“Six months ago Luke was a different person.” Elizabeth smiled despite the heaviness in her heart. “But not really. I always knew he’d come back.”
“I guess I see the changes more than you, but it’s amazing.” Anne shook her head. “He and Reagan read their Bibles every morning, and Luke’s been adamant about doing things right this time around, keeping away from Reagan until after the wedding.”
“He’s so much like his father.”
Anne bit her lip and her chin quivered some. “If I don’t get the chance tomorrow, tell John how much it means to me that he’s walking Reagan down the aisle.”
“I’ll tell him.” Elizabeth’s heart went out to the woman beside her. Tomorrow’s wedding would be bittersweet for both of them.
Anne Decker looked at their children, facing each other in front of the church. “I prayed for this day, Elizabeth. And now here it is.” A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I only wish Tom could be here.”
Elizabeth gave the woman’s hand a tender squeeze. “He will be, Anne. God’ll give him a front-row seat.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was after ten when Elizabeth and John closed their hotel-room door behind them. John tossed his jacket on the bed and sank into the adjacent sofa. “That went well, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” She hung her coat in the closet and took the seat beside him. “I still can’t believe he’s getting married tomorrow.” A pause settled between them, and she met John’s gaze. “Weren’t we just at the hospital having that boy?”
John smiled and tapped the tip of her nose. “I believe we’ve seen a few seasons since then.”
“Maybe a few, but not twenty years, John.” She drew a slow breath. “Where did they go?” She stretched out and let her head rest on the sofa back. “Remember what my mother told me after we had Luke?”
“What a handsome baby?” John shifted so he could see her better. His eyes danced the way they often had since their first date.
“No.” Elizabeth searched his eyes. She enjoyed moments like this—quiet, unhurried times when she and John could connect after a busy day. “She told me a daughter’s a daughter for life . . . a son’s a son till he takes a wife. Remember? It made me mad because Luke was my only son. I didn’t want to think of him that way.”
“I remember.” John raised one eyebrow. “Your mother was surprised it upset you. She thought you were hormonal.”
“Anyway—” she gave him a pointed look, then felt her eyes grow distant again—“the thing is, she was right. I realized that tonight.”
John crooked his elbow around her neck and rested his hand on her shoulder. “She wasn’t right, silly. Luke will always be part of our lives.”
“But not as much. His focus will be here, with Reagan and Tommy, where it should be.”
They were quiet for a moment, and finally John nodded. “I see what you’re saying.”
“It made me think of something else.”
“What?” His tone was light, and he ran his fingers along her upper arm.
“You know how we always made a special note every time our kids had a first? First smile, first teeth, first steps . . . that kind of thing?”
“First day of school, first choir performance?” John cocked his head, remembering. “We had a lifetime of firsts, didn’t we?”
“Yes, and we celebrated every one.” She reached up and laced her fingers through his. “But along the way we forgot something.”
“We did?” John raised his brow, amused in a relaxed sort of way.
“We did.” Elizabeth stared out the window. Snow was falling again, slow dancing in lazy circles toward the floor of Manhattan. She turned to John. “We forgot to mark their lasts.”
He gave her a strange, bemused look. “Their lasts?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth sighed. “Okay, think of Luke. Just yesterday he would pick me a handful of wildflowers from the field behind our house, run inside, and jump into my arms. I’d catch him and hold him, his legs wrapped around my waist. We’d grin at each other, our noses touching. He’d give me the flowers, slide back down, and be on his way.”
“Okay . . .” John seemed to be having trouble following her.
“Don’t you see?” Elizabeth searched his face. “One day he did that for the last time. It was the last time he ever ran and jumped in my arms and gave me wildflowers. Only I didn’t know it was the last time.” She paused, her eyes suddenly watery. “I took no pictures, threw no party, made no note of it in a journal or a baby book. We simply moved on to another stage of life and never looked back.”
“Oh.” A softness filled John’s eyes and he nodded. “I see.”
“Our children’s growing-up years were full of lasts, and I never knew it.” She let her mind drift. “Last time I fed them a bottle. Last time they colored a picture for the refrigerator door. Last time they made angels in the snow.”
John smiled. “Last time they played in the pond out back.”
“Last time they needed me to drive them somewhere.”
“Yes,” he chuckled. “Last time they asked for advice about romance.”
“Exactly.”
They were silent again, until John gave her a light squeeze. “I never thought of that.”
“I know. Me neither.” She stood and sauntered across the room to the table and chairs in the corner. The top drawer held five pieces of stationery, and Elizabeth removed all of them. She glanced back at John. “Are you staying up?”
“For a while.” He gave her a slow smile. “I like the snow.” His eyes fell to the stationery in her hand. “You writing something?”
“A letter . . . for Luke.”
John nodded. “I’m glad.”
Every now and then, Elizabeth had the strongest desire to write. It wasn’t something she did often; she kept no regular accounting of the days, the way some people did. But she had a journal full of random thoughts, precious moments that might otherwise have been lost in the slow pull of time. And once in a while, on lonely winter nights or cool summer mornings, the need to write was too strong to ignore.
