“May I help?”
“If ya want.” I backed away from the barbecue, shakin’ my head as I handed him the spatula.
He moved around me, turnin’ his attention toward the grill. He ducked his chin. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. Perhaps I was crazy. Perhaps it was too soon.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
He gaped at me.
“I mean it was, but it really wasn’t . . . isn’t. I think I freaked out and I used time as an excuse.”
“So, you meant what you just said a few minutes ago? Was it really a big mistake saying no?”
Smoke wafted in the air around us while we both stood in silence, starin’ at one another. I didn’t want to think about how miserable I’d been the last three days without him. I missed him, and the thought he’d never be a part of my life in the same way devastated me.
I also thought of my late husband, however, and how I once thought I’d never love another as much as him. Of course, I knew I wasn’t replacin’ him. No one ever would—or could. But the livin’ still deserved happiness. I deserved it.
And so did Rachel.
“Yes, I meant it. It was a mistake. I should have told you yes the second ya dropped down on one knee. I should have—“
His lips pressed into mine and he was kissin’ me before I could even finish my sentence.
“So, you’ll marry me?” he whispered.
“Yes, I will.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The sunset glimmered along the water as I made my way down the aisle. James waited for me at the end. A smile beamed across his face, and as I reached him, he took my hand in his and mouthed the words: ‘I love you.’
Three words. Three simple, little words. And yet, three words that held such a depth of meanin’ to them they could stop time, change one’s world, and bring one to their knees in both joy and pain. What was it about love? What was it about the choices people make that determine so much or so little? This or that, can be asked about everythin’ in life. Whether it’s toward somethin’—or someone—or away from somethin’ or someone. Is it because of what they want? Is it because of what they think they deserve? Or is it because they really don’t have a choice and are forced into makin’ the decision?
Of course, I suppose life would be borin’ without choices. Wouldn’t it? To always be on one path, never veerin’ off it or goin’ in another direction. The same straight line from birth to death would seem so dull to me. Like a broken record, played over and over again as it skips along, repeatin’ itself.
Who would want to live life in such a way?
I know I wouldn’t.
Which is why I think I have a love and hate relationship with choices. I love to make them, love wanderin’ into the unknown, and yet, I hate the risk, too. Surely, it’s not a risk to marry James. He’s such an amazin’ man, and he loves me with his whole heart. I wouldn’t dare say this out loud, but I’ve often wondered if he loves me more than my late husband. Of course, it’s unfair of me to compare the two. They are two different men who love in two different ways, and it’s cruel to say one is more and one is less.
“Do you, Maggie Wilson take this man, James Grey to be your husband? To love and to honor, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”
“I do.”
“And do you, James Grey, take this woman, Maggie Wilson, to be your wife? To love and to honor, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others until death do you part?”
“I do. Seven times over.”
Everyone laughed.
“I think once is enough, darlin’,” I said, givin’ him a wink.
“Mags, once will never be enough with you.”
“Before God and these witnesses, you two have pledged yourselves in holy matrimony. Therefore, it is my pleasure to now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride!” Pastor Dawson tucked his Bible under his arm as James leaned in to kiss me. Applause broke out around us from our guests—Rachel, Nancy, Evan, Helen, Jerry, and Rebecca holding Luke—the only ones we invited made enough noise it felt like dozens and dozens of people were watchin’.
As we turned to walk back up the aisle, Nancy bounced on her toes while Rachel clapped and waved at us. My daughter—our daughter—smiled and screeched, reachin’ out for James as we tried to pass. He grabbed her, pickin’ her up and tuckin’ her tight against his chest.
“Are you ready Mrs. Grey?” he asked me.
“Ready for what?”
He leaned in as we continued to walk up the beach toward the inn. “Ready for the rest of our lives?”
“With every breath I will breathe.”
While Evan and James grabbed the meat for the reception feast, Nancy, Rebecca and I began bringin’ out the trays of food from the kitchen. Cheese, vegetables, and fruit—the perfect spread to serve before fillin’ everyone’s bellies with grilled lobster, bacon wrapped asparagus, and grilled twice-baked potatoes. It was perhaps the tiniest weddin’ ever held at the inn; however, it was more perfect than I could have imagined.
I poured a few glasses of iced tea, handing one to Helen and then to Nancy who was fillin’ a plate of cheese and fruit for Rachel.
“Maggie, when you get a moment, I’d like to talk to you and James,” Helen said. With a slight sparkle to her eyes, she nodded toward James who worked just feet away with Evan, dumpin’ coals into the barbecue while they chatted about how much kerosene to use. Why did men like to make fire so much? And why did they try to make it bigger just for the fun of it?
“Well, I can grab him now. Would that be all right?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Just give me a moment.”
While Helen and Jerry made their way back inside, I grabbed James and I followed behind him, my hand laced in his.
“Did she say what she wanted?” he asked as we weaved through the kitchen and dinin’ room, headed toward her office.
