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“Needing time wasn’t about getting this house sorted, but I think this place was a metaphor for my life. I’ve been running but going nowhere. I’ve been stuck for years. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does.”
He walks into the living room, checks it out and then looks back to me. “Go ahead,” I tell him. “We did every room.”
“Who helped you?” he asks as he inspects the molding around the bedroom windows. “The work is good.”
“Garth will be pleased to hear that. He did the bulk of it with the help of a few skilled workmen.”
Smiling at me, he says, “This is definitely moreyou. Especially now that the creepy Hummel figurine collection is gone. I can picture you in this place.”
“Don’t laugh, those Hummels went for a tidy sum on some online auction site.”
He smiles and then goes to walk back into the living room. “Owen, wait.” I lift the box from the closet and rest it on the bed. “I want to show you something.”
And I hope I’m not making a big mistake when I take one of the pictures out from its bubble wrap, but if I’m on a mission to be an open book then I can’t go on hiding things between the pages.
“I framed these so I’ll have something to show…her. If she ever comes looking for me and wants,” I pause to take a breath, “to know about him.”
He takes the frame from my hands and studies the picture. He keeps looking, a soft smile forming on his face as he holds it up closer to get a better look. “Look how beautiful you were.” He raises his eyes to mine. “You still are, Grace, but I love how you look in this shot.” He looks back down. “And he was crazy about you. It’s written all over his face.”
“I went to visit his gravesite.”
“Where is Damien buried?”
And just that, Owen’s willingness to acknowledge Damien and speak his name—I’m grateful for it. It speaks to what I’ve always known about Owen: he’s a strong man, self-possessed and unafraid, and he’s also a good person.
“Down in North Carolina. Not far from where I went to school. He’s buried next to a close friend, a fellow Marine who took his own life after he came back.”
He nods. “That life takes its toll on some men. Damien?”
“No, he was killed in the line of duty.”
I take the picture, wrap it and box it back up before I return them to the closet.
“You’re not going to hang them?”
“No, not here.” I answer the question in his eyes, “This isn’t where I’m meant to be. I’m going to finish out the school year because I’m committed to my students, but I’m resigning come June.”
He looks concerned when he asks, “Are you leaving?”
I raise my shoulders and smile. “I don’t know. And I’m kind of all right with not knowing.”
He wraps me up and kisses the top of my head before whispering, “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” I melt into the hug, so glad to be back in his arms, “we will.”
* * *