This, the last night before Luke married Reagan, was one of those times.
She turned the chair so it faced the window and steadied the paper on her lap, a New York tourist magazine beneath it. The lights of the city dimmed through the veil of falling snow, and in a rush of school days and birthday parties and summer vacations, time ran in reverse and she allowed herself to go back, back to the days when Luke was just entering their lives.
Through the lens of yesterday she searched the moments, looking for the lasts, but nothing came to mind, and Elizabeth understood why. It was like she’d told John. The last times went by without fanfare. Certainly if she’d known it was the last time Luke would jump into her arms and give her wildflowers, she would’ve done something to mark the moment.
At the very least she would’ve held on longer.
With that thought, she positioned her pen over the hotel stationery and began to write. The words came easily, straight from a quiet corner of her heart to the linen page. Rather than a letter, her thoughts formed a poem, and in thirty minutes she had it written. Exactly the way she felt, there on paper.
She let her eyes read over it one more time. Then she turned and saw that John was reading his Bible.
“Hey . . .”
He looked up, his eyes more tired than before. “I was just about to turn in.”
She stood and set the pen and magazine down. “Want to hear what I wrote?”
“Definitely.” John closed his Bible and set it on the coffee table. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.” She brought the pages to the sofa and sat next to him again. “It’s exactly what’s in my heart.”
“Okay.” He folded his arms and smiled at her, true and genuine, his love warm enough to melt the snow outside. “Go ahead.”
Elizabeth returned the smile, her heart brimming with a kind of joy and sorrow she’d never known bef
ore. The kind reserved for a mother the night before her only son’s wedding. “Okay.” She cleared her throat and let her eyes fall to the paper.
“Long ago you came to me, a miracle of firsts
First smiles and teeth and baby steps, a sunbeam on the burst.
But one day you will move away and leave to me your past,
And I will be left thinking of a lifetime of your lasts.
“The last time that I held a bottle to your baby lips . . .
Last time that I lifted you and held you on my hip . . .
Last time when you had a binky stuck inside your mouth . . .
The last time that you crawled across the floor of this old house.
“Last time when you ran to me, still small enough to hold,
Last time when you said you’d marry me when you grew old.
Precious, simple moments and bright flashes from the past,
Would I have held you longer if I’d known they were the last?”
Elizabeth looked up. “Good so far?”
“It’s amazing.” John’s eyes were damp. “Keep reading.”
“All right.” She steadied the paper and found her place.
“Your last few hours of kindergarten, last days of first grade . . .
Last at bat in Little League, last colored paper made.
Last time that I tucked you in for one last midday nap . . .
Last time when you wore your beat-up Green Bay Packers cap.
“Last time that you caught a frog in that old backyard pond . . .
Last time when you ran barefoot across our fresh-cut lawn.
Silly scattered images to represent your past.
Would I have taken pictures . . . if I’d known they were the last?
“The last dark night you slipped in bed and slept between us two,
When last I read to you of God or Horton Hears a Who!
Last time that I smelled your hair and prayed after your shower . . .
Last time that we held devotions in the evening hours.
“The last time you were M. J. in our games of give-and-go . . .
Last time that you made an angel in the melting snow.
I never even said good-bye to yesterdays long passed.
Would I have marked the moments . . . if I’d known they were the last?
“Last piano lesson, and last soccer goal you kicked . . .
The last few weeks of middle school, last flowers that you picked.
Last time that you needed me for rides from here to there . . .
The last time that you spent the night with that old tattered bear.
“Last time that I helped you with a math or spelling test,
Last time when I shouted that your room was still a mess.
Time and life moved quicker, taking pieces of your past.
Would I have stretched the moments . . . if I’d known they were the last?
“The last time that you needed help with details of a dance . . .
Last time that you asked me for advice about romance.
Last time that you talked to me about your hopes and dreams.
Last time that you wore a jersey for your high school team.
“I watched you grow and never noticed seasons as they passed.
I wish I could’ve frozen time, to hold on to your lasts.
For come tomorrow morning life will never be the same.
You’ll pledge forever to your girl, and she will take your name.
“And I will watch you, knowing God has blessed you with this day.
I never would have wanted, Luke, to somehow make you stay.
They say a son’s a son until he takes for him a wife.
You’re grown-up now; it’s time to go and start your brand-new life.
“One last hug, one last good-bye, one quick and hurried kiss . . .
One last time to understand just how much you’ll be missed.
I’ll watch you leave and think how quickly childhood sped past.
Would I have held on longer . . . if I’d known it was your last?”
Elizabeth lowered the paper to her lap and realized that her cheeks were wet. She dabbed at her eyes, looked at John, and the two of them uttered a quick bit of laughter. His eyes were red, tears trickling down both sides of his face.
“Well . . .” He pulled the back of his hand across his cheeks. “I think that about says it.”
“There’s just one more thing I have to do.”
He reached for her hand, pulled her to her feet, and eased her close to him. “What’s that, my love?”
