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“Jake,” I said exasperatedly. “We’ve got five years to decide.”
I know it’s just the way he is. I know that sometimes, he worries about being like his father, and I have to remind him that he’s not the man he worries he is.
He’s strong and kind. And thoughtful.
Therewassomethingelseplaying on both of our minds in the days leading up to the ceremony. Jake knew it, and I knew it. So, one morning in early September, he asked me to come out for a drive with him.
We’d been in the car heading south on Route 55 before I realized where we were going. He heard my sharp intake of breath and put his hand on mine.
“Some things have got to be seen to be believed,” he said to himself.
Eventually, a few miles outside of Springfield, we turned off and found ourselves in a pretty little suburb with picket fences and red brick houses. It was picturesque, and the summer’s heat hadn’t left yet, though the leaves on the trees were browning a little. Down a cul-de-sac, Jake pulled the car into a driveway and got out. I stayed in the car, not wanting to go in and see what was there. I was afraid.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”
But I was brave. I got out of the car and came with him.
Mr. and Mrs. Arlborough were in their early forties. Unable to have children, they’d fostered a small boy from foster care two years ago.
I looked at their house, which was neat, and well-kept.
“May I ask where he is right now?” asked Jake once we’d sat down at the table. Janet, the mother, happily pointed him out to us in the garden, where I caught a glance of him through a large bay window in the back.
There in the grass, a small blonde boy was running around, chased by a black labrador. He was happy and content. “He’s four?” asked Jake.
“Just last week,” said John.
There was a pause.
“We don’t think it’s fair—” said Janet, but Jake nodded immediately.
“Of course,” Jake said. “I understand. Seeing him is enough. Knowing he has this, well … it’s enough. I just had to know. My own dad didn’t leave me in such good shape.”
“His mother …,” said John Arlborough. “Well, Janet is his mother. And I’m his father. That’s all he needs to know for now.”
“We worry it won’t always be enough,” said Janet.
“It’s enough for anyone,” said Jake. “And I wanted to say that, if I can help in any way, I will.”
“We don’t need help,” said John, a little annoyed, but his wife shushed him. We realized we’d overstayed our welcome, and Jake stood up, helping me. I was already beginning to feel enormous and heavy. I got tired more often than usual now. The baby was coming. And I didn’t know whether I’d get to meet him or marry Jake.
“Of course not,” said Jake, politely. “But I’d like to leave you my address and phone number. And when the time’s right,” he added, “I hope you’ll give me a call.”
“Thank you,” said Janet. “We appreciate that.”
I turned to look at the little boy in the garden one last time before we left the house where Jake’s son was, happy, just like every child deserves to be.
Inthechurch,Iwas delighted to see every pew packed. As I stepped through the door with Jim, everyone stood, and the organ began to play.
As I walked down the aisle, I saw him, standing by the altar. He looked as handsome as ever. I knew behind that gorgeous, smiling face there was sadness too. But time heals all wounds. It had healed all of mine.
As I passed the rows of smiling friends and family, I saw Sam, too, by Jake’s side. He gave me a thumbs-up and a grin and then resumed his cheerful expression.
“Treat her well, son,” said Jim Jennings, as I knew he’d been looking forward to saying. Jim Jennings would have gone through all that again, spying on CAA and brandishing a gun on a windy rooftop, just to say those words to Jake, whom he loved, in many ways, like his own son.
There, at the altar, we answered those questions that everyone answers. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part. To love and cherish always. I took him. If I could have, I would have married him more than once, just to be sure.
“I do,” said Jake.
