Husband in Training Page 19

  He sat on the small stone bench at the foot of Andrew's grave, leaning forward, elbows on his spread knees. He seemed to be talking. Whispering very low, though there was no one nearby to hear.

  Jenny thought the word, love. I love him. I do. A warmth spread through her, a soft warmth, as reassuring and tender as the spring day.

  Slowly Nick turned his head. He seemed no more surprised to see her standing there than she had been at the sight of his car in the parking lot. "Hi."

  "Hi."

  He moved over a little, making room for her. She left the half-shadow of the oak and took the place he offered.

  They sat there for a time, listening to the birds singing, watching the patterns of sun and shadow through the trees. Across the sloping lawn, at another grave, a woman with white hair was arranging a bouquet of daisies in a Mason jar. When she had the flowers as she wanted them, she propped the jar by the headstone, then she stepped back, bent her white head and closed her eyes. After a moment or two, she turned toward the path and walked away in the direction of the redwood bridge.

  Jenny's gaze fell on Andrew's headstone. She read, as she had read a thousand times: Husband Father Son Friend.

  She turned to Nick then, her heart rising, the corners of her mouth lifting in a tentative smile. "Who were you talking to just now?"

  He dipped his head, looked down at his spread knees.

  "Nick, please tell me. Who were you talking to?"

  "Andy." He spoke to the ground between his booted feet. "When things get bad, I come here. I talk to Andy. It makes things better, I don't know why." He dared to look up again, into her eyes. "Crazy, huh?"

  She shook her head. "No. Not crazy. Not at all." She turned her gaze away from his, toward the headstone again, and confessed, "I left your letter in my jeans. Then I washed them. It's ruined. All the words ran together. I … don't know what it said."

  He moved then, beside her. He took her chin, so lightly, on the tip of a finger, and guided it around so their eyes met once more. "What are you telling me?"

  "I … that I want to know, what it said."

  His eyes scanned her face, seeking, hoping, yearning. He let out a breath. "Nothing that you don't already know. It said I love you. It said I want you. It said you should call me. Immediately."

  She took his hand, kissed it, lowered it so their two hands lay between them. "I did call you. You weren't home. Then I had this … feeling, to come here."

  He didn't say anything, but he did squeeze her hand.

  She squeezed back. "Love is a funny thing."

  He grunted at that and spoke gruffly. "I don't think it's so damn funny."

  She felt a rueful smile curve her mouth. "All right, maybe funny is the wrong word. Maybe 'miraculous' would be better."

  He still wasn't buying. "What's so miraculous about it?"

  "Well, it … grows. And it's always there, waiting, for us to grow, too."

  He let out a low sound. "Come on, Jen. Maybe I come here and talk to a dead guy. Maybe I found out I can relate to a cat. Maybe I even managed to write a damn love letter. But I just don't get this mystical stuff."

  She hid her smile and said, "I loved Andrew."

  "Damn it." He tried to pull his hand from hers, but she held on. "I know you did. You don't have to rub it in."

  She bumped her shoulder against his. "Nick?"

  "What?" He growled the word.

  "Let me finish."

  "Fine. Finish."

  She leaned against him. "I loved Andrew. And Andrew is dead and I thought it would kill me. But it didn't. I lived. I lived to fall in love with you, Nick."

  He whispered then, "Would you say that again?"

  So she did. "I love you, Nick. And it's the real thing. As real as it was with Andrew. It's … what both you and Polly have been trying to tell me. That Andrew is dead. But not really gone from us. That we are so fortunate. We knew him. He was half of what made Polly. He was a wonderful husband to me. And a true friend to you. And you and me, we … found each other, because of him. I've been such a fool, to turn away from that. To try to hide from it. To think that by turning my back on it, I could make it go away. It won't go away. Never. Not this love I feel for you. It's … just as you said, Nick. The damage is already done. The spaces are already made, in my life, in my heart. I can't make them go away by pretending they're not there."

  Nick put his mouth against her ear. She shivered at the touch of his lips on her skin. "Just tell it to me straight. Are you asking me to marry you?"

  She turned, enough so her mouth was almost touching his. "I want us to be a family. You, me and Polly. I'd like us to marry, you and me. And I want you to build us a house. Our house, the three of ours—with a little extra room in it, in case more kids come along. Do you want that?"

  He said her name against her lips. And then he kissed her. It was more than answer enough.

  After a moment, he pulled away and looked at her. "Yes," he said, just in case she hadn't understood before.

  With a sigh, she leaned her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time.

  Then, in low tones, they began to plan the future they would share.

  As they whispered together, a gentle breeze came up. The oak branches rustled. And a robin swooped down, perched on Andrew's headstone—and lifted its head in joyous, full-throated song.

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