Your comment about the length of grief is so true. I do quite well some days. On other days, I find myself silently crying for no reason. It will be done when it’s done, I suppose.
* * *
A spell of melancholy swept over her at the very mention of Paul. She walked away from the computer and picked up her favorite photo of him. She still missed him terribly, but her grief didn’t send her running to bed to curl into the fetal position. It was progress, she noted, and she returned to her email to share her feelings with the one person who might understand.
* * *
As you said, I can tell my children stories about Paul, but I can’t tell them what he meant to me. Not really. I can say that he made me feel loved and safe and capable, but one’s children can never actually understand the depth or breadth of the loss when one buries a spouse. Jamie is married now and might understand, but how can a parent speak of such feelings without blushing or making them cringe? Only a friend with similar experiences can understand these things. Anna Maria has been a healing place—and a harrowing place, digging up tender feelings I had tried to bury, but I think I’m better for it.
* * *
She highlighted and reread the paragraph three times with her finger poised over the delete key. Instead of dreading her candor, she embraced it, and hurried on.
* * *
I have now discarded my second manuscript and have begun anew this very morning, but this project feels right. I can see through to the ending in my mind, and that has always been a good sign for me. Better yet, I love it. I love to think about it and write it and reread what I’ve written. It amuses me but, better than that, it touches me. Thank you for inspiring me.
How was Little Italy? I can’t remember the name of the place, but there’s a little Italian bistro on Fawn Street that serves a seafood medley garnished with little baby octopi and served in a marinara sauce. Watching someone eat it is visual entertainment! You’re right, though, I’ve never had key lime pie like I’ve had here. It alone is worth a trip to Anna Maria.
Avery
Chapter Nineteen
Anna Maria Island, Florida, Week of June 16–22
The island was sweltering, with unbearable temperatures for a mountain lover like Avery. Were it not for the gulf breezes that were fairly dependable, and the blessed central air, Avery would have packed it in and headed home, having stuffed enough images of sand and surf in her mental gallery to last a lifetime. She wondered how she’d enjoyed it years ago when the whole family plodded out first thing every morning, sunbathing and playing outside until hunger or fatigue dragged them back in. The resiliency of youth, she mused as she pressed her sweating glass of lemonade against her forehead. She missed leafy trees, mountains, and the canyons. Every place is best to someone.
She knew part of her melancholy was due to her worry over Wes and Luke. Each day in Florida seemed to cement Wes more tightly to Emilia. That alone was not a concern. Emilia was a sweet girl, but she had nothing more than a passing curiosity in anything fundamental to Avery’s conservative son, especially religion. Avery feared Wes was hurtling down the same painful path as Mark. Of even greater concern was Wes’s unwillingness to discuss the issue with Emilia.
“I wasn’t looking for a relationship, Mom, but now . . . well . . . I’m waiting for the right opportunity to talk to her about these things.”
And Luke? He had gone AWOL again despite Avery and Jamie putting out a two-person APB on him.
Avery drew down the last gulp of lemonade, forcing herself to think about something happy. She set her thoughts on Teddie and Rider, and on her blossoming friendships with Gabriel and George.
Gabriel had become an important person in her life, someone she could tell anything to—that is, anything that didn’t have to do with Gina or Emilia. She saved those details for her daily emails to Teddie who, thank goodness, was home again and reconnected to the electronic universe.
Next, she thought about George, her cute, near-octogenarian buddy, whose life story was a major focus of her days. He’d come to Sunday dinner almost every week since they met, offering lovely tenor serenades during dessert. George was Avery’s cooking buddy, her comedian, and a shoulder for Avery to cry on when grief bubbled to the surface. Whether at home or at the museum, she had George on her mind.
She giggled at the corny thought, glad the kids weren’t there, knowing she would have shared it and risked seeing the mind-numbed, eye-rolling, tell-us-you-didn’t-actually-say-that look they certainly would have shot at her.
Writing plans for the day included plowing through the dark days following George’s career-ending accident. It was the most unflattering period in the former jockey’s life, which was probably why she had delayed addressing it. Asking him to recount that difficult period was hard. Harder yet, was watching him as he did, but armed with notes and insights from friends, she felt she was ready to tackle the next chapter.
Wes arrived in Anna Maria early Friday afternoon. His mood was downcast and irritable, and Avery couldn’t ignore it any longer. She took his hand and gave him a toothy smile. “What’s up, buddy? You look like you’re preparing for a funeral.”
He smiled back and arched his eyebrows. “I might be, in a manner of speaking.”
“Emilia?”
“I guess I’ve been fooling myself all these weeks. She’s so fun and beautiful, and she makes me so happy, but I’ve been living a double life, telling Mark he needs to be true to himself and stand up for what makes him happy, while I’ve been avoiding telling Emilia what I need to be happy. I can’t hide from our differences anymore. It’s not fair to her and not good for us.”
Avery wrapped her arms around her son. “What prompted this?”
