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“By pure fucking luck. Very few people have ever jumped out of a moving truck carrying a hundred thousand pounds of timber and lived. He could have died, and it would have been my fault.”
“But he didn’t die.”
“That’s not the point. I haven’t shown my face up there since. I’m a disgrace to my family and the code we follow in the woods. Everyone knows it. Henri and Paz and Adele. They bust their asses every day for the company, the family, and my dad. And I don’t measure up.”
He violently speared a cucumber and put it in his mouth, the tines of his fork scraping against his teeth.
“Are you done?” I asked softly.
He shrugged, staring at his plate.
“At some point, you have to forgive yourself and accept who you are and who you are not. You’re not Henri. And you’re not Paz. Or Adele.”
He snorted.
“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. Stop trying to live up to other people’s standards. Set some of your own.”
“I’m not even sure how to do that.”
“You’ve spent almost thirty years trying to be like them. Trying to be someone that maybe you weren’t meant to be.”
“I’m a Gagnon. We cut down trees.”
“You are so much more than that, and you know it. I’m your goddamn wife. Listen to me when I say you can do anything and be anything you want. You have so much raw talent and potential. You can sit here and beat yourself up, or you can learn from your mistakes and do better.”
He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “You make me want to do better.”
My heart swelled, and that tiny part of my brain that believed in fairy tales and happily ever afters ran wild. Clenching my jaw, I locked down those thoughts and mentally chided myself. We’d agreed no future talk. Not even when he was vulnerable and sharing his feelings, which was hotter than watching him do thousands of shirtless push-ups.
Because every day, that part of my brain grew, getting bigger and wilder and more imaginative. I was beginning to want things I couldn’t have. A future that wasn’t mine. I owed it to us both to keep myself in check.
“That’s why I’m here,” I said, affecting calm in hopes that my outward demeanor could reflect on my wild emotions. “Because we’re a team. I’ll keep pushing you and you keep pushing me. And together, we’ll figure our shit out.”
Chapter32
Remy
“Mom,” I called, walking through the front door. Hazel trailed behind me with a bouquet of flowers she had insisted we pick up on the way. My mother had invited us over for dinner, and while we both knew better than to bring food to Loraine Gagnon’s house, Hazel didn’t want to show up empty-handed. So I had indulged my sweet wife, even though Mama G required no formality.
The house was mostly dark and eerily quiet. For as long as I could remember, it had been filled with music, either from my grandma’s piano in the front room or the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen that blasted Mom’s seventies disco.
My childhood home was large and chaotic and filled with love. After Dad died, we’d all urged Mom to sell and move, but she refused. The house was too big, and the yard, which was a couple of acres and backed up to the river, was a lot to maintain. But she’d raised her family here and refused to leave behind the decades of memories written on every inch of the place. Instead, she’d gone on massive redecorating and decluttering binges and was constantly texting us photos of her meticulously organized closets.
“Mom,” I called again, passing through the kitchen.
The flood lights at the back of the house were on, so I grabbed Hazel’s hand and tugged her along with me onto the back deck.
“Surprise!” came a cacophony of voices, then the deck was lit up like Christmas. I had to shield my eyes against the glare as I adjusted to the shock. It took me a minute, but then I pulled Hazel close and scanned the yard. It was filled with string lights, picnic tables, and balloons. And aJust Marriedbanner hung across the back of the house.
My mother rushed up to us, a plastic flute of champagne in her hand. “Happy wedding party,” she cried, giving us both kisses on the cheeks.
“What is this?” Hazel asked, her eyes still wide behind her glasses.
“Since you guys had that quickie wedding at city hall, we decided it was time to throw you a little party.”
“And this being Lovewell,” Lydia appeared, wearing several sets of Mardi Gras beads that saidJust Marriedon them, “everyone wanted in. So we crowd sourced it.”
She held an arm out, her palm open, to the yard, where a makeshift dance floor had been set up and the Timber Trio, Lovewell’s local band, was setting up, plugging their equipment into a generator Henri was tinkering with.
