able to forget about it or confront it. They were still hanging on, and that’s why she’d been crying in the den.

  Emma poured cream into her coffee cup and took a sip. “I’m going to spend Saturday over there, and maybe Sunday. It depends how long it takes.”

  I cleared my throat. “Would you like me to go with you and help? I’d be happy to.”

  Her gaze turned cool, almost horror-struck. “No. But thank you for offering, Luke. It’s something I need to do on my own.”

  Like going to see the psychic with Carter.

  I tapped my finger a few times on the counter top. “Will Carter be there?”

  “Of course he will,” she firmly replied. “We need to decide what to do with everything. So, I don’t think you should be there. It would just be awkward, and it’s going to be hard enough as it is.”

  I felt my blood pressure rising, but I didn’t want to be that guy who was jealous of his fiancée’s ex-husband. I trusted Emma. Truly, I did, and I knew she loved me. I just wished she’d lean on me more and let me be a part of these things that were difficult.

  Although sometimes it felt as if she had purposely drawn a bold line in the ground to divide her life into two halves: the time before we met, and the time after. She didn’t want me to cross that line. I had to stay put, right here on this side, while she crossed back to the other side alone.

  It wasn’t easy, but I knew I had to let her go and face this last thing without me.

  “Okay,” I finally said, working hard to trust her and convince myself that this was the final hurdle, and once we were over this, everything would be different. This was a positive thing. It would bring us one step closer to the new beginning she had been searching for.

  I just needed to be patient. I needed to trust her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emma

  Victoria, British Columbia

  When Carter opened the door to Sammy’s bedroom, it was like stepping back in time. The small bed was neatly made up with the familiar blue-and-white striped comforter we’d bought for him after we moved him out of his crib. His LEGO blocks were stored in the large plastic container under the window, and the red beanbag chair looked as if he’d flopped onto it only yesterday.

  Standing in the doorway, I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of the room, allowing myself to take it all in while working hard to keep a stiff upper lip, because we had to get through this and I didn’t want to fall apart in the first five minutes.

  “It’s so clean,” I said to Carter as he moved to stand beside me. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “My mom comes in here to dust sometimes. She never says a word about it. She just does it.”

  I turned to look at him. “Have you always been keeping the door closed?”

  That’s how it was when I lived here. Neither of us could bear to look inside.

  Carter slid his hands into his jean pockets. “Pretty much. But ever since you and I went to see Maria, I’ve been leaving it open. I come in here and look around and just think about things. That’s why I thought it was time, Emma. I knew that Sammy wouldn’t want us to keep dwelling on the past. I think that’s what the dream was about. He was trying to lead me back in here.”

  “He wants us to be happy,” I replied, realizing I was speaking about our son in the present tense, which would have seemed bizarre to anyone except Carter. “To know that he’s in a good place.”

  Carter understood and nodded his head with a smile.

  I found myself smiling, too.

  * * *

  Five hours later, the bed was dismantled, the mattress was leaning against the wall, and everything was boxed up and labeled for delivery to a local chari
ty.

  Carter and I had each taken a few sentimental items to hold onto. I chose some of Sammy’s clothes: the Peter Pan sleeper he wore home from the hospital as a newborn, his white leather baby shoes and his winter hat with the bunny ears. I also kept all his artwork which I planned to paste into a scrapbook, as well as a few LEGO blocks. Carter let me have Pooky, the soft blue teddy bear that Sammy couldn’t sleep without. That was the most treasured item.

  Carter had taken Sammy’s dinosaur collection which they’d worked on together, a few of the crayon drawings, and the Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas.

  When the work was done, we stood up and looked around at all the boxes. “I can’t believe we finally did this,” I said.

  Carter laid his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed, then he regarded me with pride. “I’m sure he’s happy about this.”

  Before I knew what I was doing, I turned to Carter, wrapped my arms around his neck and wept. Hot, salty tears streamed down my cheeks and simply wouldn’t stop.

  “Baby,” Carter whispered affectionately, stroking my hair just like he used to, which seemed like another lifetime. In other ways, it felt like yesterday. “Don’t cry. It’s all good now. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  I wanted to stop crying, but I needed to let it out. All of it. Every last tear. I told myself that once I was finished, that would be that. There would be no more tears, no more looking back with overpowering sorrow. Instead, I would look to the future and remember Sammy with joy.

  Carter held me and I was grateful for the strength of his arms and the compassion in his voice. It was what I had needed from him so desperately when we lost Sammy—and something I never received.

  Eventually, I drew back and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” I said, laughing in embarrassment.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he replied. “It was a big day. Gargantuan.” With the pad of his thumb, he wiped a tear from my cheek. “I think we need to go to the kitchen and get something to drink.”