“Mark did. He’s seeing a counselor. The sessions make him feel so much better and at peace. He was finally honest with himself about the breakup. He admitted that he hadn’t been completely honest with Gina going into the marriage. That’s when I realized what was wrong between Emilia and me. I haven’t been honest with her. I’ve avoided conversations about anything that might be an issue for her, including religion, politics, social issues. I’m going to have that conversation today. I want her to know me, all of me, the spiritual part too. I want her to really hear and understand what I believe, and what I see when I envision my future.”
Avery’s eyes glistened.
“I’m just afraid that today will change everything.”
“Change can be good.”
“I guess we’ll soon find out.”
“George is coming to dinner tonight. Invite Emilia. It’ll do us all some good to laugh.”
Wes was fairly certain he’d been more calm during military operations in the Korengal Valley of Afghanistan than he was as he plodded up the walk to Emilia’s porch. She burst through the screen door with childlike exuberance and leapt off the second step, straight to him. He quickly backed up and braced as his arms reached to catch her.
“I could have dropped you.”
She placed a kiss on his cheek. “I knew you wouldn’t. I trust you.”
He wondered how she’d feel in an hour.
Wes led her to the porch, where the teal sheets/curtains ruffled behind the screened window. They sat, and he faced her, but she leaned away, worry showing on her face.
“What’s wrong? You look like you have bad news.”
Wes managed a forced smile. “No.” He could hear the Vienna Boys’ Choir soprano in his voice. “It could be great news. I hope so, anyway.”
He cleared his throat twice, clenched and unclenched his hands, took hers, and gave them a squeeze. After clearing his throat again, he began. At first his nervousness made his voice weak and thin, but he looked at Emilia, whose expectant eyes hung on every word, and his feelings for her strengthened his cause until his voice became steady and filled with conviction.
“I’m going to tell you my ten favorite things about you, and then I want you to tell me your ten favorite things about me, okay?”
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Her face brightened as she sat back, prepared to receive her compliments.
“As much as you scare me sometimes, I love your spontaneity. I love that you’re passionate about everything, even the things you dislike. There’s no middle ground with you. There’s also no ambiguity or guile. People know exactly where they stand with you. You’re beautiful, and joyful, and funny, and completely loyal to the people you love. I’m grateful that you’re completely inept at home improvements, because it gave me the chance to meet you and to feel needed. One smile from you erases all the hard things of the day for me, but most of all, I love that you seem willing to open your heart to me.”
Emilia’s eyes sparkled as a sheen of moistness shimmered in her eyes. She wiped the corner of each eye to quell the moisture before it grew to tears. “Thank you. I think that was more than ten.”
He leaned close and whispered. “I could easily have gone on.”
Emilia took a deep breath. “Now I tell you my ten favorite things about you, right?”
She bit her lower lip, and Wes felt his heart rate increase as he prayed for her to say what he needed to hear.
“It goes without saying that the fact that you’re tall and handsome and hard-working are all big plusses for me. And I didn’t know how cool it would be to date a former soldier. In a lot of ways, you remind me of my dad. I feel safe with you.” She looked at her fingers, where the tally of five things was already recorded. “I love that you love your mother the way I love my father. Loving family is an important criterion for me. I couldn’t get serious with anyone who didn’t love my dad and my sister.” She lifted another finger. “You’re funny, and you really listen, like when I mentioned how I was craving salted caramel ice cream and you just went out and found a store and bought me some. That’s the kind of thing my Dad would do.” Two more fingers rose. “I think we have a lot in common, like the music we listen to and the movies we love.” One slot remained. She looked up at Wes as a hint of color brightened her cheek. “I like that you’re a little bit shy around me. You make me feel like I’m fourteen again. That was when I fell in love for the first time.”
It was all Wes could do not to scoop her up and pull her into his arms. She had flattered him in ways young men long to be, but there was little evidence that her caring went any deeper than that. Either she avoided noting more serious qualities in him or she simply didn’t see or care about them. That prospect burdened him more deeply than if she’d told him he was a bore, or a lousy kisser. He hadn’t connected with her on a level more meaningful than any other guy she’d likely cared for. And then a possibility presented itself to him, and he felt encouraged.
He leaned forward, cocooning his hands around hers, bringing them to his lips. He closed his eyes as he cobbled the right words together to make his point. His delay caused Emilia to pull back.
“You hated what I said.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” rushed from his lips as he leaned closer. She met him halfway, with lips poised for a kiss, but Wes resisted the invitation, knowing a kiss would hijack the moment, carrying it away to other, more playful interests.
“I loved what you said,” he whispered back. “What man wouldn’t? Thank you for saying those things about me.”
“Then, what’s wrong?” She smiled and playfully wriggled closer.
Wes placed a finger across red lips begging for a kiss and went on. “My father gets the credit for my being tall. And my mother probably gets partial credit for my nerdy sense of humor, but I’d like to tell you where some of my other traits come from—the reason I love my family as I do. . . the reason I will also love the family I will have someday, and the reason you probably feel safe with me and find me shy around you. I think we connect on a level deeper than just man and woman. I think we connect spirit to spirit.”
He heard the curtain rustle in the window and saw Gina’s frame outlined there in the fabric.
