Page 123 of Happy After All

I laugh, watery and emotional. “Barely. It’s really beautiful.”

He nods, and I see heaviness in his eyes.

“You finished,” I say.

He nods again. “Yes. I did.”

There is a finality to it, as there is with everything he does. This certainty. He told the story. The story of this beautiful, defining relationship. The story of this person. Because yes, their love was part of it, and the way he loves her is key to it, but ultimately, it is the story of a singular woman and how she lived. How she made sure to leave on her own terms, even if she wouldn’t have chosen to leave when she did.

“I can see why she’s the love of your life,” I say softly. “It was really a lovely relationship.”

“Yeah. I’m lucky,” he says.

But again, there’s that finality.

It’s like the fall of the guillotine.

Losing Sarah has separated him off from possibility, and that’s what hewants.

He did it. He was her husband, and it’s over now.

Now he’s done this.

I’m desperate to know what that means for him. What will become of him now? Will he go back to Bainbridge Island and rot away in his office while he writes books about other people? Characters he will never give a romance to, because obviously he wants to avoid the implications of romance. I’m worried, because I know about my own tendencies.

Yes, I came here. I revamped the motel, I did make friends. I also know I spent a long time keeping parts of myself locked away. I have too much in common with him not to worry about his isolation.

“Maybe I’ll travel the world,” he says.

I don’t believe him.

I can see that he doesn’t see anything magical in the world anymore. He is fixed. He doesn’t feel wonder. He is locked still in that old world, where all the joy has been leached out. Of course I selfishly want him to see a different possibility. A different future. Though, it’s more than that. He can be done. Done with love, as much as I wish that weren’t the case. I don’t want him to be done with life. With the world. With magic. I feel a small amount of hope because he’s had sex with me. That sounds silly. In reality, sex, the way we’re doing it, is just to feel good. Just to feel close. It’s alchemy between two bodies. I know there are cynical versions of that, but what we have isn’t cynical.

“Well, you’re done withthis,” I say. “I’m on track with my book again. We should go camping.”

“Camping?”

“Yes.”

“You have a dive-in movie.”

“Yes, I do, and any number of people can set it up for me. Let’s get out of here. Let’s get out of ... your head.”

I want him to feel some magic. I want to. I need it.

“You have camping gear?” he asks.

I laugh. “Believe it or not, I do.”

In the early days, there were renovations, and also, sometimes being contained in four walls felt too claustrophobic. Being alone with my thoughts without the feedback of birds or the sun or something other than the echo in my skull.

“Well, okay then. I can’t see a reason not to.”

I can’t tell if that means he wants to or not.

I get off the bed and move over to where he sits. I grab his face, and I stare into those green eyes. “Okay, but that’s not enough. I want you to come camping with me because I want you to see the sunset. Because I want you to see the stars. I want you to fuck me outside because that sounds amazing and I’ve never done that before. I want you to see that there are good things.” My breath hitches. “I wantmeto see that there are good things. It’s been a lot of pain for a long time. We deserve something.”

It’s on the verge of being a declaration, and he doesn’t pull away from me like I’m afraid he might. Instead, he hangs on to my wrist and looks back at me.

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