I shook my head.
By the time we made it to the office, Helen had sat at her desk while Jerry sat across from her. A stack of papers laid in her lap as though she’d been flipping through them, and as we entered she put the papers on her desk, stood, strode over to the door, and shut it behind us.
“Ah, there you two are. I’m sorry for interrupting your reception for this, but I’m afraid it’s just too important to put off any longer.”
“It’s not an interruption at all,” I said.
“I wanted to talk to you guys about something I’ve decided.”
I glanced at James as if to silently ask if he knew what she was talkin’ about. He shrugged and shook his head, though.
“What it is?”
She said nothin’ as she made her way back to her desk, reachin’ for an envelope sittin’ on the top of the stack. Our names were etched on the front in blank ink, and she handed it to us.
“What’s that?”
“Open it.”
So many times in my life people had handed me important documents in envelopes just like this one, and the mere sight of the white paper made my heart thump.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to.”
She clutched my hands as she helped me flip it over and pull the flap from the inside, openin’ it. I slid the piece of folded paper from it and unfolded it.
“Property and Title Deed,” I read it aloud then looked up at her. “I don’t understand.”
“The inn is yours. Both of yours. I finalized the paperwork a few days ago. You two are now the owners of the inn.”
“I . . . I can’t . . . ya can’t . . .”
“Oh, I can, I assure you. I’ve already added your names to the bank account. But you two need to go down and give them a copy of your driver’s license and sign some papers. I’ve taken care of everything, so all we need to do is just order you some business cards.”
“But why would ya do this?” James asked. He motioned for the deed and I handed him to him.
“Because I need some
one whom I can trust to run this place now that I’m retiring.”
“What do you mean now that you’re retiring?”
She glanced at Jerry who smiled, duckin’ his chin. “Jerry and I have decided to get married.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news, you two,” James said.
‘It is. But it’s also made me think about the future of this inn.”
“How so?” I asked.
“I need you to take the inn. It’s been in my family since it opened its doors, but I have no blood related children to leave it to, which I will say is something I worried about for so long.” A beamin’ smile spread across her face as she cradled my cheeks in her palms. “But then you came in one night drenched from the rain and with a cute little baby on your hip. You said you weren’t in trouble and I believed you, but I also knew something was going on with you. I’ve seen you flourish here. You have color on those cheeks. You smile. You laugh. And that cute little girl is going to have the best childhood growing up here.”
“Ya make it sound like ya aren’t going to be around to see it.” I chuckled under my breath, hopin’ the action would lessen the heartbreak I could feel comin’.
She bit her lip and her eyes misted with tears. “Oh, my dear, I will be. But I will do it from a little house in the middle of town.”
“We just signed the papers on a place off Pear Street,” Jerry said.
“You see.” Helen motioned toward him then faced us again. “I won’t be far, so don’t go thinking I will let that precious baby grow up without a grandmother.”
“Or a grandfather,” Jerry said.
Helen backed away from me a few steps and reached out, grabbin’ Jerry’s hand while a smile beamed across his face. The pair of them stared at one another, holdin’ hands as they dwelled in the silence between them.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I said.
“I don’t either.” James blinked as his eyes darted from them to me then to the paper still in his hand.
“A simple thank you will be plenty. Oh, and maybe that you’ll promise to keep the inn open and run it for as long as you can . . . or want to.”
“Of course, we will,” James said.
“Yes, of course,” I added.
“Well, then we are good. Why don’t you two go back to your reception? We can talk further on the matter later.”
Before we could agree or disagree, she moved toward us, motioning for us to leave. As I turned, my foot kicked a box, and I tripped, nearly fallin’ down. James caught me, and as he glanced at the box, he stopped.
“It’s got your name on it,” he said to me.
“That’s because it’s mine.” My eyes darted from the box to him then to Helen.
She bit her lip. “I also meant to tell you about that. Nancy brought it down from the attic this morning. I asked her and Claire to clear everything of mine out and she brought it down, too, by mistake. It is the box you had when you arrived. The one you had in your car for about three months before you threw it up there, telling me you never wanted to see it again.”
“What’s in it?” James asked.
I placed my hand on the lid, lettin’ my fingers trace the words written in black marker on the top. “It’s my box from when I left Washington.”
“Ah. Old life things.”
“Yeah, old life things.” I flipped open the top and stared down on the stack of journals I’d started when since I left my parents’ house for college, my camera my late husband bought for me, and the stack of his letters he’d written while overseas.
“That’s a nice camera,” James said, pickin’ it up and turnin’ it over in his hands. “It’s brand new, too.”
“Yes, it is. I think I used it maybe once or twice for Halloween and Thanksgiving. He died just before Christmas, so I just tossed it in with all of these items.”
“You should keep it out so you can take pictures of the inn and Rachel. I think it’d be nice to have the memories.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Or do you want me to put the box back up in the attic?” he asked, archin’ a brow as he seemed to sense my hesitation.
