by Robert Hass
After zipping the duffel bag, he tossed it over his shoulder and started down the stairs for one last walk-through to make sure the windows were secure before turning the key over to the Realtor.
He dropped the duffel at the foot of the stairs and went from room to room. Outside the garden room, he paused. Notches and dates lined the doorframe where Lydia had measured his height every year on his birthday. Clayton Hawkins’s measurements were there, too, a silent reminder of the Hawkins blood running through his veins.
With a sigh, Sloan trailed his fingers over the notches one last time. The garden room was empty now, free of Lydia’s makeshift bedroom, but no longer the sunny, white wicker room filled with plants he remembered from boyhood.
So many questions had been answered since his return. Yet Sloan Hawkins was as alone as ever.
No, that wasn’t true. He had God now and a peace inside, no matter how much he hurt with all that had happened.
Movement caught the corner of his eye and he looked out the window.
Someone was in the garden. A lanky figure wandered aimlessly through the colorful flower beds.
His chest squeezed. Justin.
What was he going to do about his son? Would Annie let him have any part at all in the boy’s life now? Or would Justin be as lost to him as his mother and Annie?
With heavy heart and unsure of what he would say to the son that wasn’t his to claim, Sloan slid open the French doors and stepped out onto the veranda.
A hot wind came around the corner of the house. Instant sweat this time of year.
He stood, one hand on the veranda railing, watching his son, loving him and helpless to do anything about it. Justin must have felt his stare, for he looked over one shoulder.
“Hey,” Sloan said.
Justin’s nostrils flared. “You’re a jerk.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.”
“Save it for someone who cares.”
Well, so much for a friendly father-son conversation. He stepped off the porch and started toward the boy. “You okay?”
“You tell me. My grandpa is in jail for murdering my grandma. My other grandma is knocked out on nerve medicine. My mom won’t stop crying and now my dad is leaving.” He jutted a belligerent chin. “You are leaving, aren’t you? Walking out. Just like my old man. Dads are jerks.”
“Look, Justin, you don’t understand. Life is complicated sometimes. I never—”
“Save the bull. I understand plenty. You show up like some big shot on a Harley and make my mama happy again and now you’re making her cry.”
“What are you talking about?” Annie was crying over her father, not him.
“Don’t play dumb. You know what you did.”
“I never meant to cause your mother any harm. Your grandfather either.”
“Yeah, well, Grandpa is a jerk, too.” Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. Sloan could see the emotion infuriated him. “He killed your mom, he should pay for it. That’s what he told me when I got into trouble. Do the crime, you do the time.”
Sloan couldn’t argue that, but he didn’t want Justin suffering for his grandfather’s sins. “None of this has anything to do with you.”
“Sure it does.” His shoulder twitched. “But I already know none of it is my fault, so don’t go Dr. Phil on me, okay?”
Sloan almost smiled. Chip off the old block. He loved this kid. If he had nothing else in life to be thankful for, he’d celebrate the son he hadn’t known.
Justin picked up a dirt clod and chucked it against the fence. “Will you talk to Mom before you leave?”
“Better not.”
“Figures. Jerk.” Another dirt clod slammed the fence.
Sloan sighed and reached down for his own dirt clod. “Understand something, son, I love your mother, but all I’ve ever done is hurt her.”
“Yeah, like now when you’re walking out on her again. I heard her talking to Jilly this morning. You know Jilly, Mom’s friend.” When Sloan nodded in recognition, the boy continued. “She started crying and Jilly said she should talk to you about something.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. When Mom was crying she said some dumb, mushy stuff about real love being forever.” He chucked another clod and then spun on his tennis shoes. “What’s the use? Go back to Virginia. I don’t care. Mom will get over you. We all will.”
Before Justin reached the freshly painted picket gate his words clicked inside Sloan’s brain. Real love was forever. Did that mean Annie loved him enough to put aside all the grief and heartache between them?
Was it possible she didn’t blame him for her father’s fall from grace?
He let the dirt ball fall to the ground at his feet. One thing was for sure, he was not leaving town without talking things over with Annie. He’d done that before and missed years of Justin’s life. If Annie wanted him gone, she’d have to tell him to his face.
“Hey, Justin.”
The boy paused, one hand on the gate. “What?”
“Want a ride on my bike?”
“Where?”
“To your house. I need to talk to your mother.”