“I am who I am, Emilia, because of what I believe in and what I’d like to think I stand for. The things you say you love about me are rooted in my faith in Christ and the values I live by.”
He heard Gina clear her throat. “Millie, can you come here please?”
Wes resisted Emilia’s initial, almost instinctive, tug to obey Gina’s call. “Stay a minute longer,” he asked, watching Emilia’s held breath suddenly ease.
She nodded her agreement and called back to her sister, “In a minute, Gina.”
Knowing the time before Gina’s next interruption was short, he rushed on. “How do you see yourself in ten years?”
Confusion registered in her narrowed brows and pinched mouth. “I don’t understand. What does that have to do with what I see in you?”
“I just want to know more about you. Do you see yourself with a career? Married? Both?”
She shrugged, confusion still etching her face. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead. I don’t plan every step of my life, Wes. Maybe you do, but I don’t. I like the excitement of being free to go and do what presents itself to me.”
He chuckled. “You nailed it. I’m a planner. I research my options, set goals, and then make a plan. Does that make me as boring as it sounds?”
She smiled, her innocent joy fully returned. “Yes.” She laughed. “But I don’t expect you to be like me.” She raised an eyebrow. “And I hope you don’t expect me to be like you.”
He noted the warning but plowed ahead despite the risk. “I don’t want to date my Mini-Me, but I do want to end up with a person who shares the things I care most about.”
He felt her straighten and pull back.
“We’re both still recovering from our own hurts, so I know neither of us is ready for big commitments right now, but I’d like to know if my ten-year view matches yours. Can I tell you what it is?”
Her nod was nearly imperceptible, so he squeezed her hands and continued. “When I look ten years down the road, I hope to be a construction manager. I think I’d really enjoy that. It’s the sort of work I could head off to each day and be content. I’d be thirty-five, so I can imagine myself as a family man with a wife I loved and a child or two, and maybe a mortgage on a cute house that we’d fix up together.”
Emilia relaxed and smiled at the picture he was painting.
“I’d want a marriage like my parents had, one that grows stronger year by year. We’d be partners in everything. We’d play and laugh and work side by side. We’d help our neighbors and be part of a home town. We’d go to church together and pray together and make Christ our anchor so we’re not tossed around by the chaos in the world. We’d build a strong family rooted in our love of God, and, in return, we’d feel His spirit warm our home with peace.” Wes looked deeply into Emilia’s eyes. “And we won’t fear getting old because we’ll know that a loving God is waiting with His arms extended. That’s the future I hope for. What do you think?”
Her smile flickered. “About what you just said?” She folded forward and paused there before sitting back up. A forced smile graced tense lips. “It suits you.” She shrugged. “I’m glad you have these anchors in your life—God, and country. I’m not sure I do, at least not like you do. I don’t know what I believe about politics or religion. I try to be a good person who treats others as I’d like to be treated. That’s as deep as it goes for me right now. I have my family—Dad and Gina. Maybe I’ll have a husband and family someday.” She shrugged again. “Beyond that, I’m not sure about anything in my future.”
Wes’s heart deflated as if a dart had bulls-eyed there. His jaw slipped open, and his face felt numb, as if he would never be able to speak or smile again.
Mark’s car pulled up and parked on the curb, and the disruption-trifecta, ending the moment, occurred when Gina’s voice filtered through the screen.
“Mil, I really need you to come inside right now.”
Emilia touched Wes’s arm as she passed by him, while Gina stood in the doorway, stiff and nervous, visibly ill over Mark’s arrival, and most likely over
the conversation Wes assumed she overheard.
Wes knew Gina was the gatekeeper, that a word from her would end any chance he had with Emilia. He approached the closed screen door, but Gina already had tears in her eyes, and Emilia’s arm was already wrapped around her sister’s waist, their bond evident and unbreakable.
“Gina, is everything all right?”
She looked past Wes to Mark, who was already out of his car. Before he reached the porch, Gina whispered tearfully through the partially closed door, “Please tell Mark I’m sorry,” and she and Emilia disappeared behind the barrier with a click.
Wes knew it would only aggravate an already tense situation if he questioned her further, so he stumbled down the stairs to where Mark stood staring at the fortress separating them from the girls.
“What just happened between you and Gina?”
Wes gazed blankly at the house and dropped his gaze to the sidewalk. “I honestly have no idea. I tried to help Emilia understand how important my faith is to me, but Gina kept calling for her. Emilia finally went inside, and Gina told me to tell you she was sorry. Do you know what that’s about?”
Mark rubbed his hand over his tired face. “You couldn’t have had worse timing, my friend.”
“Why?”
“You know that counselor I’ve been seeing? Well, one of the girls in Gina’s office is also one of his patients. She told Gina she saw me there, and Gina called to ask why I was seeing a counselor. I admitted that he was helping me work through some things, and that I liked what I was learning and how it made me feel. I even invited her to attend a session with me, but in the next breath she asked if I’d gone to church with you. When I told her I went once, she blamed you for everything. She thinks you’re putting these ideas in my head. That you’re trying to change me.”
A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET Page 70
