It’s home.
My bound copies of Gran and Grandad’s letters sit beside me, untouched for the day. I’ve sifted through them more times than I can count. Most of them are covered in small notes or questions, thoughts on what I’ve decided is the most beautiful love story I’ve ever read. I planned to sit and go through them again while I was out here, but I laid my head back on the cushion about twenty minutes ago and lost myself to the feel of the cool breeze against my skin.
The words from the pages float around behind my eyelids as the story takes shape. I can imagine it. Gran as a teenager, completely ignoring the slightly scrawny boy from the class below hers. That is until one summer when he grew and, having spent his time working in the peat fields, returned to school looking like a much different boy… more like a man.
To hear her tell it, she saw him that first day back at school and decided that, if he’d have her, she’d love him for the rest of her life. Little did Gran know he’d decided she would be his bride the year before, when they met for the very first time.
Their romance started with notes passed in hallways, slid into lockers. Then it progressed through words exchanged in letters when they were separated. My grandmother was the first woman in her family to attend university, and until my grandfather finished secondary school a year after her, their main form of communication was these letters. Ones I’ve now read and can’t believe they held on to all these years.
There is so much love on these pages. Yet, I recognize the folly of young love, having felt it myself. A love based on no experience andnot enough knowledge, that sometimes can’t withstand the strain. Theirs did though.
Even when they made stupid decisions or said stupid things, they always came back to each other. The apologies are sincere and sweet, heartfelt and laced with a desire to fix whatever was broken between them because in the end they knew the only thing they truly wanted was each other.
The hours I’ve spent asking each of them questions have felt like catching a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster. It’s so rare you can’t believe it’s real. But I’ve seen the way they’ve loved each other my whole life and I can’t fathom a world where this kind of love doesn’t exist. And I’ve seen firsthand how their relationship paved the way for my parents’—the way Dad looks at my Mum, the partnership they’ve built, the mutual respect they show each other.
It’s made me take a hard look at the “ladies’ man” persona I’ve worn for most of my adult life. I wish I’d better understood what their example in my childhood was teaching me—that life is better when you get to share it with someone you love, even if it’s hard. I’ve wasted so much time holding my heart back because I was afraid to have it broken. Afraid no one would make me feel the way I did when I was with Avi. Or afraid they would but would leave me behind—abandon me like she had.
“Can I join you?”
My eyes snap open to see Gran standing over my prone position on the swing. Her green eyes glint and the wisps of grey hair flit around her face where they’ve escaped her low bun.
“Of course,” I say, making room for her to sit beside me.
She picks up the bound copies of the letters and a small smile tilts her lips, her fingers trailing over the place where my working title is printed.With Love, From Skye.
“Sorry if I interrupted your nap.” A cheeky grin lifts her lips and I chuckle.
“Nah, I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
I blow out a breath. “My life… Your life… I think I’m tired of being alone. I’ve never felt particularly lonely, or maybe I just didn’t let myself, but now…” I shrug, and she watches me the way she did when I was a kid, like she’s attempting to puzzle something out. “I didn’t think I was really missing out on anything, staying single. But then I watched Rory fall in love this year. And now being back with you and Grandad, reading your story…”
I pause and look deeper into her eyes. Hers glisten with silver at the edges where tears have begun to form.
“He and I were lucky to find each other when we were so young and we’ve been blessed to have an entire lifetime to build what we have. I will never regret a minute, not even the hardest minutes we’ve ever shared, because they’re ours. You just need to find the person who makes even the worst moments feel like a blessing because you get to share them.”
My gaze tracks over her shoulder to the kitchen window andshe follows it. When she turns back, her smile is soft and almost apologetic. She may notknowwhat’s between Avi and me, but she understands just the same.
“Do you think we all have someone who’s meant to be that person for us?” I ask, both hopeful and afraid of her answer.
“I do, and I think that sometimes we have to fight like hell to hold on to them. Other times, we have to let them go and hope they come back to us. And often, we don’t get to have them for as long as we wanted. Lord knows I’d do anything to keep your grandfather by my side for another seventy years, but…”
She trails off and I know she’s thinking of the unknowns they face, that we all face in life, and what that means for them.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it lightly. “I would do anything to keep him here for you. If I could.”
“You’re doing it, Jamie, just by being here,” she says, and reaches up to cup my cheek. “You being here gives him one more thing to live for, and I’m so grateful for you, my boy.”
The earnestness in her voice makes my throat tighten and my eyes sting. “I’m—”
“No. None of that. There will be no more apologies from you for time past. We live only with the here and now in mind, and maybe the future a little bit too.”
She glances one more time over her shoulder toward the kitchen and then stands and brushes invisible dirt off her pants just as the door opens and Avi steps out. Her hair is a mess of curls on top of her head where they’re falling out of the bun she had them in this morning. “Ah, Aileen, there’s a gentleman at the front desk asking for you.” She swipes a strand away from her face with the back of her hand.
“Aye, duty calls then,” Gran says, looking back and patting my cheek once more with a soft smile and a slight nod of her head. Then she’s gone, and I catch Avi watching me from her perch in the doorway—hip leaned against the jamb, arms crossed over her chest.She’s wearing my sweatshirt under her apron again and it makes my heart rate pick up remembering the last time I saw her in it when we were seventeen. Just it and nothing else. I remember that day in vivid clarity; her hair splayed against the pillow, her soft skin against mine, our breath mingling in the small space that was only ours.
“Mind some company?” she asks. “I need a bit of a break from the bustle of the kitchen.”