Annie thought she might go ahead and have that heart attack she’d been promising herself when she heard the roar of a Harley and saw her son on the seat behind Sloan.
“I want to ride, too.”
Annie looked down at Delaney. “Don’t even ask.”
“But why? Justin got a ride.”
Ignoring the common refrain, Annie burst out the front door and into the yard. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Simultaneously, father and son dismounted the bike and exchanged grins. Justin unfastened the chin strap on a helmet Annie had never seen before. Did Sloan actually own a helmet?
“I told you she’d be mad.”
“Worried, not mad,” Annie corrected.
Justin had never been impressed with her worry. “I had to talk to Sloan.”
“About?”
Sloan motioned toward the house. “We need to talk. You and me.”
Annie’s heart skipped a beat. “We do?”
“I’m not leaving until we’ve cleared the air.”
But he was leaving. Why did the announcement hurt so badly when she’d prepared for this moment? “Justin, you and Delaney go play in your rooms for a little while. Sloan and I need some privacy.”
Justin cast another glance at Sloan before taking Delaney’s hand. “Come on, I’ll play that dolly game with you.”
Delaney’s face scrunched up. “You hate that game.”
“Yeah, I know. Come on. Grown-up talk is important.”
The kids disappeared inside and Annie waited, awkward and uncertain.
Sloan motioned toward the house again. “Mind if we talk inside?”
“Oh, sure.” She led the way, painfully aware of Sloan close at her back. If he touched her, she’d crumble. Afraid she’d plead with him to stay in this town he hated, Annie took a seat across the room.
Instead of sitting in the indicated chair, Sloan paced. He said nothing for the longest time. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about your dad. In my wildest dreams, I never suspected he was the man I’d seen the night my mother disappeared.”
“You must hate him.”
“I’m trying not to. A year ago, I would have. Now—” He shrugged. “Hate is counterproductive. If I love you, I can’t hate your father.”
Unable to believe her ears, Annie slowly rose. “Did you just say you love me? After everything my father has done to destroy you?”
“Real love is forever.” His words were spoken with a soft, hopeful smile. “Isn’t that what you told Jilly?”
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Justin and his big ears. “I— Sloan, don’t feel obligated.”
He covered the floor between them in two giant strides. “Obligated? Annie girl, you are my heart and soul. I’m the problem. Always have been. I’ve caused you nothing but trouble, enough to make you throw
me under a bus, though I never meant to.” He thumped a fist against his chest. “I can’t breathe when I think about never seeing you again.”
Annie blinked twice and then still couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “You think the blame was yours? You think I’d hold my father’s sins against you?”
“Don’t you?” His jaw worked and it was all she could do not to throw her arms around him.
“No! Nothing that’s happened is your fault. Or mine either. Listen to me and listen good, Sloan Hawkins. Even if you leave and never come back, you take my love with you. Again.”
With a groan that pierced Annie to the soul, Sloan yanked her against his chest. She went willingly, happily, and circled her arms around him, feeling the powerful thud of his heart against hers.
“I can’t go. I can’t. I tried to do what was best for you, but—” His desperate mouth found her hair, her ear, her cheek.
Flushed, thrilled, her heart banging out of her ribcage, Annie reveled in his touch. Finally. Finally.
“I was afraid,” she whispered, turning her face toward his.
“Me, too,” he murmured against her lips. “Terrified.”
“Never again. We have to trust each other.”
“Always. Forever.” He pulled back a little. “Marry me, Annie. Marry me in the garden our son and this town helped restore.” His fingers played across her cheek. “What do you say, pretty girl? Wanna grow old together?”
“What about your business?”
“You are my business. You and Justin and Delaney. The job in Virginia is something I can do anywhere in the world. A little travel, maybe, but I’ll take you with me. We’ll see the world together.”
“I’d love that.” Was this happening? But the look in Sloan’s eyes told her it was.
Fingers rough but tender, he caressed her cheek, his intense blue gaze holding hers. “Every time I took a trip, I’d think of how much better it would be if you were there. I want to show you everything. To give you everything.”
Happiness curved the corners of her mouth. Oh, how she loved this man. “Sounds like bribery.”
He squinted at her. “Is it working? Will you be my love, my wife, my heart forever after?”
Relishing the moment, basking in the glow of love finally realized, Annie caressed the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He had wonderful hair. Wonderful eyes. A wonderful heart. “On one condition.”