“Survive the wedding.”
Chapter Twenty
Brooke sat by the window of the room she was sharing with Ashley, mesmerized by the swirling snow.
“Hope they can keep the roads clear for tomorrow.” She looked over her shoulder at her younger sister. “Otherwise half the guests won’t make it.”
Ashley was lying on the far bed next to Cole, stroking his forehead as he fell asleep. She peered out the window and studied the snow for a moment. “It’ll be fine. The forecast says no more than an inch between now and tomorrow night.”
“That’s good.” Brooke settled back in her chair. “It definitely works for the wedding theme.”
“Yep.”
Brooke fell quiet again. She was exhausted, but even so, she would forever be glad she came to New York. Before getting close to God, before realizing for herself how real he was, she had seen her family in a pragmatic light. They were the people she’d been raised with, the ones she shared holidays with. But she hadn’t felt a heart connection.
Now, though, watching the way they rushed to help her with Hayley, seeing the love they had for each other, Brooke felt as if her emotions had undergone laser surgery. Where before she had seen things one way, now she saw them as they really were, and that meant she had to be here in New York, had to see her only brother pledge his life to his sweet Reagan.
On the near bed she heard Maddie stir, and she turned toward her. She and Maddie were sharing the bed, and the hotel staff had brought up a special oversized crib for Hayley. That way Brooke didn’t have to worry about her falling off the bed or waking up on a strange floor and not knowing where she was.
In the days before the trip, Hayley had made amazing strides. She was taking small sips from a cup now, and when she was on the floor, she would roll toward the sound of Brooke’s voice.
“Impossible,” Dr. Martinez had said at their visit last week.
But Brooke had spread out Hayley’s blanket and laid her down. “Hayley, come to Mommy. I’m over here.”
Then, as if on cue, Hayley had craned her neck in Brooke’s direction and begun rolling.
“See?” Brooke grinned at the doctor.
“But . . . her tests. She was underwater more than fifteen minutes.”
“You and I know that, but I guess God doesn’t.” She smiled at Hayley. “And he’s the one calling the shots this time.”
Cole had fallen asleep, and Ashley climbed out of bed and joined Brooke near the window. “Pretty.”
“Yes.” Brooke looked out the window again. “Makes Manhattan look quiet and dreamy.”
“Mmmm.” Ashley sat on the arm of Brooke’s stuffed chair. “Makes me think of Landon.”
Brooke found Ashley’s eyes and saw the hurt there, the loneliness. “Have you talked to him? since you’ve been here?”
“No.” Ashley lifted her chin and looked out at the snowy city again. “I’ll see him at the wedding. That’ll be hard enough.”
“Are you sure he’s coming?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ashley bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. “He’ll come.”
“You’re going to see him anyway; why not call? He could’ve joined us this week, Ash. We all miss him.”
“For what?” Ashley angled her face, her voice resigned. “For another round of hope and heartache?” She looked at Brooke. “It’s over between us. I have to be able to come to Manhattan without run
ning to him the minute I touch ground.”
“I see.” Brooke gave a slight nod. “And what if that doctor you’re seeing in January tells you that I’m right, that there’re ways for HIV patients to keep their partners safe?”
“That’s crazy, Brooke.” Ashley huffed, her words quiet because of the sleeping children. She returned her gaze to the window. “The risk would always be there. And even if he never became infected, he’d spend a lifetime worrying about me, maybe watching me die. I can’t do that to him, no matter how badly I miss him. He deserves a normal life.”
“He doesn’t want a normal life.” Brooke’s words were slow, measured. Something about the night invited her to be completely honest with her sister. “He wants you, Ash. Only you.”
“He’ll get over it.” She gritted her teeth. “We both will.”
Brooke waited, letting Ashley’s statement settle in her heart. But no matter how she considered her sister’s words, she didn’t agree. “You’re wrong.” She met Ashley’s eyes once more. “Landon loves you with a crazy kind of love. The way Ryan loves Kari.”
Ashley opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Instead she bit her lip as if she might weep otherwise.
“So what if you die young?” Brooke hugged herself to ward off the chill from the window. “If you only had three years together, so what? That’s a thousand tomorrows, a thousand sunrises and sunsets. A thousand nights to know you’re loved beyond life, beyond anything this side of heaven.”
“Brooke.” Ashley dabbed her fingertips beneath her eyes and made a light sniff. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Well . . .” Brooke thought about Peter, wherever he might be this cold night, two days before Christmas. “I can think of something worse than being loved like that.”
Ashley’s face softened. “You and Peter?”
Brooke nodded. “I . . . I keep asking myself what I did to make him leave.”
“Oh, honey . . .” Ashley leaned over and hugged her, holding her close for a long while before pulling back. “You didn’t do anything. Peter has a lot to figure out.”
Their conversation wound down, and thirty minutes later, after they’d brushed their teeth and washed their faces, they climbed into their separate beds. Again Brooke was glad she’d come, glad for the new bond she’d found with Ashley.
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