For a moment, I thought of sayin’ no and puttin’ them in the dumpster instead. Sure, it would be a mean thing to do to my late husband’s memory, but the self-protectin’ instinct said it more than my mind and my heart.
“You know you can keep all of it if you want. I don’t mind.” James laid his hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassurin’ half smile.
“No, I know ya don’t. Ya aren’t the type. I just . . . I don’t know if I want to keep them.”
“How about we put it back up in the attic and you think about it? If you decide you don’t want them, then I’ll go back up and get the box and you can throw it away then.”
“Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
“All right.” He bent down and picked up the box, movin’ quickly out of the office and up the staircase toward the attic door in the hallway upstairs.
I watched him leave, bitin’ my lip as though it helped me fight the battle ragin’ deep inside my chest. To let it go, to keep it, the back and forth tug of war left a heavy burden weighin’ on my shoulders. What good would it do to keep it? What good would come out of it? Nothin’ I could figure except to cling to a past that could never be in the future. I trotted out into the foyer and up the stairs, takin’ two at a time.
“James, wait.”
I caught him, halfway up the ladder, his top half inside the attic. He bent down, peerin’ from the hole.
“Did you change your mind?”
“No, not about that. I mean I will keep them for now. But I wanted to talk to ya about what to do with Rachel.”
He slid the box inside then backed down the ladder, turnin’ toward me he rubbed his hands together as if wipin’ off dust.
“What about Rachel?”
“I don’t think she should know.”
“Know what?”
“About anythin’. About my past. About us gettin’ married when she was a year old.” I paused, closin’ my eyes for a second as I hesitated on my next words. “About her dad.”
“You don’t want her to know who her father is?”
I shook my head. “I want her to believe ya are her daddy. I mean, ya are. Ya have been for as long as she can remember. She was two months old when he left. He’s nothin’ more than a stranger.”
James cocked his head to the side and sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know about that, Mags. Doesn’t she deserve to know? And doesn’t he deserve for her to know?”
“Maybe. But I can’t help but think this is the right choice. She’ll never know him. How can a child live with that? I think it would just bring her unnecessary pain, knowin’ she had a daddy she will never get to meet. She’ll always wonder if she looks like him, if she talks like him, or if she acts like him. But you . . .” I grabbed his arm. “Ya are real and ya are here. She can talk to ya. She can give ya a hug.”
“I still don’t know about this. But if that’s what you want, I’ll honor it.”
“It is. Besides, I can change my mind if I want. She’s only one.” I chuckled. “But right now, it’s what I want. Ya are her daddy now and the only one she needs to know about.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rachel
August 1996
“May I see the letter?” Luke held out his hand, taking it from me as I handed it to him. His eyebrows furrowed as he read it and he shook his head before cocking it to one side. He lifted his hand pointing his finger at the piece of paper.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Something . . .” Without finishing his sentence, he skirted around the desk and marched toward the door, leaving the office.
“Where are you going?” I trotted after him, following him to the front desk. “What is it?”
“There’s something familiar about the letters C and W.”
After he set the letter on the desk, I grabbed the corner and turned it aro
und toward me. “It’s a C and a W. The same one everyone makes.”
“No, it’s not. Look at the curves. They are different.” He grabbed the guest book and tossed it on the table. It landed with a thud before he opened the cover and started flipping through the pages.
“Why are you looking through the book?”
“Because I’ve seen them before.”
A lump formed in my throat. “You have?”
He didn’t answer me, but instead kept turning the pages, his wrists flicked over and over again like the seconds of a ticking coo-coo clock until he stopped, picked up the book, turned it in his hands, and dropped it on the counter in front of me. “Yep. I have.” He pointed to one of the pages.
There it was.
The same letters C and W with its odd slant.
I sucked in a breath, holding it until my lungs begged for me to let it out and take another.
“Charlie Wilson.”
The older gentleman who had checked in a couple of weeks ago and who was still here. The older gentleman who had developed some friendships in town and who, it seemed, didn’t want to leave just yet. The older gentleman who was easy to talk to and kind, asking me about my day and how I was doing. The older gentleman who brought me flowers and other gifts, saying he had thought of me that day and just wanted to do something nice because I was a good host.
But I wasn’t just a good host to him.
I was his daughter.
I backed away from the desk and covered my mouth. The walls began to cave in on me and my eyes blurred with tears.
Luke rushed around the desk, wrapping his arms around me. He drew me tight into his body, whispering in my ear.
“It’s going to be all right. Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”
“Does this . . . does this mean my whole life is a lie?” I whispered back.
“No, it’s not. It’s not a lie. It’s going to be all right. Maybe there is some big misunderstanding. Maybe they were just really good friends and . . . I don’t know, maybe there’s a reason.”
Although I knew he was reaching for any branch he could grab onto to help me feel better, it didn’t. There was no other logical explanation for this other than my parents had lied to me my entire life.
Another Yesterday Page 28
