Penny in London

by Fisher Amelie

  And there was Oli on the other side of the platform, facing me across the tracks. I stood and walked toward the edge, stopping just short of the painted yellow line and its mind the gap.

  “Where you’re standing,” he said, “that’s where she jumped.”

  I took two involuntary steps back as if the fate of that day still lingered in that spot.

  “I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “How could she have fallen for Graham’s tricks?” he asked no one.

  “He’s very convincing,” I answered anyway.

  Oliver looked startled. “I forget you fell for his deceptions just as she had.”

  Two tears escaped and spilled over my cheeks. “We did.”

  “I’m sorry for you both.”

  I shook my head at him. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me, Oli.”

  “Oh, but I do,” he said. “You were caught up in our disaster and we whirled you about us without bracing you for the damage. I can’t believe I was party to that, to a second victim.”

  “You’re only a victim if you allow yourself to be.”

  He stared at me. “You are stronger than her, it seems.”

  “Not necessarily. I didn’t know her. I only know she must have felt as if she had no alternative. I don’t know the demons she struggled with. Only God knows that. All I know is that because of Him a-and because of you, there is nothing I wouldn’t want to live for.”

  A train broke through our conversation, coming to a stop on his side. People unloaded and loaded, strolling in and around our suspended conversation. I could feel the words breaking up, twirling about our heads. I braced myself for their landing as the train pulled away, steeling myself for what I knew was going to be something extraordinary and difficult.

  “I’m sorry for the hole Graham has created.”

  Oliver studied me. “Do you feel responsible to answer for him?”

  I didn’t know what to say, how to respond. In a way, I did. In a way, I didn’t. Instead of answering, I asked, “When you look at me now, do you see him?”

  “No,” he answered.

  This made five additional tears drip down my cheeks. I counted each one. “I can’t tell you what it means to hear you say that.”

  He looked at me with softness. “How could I?” he asked. “When you are the sun and the moon and the stars. When you are everything bright and lovely, Penelope. You are his antithesis, but more importantly, you are your own soul, completely removed, severed from his poison and no longer subject to his stain. You are washed clean by none other than your own nature. You surpass him. You always have.

  “Your lips and teeth speak only love,” he continued. “No, I could never see him and you in the same place. I never have. I see you alone, Penelope. I see no other. You are all I see.”

  I gasped a watery breath and sobbed.

  “Oliver.”

  “Yes, dearest?”

  “This is the hour, the minute, the second.”

  He offered a smile. “This is the moment?” he asked.

  “This is it.”

  Another train came bounding through on my side, rolling to a stop, as my heart pounded against my ribs. I felt desperate as passengers descended around me, taking with them the seconds that had belonged to Oliver. All my seconds belonged to him, would belong to him. I knew this with certainty.

  The train fled the station but there was no Oliver on his side of the tracks. I peered up the center stairs but couldn’t see him.

  All at once, I was turned into a winded chest, a storm of emotions pouring all about us, peeling in layers of joy, sorrow, grief, desire, despair, pride, respect, and happiness, but most of all a passionate love.

  “I love you, Penelope Beckett,” Oliver Finn promised, and he kissed me as if the world was ending.

  Acceptance

  [ak-sep-tuh ns]

  noun

  1. the act of taking or receiving something offered.

  Penelope Beckett accepts Oliver Finn’s offer.

  Six months later…

  “Scoot over, babe,” I told Oli.

  Oli laughed then glanced to his right. “There is literally not an extra inch I could move, love.”

  “Well, it’s either find the room or we move because my derrière can’t wedge into this infinitesimal space.”

  “You’ll have to settle for my lap then,” he said, leaning back, and bringing back a memory from long ago.

  I tsked. “God, help me.”

  Oli mock gasped. “You’ve blasphemed in a house of the Lord. Ten lashings on the rear when we get back to my house, I’m afraid.”

  I shook my head. “You wish.”

  Oli leaned into me. “I most certainly do,” he whispered.

  “Control yourself,” I ordered with a smirk.

  “Or, perhaps, you could make me.”

  I stifled a laugh. “Oli, what’s wrong with you?”

  He smiled at me. “I can’t help it. You can’t look so fetching without a reaction from me. It’s not right.”

  “Duly noted. From now on, it’s burlap and burlap only from here on out.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t, love. Your followers would never stand for it.”

  I raised a brow at him. “You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  The soft piano music that had been playing came to an end, indicating we needed to stand. The congregation rose with a flourish, their pews creaking with the effort, and turned toward the ancient church doors. They swept open as a pair of violins began to sing the “Swedish Wedding March,” with its melancholy, beautiful, yet hopeful tone. It defined Jasper and Claire so well. With immediate tears, I took a staggering breath as Claire descended the aisle in a white silk gown with a dragging train, which seemed to roll along the stone beneath her feet, gathering all the good that had ever fallen there. Below her flowered crown, a smile befitting the happiest bride I had ever seen rested on her lovely face.

