Page 116 of My Wife
In Cobbiton and during the travel I’ve done with Liam, fans notice him and ask for autographs and selfies. But they don’t give me a second glance.
Here, he’s a hometown hero and while I’d happily remain invisible, I feel eyes on me, people wondering, and wearing curious looks.
More than that, I’m still processing.
The Ellis family thinks I’m KJ’s mom and he didn’t correct them.
Grandma Dolly, as expert as a lip reader as she is, didn’t seem to notice the mistake. Or, if she did, she didn’t comment.
Plus, she’s in hockey heaven, having been to more live games these last few months than in all the years she’s been a Knights fan.
As we leave the city behind and head north toward Sir William Bay on Lake Huron and then on to Brookking Sound, the landscape changes from big city to countryside with water to one side and rolling green hills to the other.
The islands remind me of turtles and the many boats in the port area represent a different kind of life than in Cornfield, USA, aka Cobbiton.
“This could be a postcard,” I say, taking it in.
“It is,” Liam says.
When we reach Brookking Sound with its town square and picturesque main street lined with quaint shops and restaurants, I spot Tucker’s Coffee across the street from Daisy’s Bakery. Phew, my caffeine needs will be met.
Though, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve been here before. “This looks familiar.”
Liam grunts as if charming towns like this are a dime a dozen. It’s similar to Cobbiton, but with the proximity of the water and the northern location, the air and light are different, silver rather than gold. Liquid rather than amber waves of grain.
“Oh, and it boasts the Rainer Ellis Hall of Fame. We’ll have to take a field trip there,” Liam says as we pass through a neighborhood.
He turns onto a sunny street bordered by shade trees and onto a sprawling property with a three-story cedar shingle and stone house with loads of windows and multiple chimneys. The wraparound porch hosts rocking chairs, welcoming everyone from the Ellis family to their guests to stop and chat for a while. It’s delightful. The various cars we caravanned with are already parked in the driveway.
“This is where you grew up?” I ask.
A nod in reply is all I get from Liam.
Sometimes I just want to shake him … like a jar of glitter.
“It’s the kind of place I would’ve wanted to live in when I was a kid,” I breathe, recalling the numerous apartments and houses I shuffled between. I bet there’s a big tree in the backyard to climb. Maybe a play set. A fort or tree house. Lots of room to wander and dream.
We have a welcome committee waiting for us, including an older woman who looks like she’d join Grandma Dolly for cards and another woman who resembles Liam’s mom. They dote on him like he’s royalty while Mrs. Ellis pulls me in for a hug. It’s my third one. Yes, I’m counting. It’s not every day you meet a mother who is so warm and welcoming, rather than “smothering.” Yes, I’m thinking about Sorsha.
Belinda ushers me inside. “We’re so glad you’re here. Let’s get you settled in. It looks like my mother and sister have absconded with Liam, Dolly, and KJ. You’ll be staying with us. We have a full house with Ingrid and company, plus when she’s here, Hendrix and Colette will often spend the night because we’re not the only ones who spoil the nieces and nephews.”
“Thank you for hosting.” My voice sounds small which is how I feel. Not because of anything the Ellises have said or done, but because of who I am and where I came from.
“But of course.” Mrs. Ellis goes on to tell me the faucet in the bathroom can be a little fussy because the house is old. No, it’s perfect and I am not. I don’t feel worthy of this big whirlwind of a family. They’re wonderful. The kinds of people portrayed in movies, but this is real life.
Liam’s parents live in San Diego now, but I imagine the interior of the house has remained the same for the last thirty years. It’s relatively traditional with timeless décor—a leather couch topped with throw blankets and pillows, several inviting sitting areas, and bookshelves. Custom window treatments frame the mutton-bar glass and family photos top the mantle. It smells like lavender, faintly of toast, and just like home.
I love it.
… and I’m staying in Liam’s room while he bunks in the TV room.
Crossed hockey sticks cover the blue wallpaper and a photo of his high school team hangs over his bureau. It takes me a moment to find him, but when I do, high school me has an instant crush on high school Liam.
Tucked into the mirror over his dresser are multiple photos of him at games, his graduation tassel, and other memorabilia.
The bedding is deep gray with blue stripes. It might seem weird, but I press the pillow to my face to see if he’s always smelled the same—soapy clean and masculine.
Pucks fill a basket on the floor and a balled-up shirt sits on a wooden chair like he left it there during his last visit.
