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But then the whirlwind stops. And everything inside me slides into place. And it feels peaceful. It feels right.
A smile comes to my face—a real smile—and energy suddenly bubbles in my veins. Because I know what’s been wrong with me these last few weeks. And I know what to do now—exactly how to fix it.
I stand up, brush the grass off my butt, and grab Woody’s leash.
“Thanks, Ollie,” I tell him. “Thank you so much.”
For the first time in my life, Ollie Munson meets my eyes. His are calm and knowing.
Then a passing car beeps its horn, and Ollie turns away and waves.
~ ~ ~
I march up the front walk and spot the For Sale sign marring the perfect house. And it looks fucking terrible—wrong. I yank the sucker out of the lawn and throw it in the bushes.
I go in the front door and unhook Woody from the leash.
“Hey, you were gone a long time,” Garrett says, setting the box in his hands on the dining room floor with a dozen others. “I was just going to come looking for you.”
“Stop. Stop packing.” I shake my head. “I don’t want you to come to San Diego with me.”
The dark-brown eyes that I have loved since I was fourteen years old crinkle with confusion.
“Babe . . .”
“I want us to live here. I want to quit the Fountain Theater Company and be a teacher. I want to be . . . your wife.” I step closer to him. “I want us to have babies and raise them in this house. I want to teach them to fish and ice skate on the lake, and push them on the new swings at Baygrove Park. I want to take them to The Bagel Shop every Sunday and wave to Ollie Munson every single day.”
“Callie . . . slow down.” He rests his hands on my shoulders, squeezing. “This is a big deal. Have you really thought about this?”
I move closer, swinging my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his.
“I don’t need to think anymore. This is right, this is real, this is what I want.”
“But your job . . .”
“Managing the Fountain Theater isn’t my dream anymore. They don’t need me, Garrett. Not really. But our school, these kids, they need me . . . and I need them.”
I shake my head, because the words stutter in my throat, and I’m not explaining it right. How sure I am.
“The night I got the call from Colleen, when she told me about the accident, I looked at Bruce and Cheryl and do you know what I said?”
“What?”
“I said, I have to go home. This is home, Garrett. It’s always been home to me; I just forgot. But I know now. I could live anywhere with you and be happy—but if I can choose where that is, I want it to be here. I want our life to be here—you and me—together, in our home.”
I know him well enough to see the relief that lights up his face—the joy. And I know, deep down, this is what he wants too.
Garrett hugs me in those strong, solid arms and my feet leave the floor. Then he sets me down, holding my face in his beautiful hands and my future—our future—in his eyes.
Epilogue 1
Mrs. Coach D
Callie
Garrett and I met the first time in the fall, and we reunited in the fall . . . so it’s fitting that we get married in the fall too. He proposed on a sunny, summer Sunday, while we were on his bass boat, in the very middle of the lake . . . with the same ring he bought me all those years ago. After I said yes and Garrett slid that beautiful ring on my finger, I rocked his world—both our worlds—literally.
I flung myself into his arms so fast, the boat capsized.
But even when we fell into the water . . . Garrett didn’t stop kissing me.
When we eventually came up for air, he offered to replace the diamond with a bigger stone, but I shot that idea straight down. My ring is perfect, just the way it is.
Picking the location for the wedding wasn’t as easy. Garrett wanted to get married on the fifty-yard line on the high school football field.
Yes—really.
Because he’s a guy, through and through. A quarterback, so to him, the football field will always be a sacred place. I wanted to get married in a beautiful old theater about an hour away—because—guilty as charged—I guess I’ll always be the theater girl who loves the lights and smell of the stage. We toy with the idea of getting married on the lake . . . but neither of us like the thought of my dress dragging through goose shit, so that idea gets kicked to the curb pretty quick.