  Oliver looked at me, but I was too satisfied in the match to care I was crying. His brows bit together in concern, his finger finding an unwieldy tear, catching and wiping it away.

  “I always cry at weddings,” I whispered.

  “That may be true,” he whispered back, “but that is not your cause today.” He smiled. “These are the tears of a dear friend.”

  I smiled up at him. He took my hand and squeezed it.

  Oliver looked at Claire. “You can’t even tell she’s expecting.”

  I stifled a gasp. “What!” I whisper-yelled. “How did you know?”

  Oliver gave me a sarcastic smile. “They’ve only been dating for a few months, half that time he’s back in LA, then suddenly he makes a massive move here and they get married in less than a month?” he whispered in my ear.

  I bit my bottom lip. “I suppose it feels a little obvious, but they do love one another.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” he stated.

  “They want to do things correctly now.”

  Oli smiled. “That’s sweet, Pen.” I nodded. “Until the kid does the math.”

  I snorted to hold back my laughter.

  “Shh!” a woman behind me scolded.

  My face flamed and my mouth dropped open. “You got me in trouble.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he teased.

  Oli leaned into me and placed my hand in his as Claire and Jasper exchanged vows. “It’s rather pretty, that promise.”

  “Mmm, yes. They exude something so sweet, so tangible, I feel like I could reach out into the air and bottle it up,” I said.

  We watched as they exchanged rings, their first kiss as husband and wife, and when the minister introduced them to the world as married, we all stood and cheered. Jasper and Claire walked back down the aisle as one.

  When Claire reached us, she placed her hand on my cheek and smiled.

  I placed my hand on hers. In a choked voice, I told her, “Cong
ratulations, Mrs. Turner.”

  Once the wedding party exited behind the happy couple, people started moving in droves to leave the church.

  Oliver grabbed my hand and held me there. “Stay,” he said, “sit. Let the crowd clear. We’ll catch up soon enough.”

  I moved beside him once more and we sat in that unhurried manner, the morning sun seeping through the tall stained glass windows, piercing the pews and people milling around us. I watched Oliver beside me. A single ray found his eyes, making them transparent. I peered closer as if I could see through them all the way into the depths of his soul.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked me.

  “I can see forever, you know. It’s right there in your eyes,” I told him.

  “Can you now?” he whispered.

  “That I can.”

  “What if I told you that all you saw, you could have?” he asked.

  “Forever is a generous gift, Oliver.”

  “No, no. It’s much more selfish than that, Penelope.”

  I smiled at him, but his face stayed deliberate and my smile fell.

  My breath caught in my throat. “Why don’t I think you’re teasing now, Oliver?”

  He sat up and leaned over me, his face inches from mine. “I am perfectly serious, Miss Beckett,” his deep voice crooned. “Would you have forever with me? Would you sit beside me just as you are now, in this manner, in this church, in this pew, for all the days of our lives?”

  My smile found my face once more. “Happily, sir.”

  “Then so be it, my darling,” he replied, cementing eternity. Oliver kissed me sweetly then, clenching his hand in mine. He gestured to the cross hanging at the front of the church. “What a gift He gave me in you, though I am wholly underserving.”

  “None of us are,” I told him.

  He smiled and kissed my temple. “What an adventure we will have,” he promised, then looked at me. “What an unbelievable adventure it’s been.” We sat silent for at least a minute. “Have you absorbed it then?”

  With glassy eyes, I replied, “I think so.”

  “We’re getting married, Pen,” he stated softly, clutching me to him.

  “I will be your bride, Oliver.”

  “And I, your groom.” He shifted in his seat and reached into his jacket pocket. “I have a ring for you. Your mum helped me pick it out, and I’ve been walking around with it for weeks now.” He pulled out a wooden box and pried open the lid. I reached for the ring, but he beat me to it. “Let me,” he said, pulling it from its pillow.

  Oliver Finn slid the ring onto my shaking finger. “There now,” he said, “where it belongs.”

  “It’s breathtaking, Oliver,” I whispered.

  “It’s befitting then.” I smiled up at him. “What say you to a Christmas wedding, Pen?”

  “I say that would be lovely.”

  “Pen?”

  “Yes, Oliver?”

  “I have chosen to be the forever kind.”

  “A very good choice, Oliver.”

  “And Pen?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I love you.”

  …“How are the kids, yeah?” Claire asked.

  “Great, Claire, they’re great. Growing like weeds.”

  “That’s brilliant, Penny. Give my love to Oliver.”

  “And my love to Jasper.”

  Visit FisherAmelie.com

  Please, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-TALK

  Or chat with someone online: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

  Life is worth living, you are not alone, and the way you feel is nothing to be ashamed of. Trust me. - Peace and love, Fisher Amelie

  Listen to the soundtrack to Penny in London on Spotify!

  My card, darling… Go on, email me. I’ll write back.