He nipped at her lips. “I like negotiations. What’s the condition?”
“I want to live with you in that wonderful old Victorian, to raise our children there, to make new and beautiful memories that will cover all the bad ones.”
Sloan leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. “See why I love you? You always say the right things.”
“I love that house. Your roots are there. Justin’s, too. Years of good, solid people named Hawkins.”
“Yeah.” Wonder lit his blue, blue eyes. He smiled and Annie knew he finally understood who he was.
“I love you, Sloan Hawkins, daddy to my son, love of my life, good and decent man of honor.”
His face softened, tender and emotional. “Oh, Annie. My sweet, sweet Annie.”
Then she pulled him close and rocked them back and forth, content and filled. For finally and at last, the fog had cleared, the past was behind them and they could move forward to the future.
Epilogue
The Redemption Register proclaimed it the wedding of the century when early in October, Sloan Hawkins wed Annie Markham in the newly renovated Wedding Garden. Annie found the exaggeration endearing but agreed, as she glanced out the window of the garden room to the gathering throng, it was, by far, one of the best days of her life.
The weather was perfect, as if it had no choice, and only the slightest breeze with a hint of cool ruffled the glorious flood of color. Guests flowed in through the open picket gate which had been appropriately decorated in a cheerful spray of bow-tied sunflowers. The stately Victorian home, the residence of generations of Hawkinses, was alive with laughter and anticipation, as it was always meant to be. In celebration of the day, the season and the reopening of the Wedding Garden, apricot-colored tulle dotted with mums in splashes of orange, yellow and bronze festooned the wrap-around veranda. The tulle repeated in dips and swirls down the steps, into the garden and as a border along either side of the leaf-strewn pathway leading to the lush green meadow at the far end. There, a wedding arbor twined with tulle and ivy was bracketed by white guest chairs and shaded by showy red and gold maples. Beneath that arbor, she would join her life to Sloan’s.
Delighted butterflies took flight in her stomach.
She could see Sloan’s friends among the people, but not him. They’d flown in from Virginia and a host of new Redemption friends had made them welcome. Annie didn’t know how she would have pulled everything together without those blessed, caring friends.
Kitty Wainright and Cheyenne Bowman had taken charge of the veranda for the reception. Kitty commandeered Jace Carter to help with the tables and if a few people noticed the tender looks passing from Jace to Kitty, they blamed the romantic mood of the day. Everyone knew the widowed Kitty would always mourn her soldier.
White linen cloths covered the tables set with a giant wedding cake made especially for the day by Miriam Martinelli down at the Sugar Shack. God bless the Martinellis. They’d worked for days on the luscious-looking creation. And both Sloan and Annie had agreed the day would not be true without clear glass jars of Aunt Lydia’s lemonade and more jars of sweet tea to quench the thirst and bring the family history full circle.
“Annie.” Her mother’s voice turned her from the lace-bracketed windows. “It’s almost time.”
The news she’d wanted to hear jump-started her pulse. She giggled and the entourage crowded into the room laughed with her. So many smiles.
“Mama,” she said softly, feeling the bittersweet moment. Her father wasn’t here to give her away, but her heart had been Sloan’s for so long, she’d decided to forgo that one tradition and simply go to him as she should have years ago. Tears threatened. Daddy wouldn’t come home for a long time.
Her mother pulled her gently into an embrace. “Only tears of joy are allowed today. The day you’ve dreamed of since you were sixteen.”
She nodded, blinking back the moisture. Her mother had shown surprising strength during the weeks and months since the terrible confession. The town and church had wrapped their collective arms around her and helped her through this hardest of times. The wedding, Carleen claimed, was good for her. Planning had kept her too busy to think so much about the other. Still, Annie ached for her mother.
“You mess up that makeup and I’ll hurt you.” Jilly, her best friend and maid of honor, shoved a Kleenex into her hand. “No crying until after the pictures, you hear me?”
Annie retreated from her mother’s hug with a watery smile. “Yes, boss.”
Jilly was gorgeous today in a burnt-orange gown that set her red hair afire. Freckles and all, Annie thought she looked lovely.
She smoothed damp palms over her soft ruched and draped satin skirt of palest gold. She felt like a princess. No, not a princess. A blessed woman, beautiful because of the love filling her heart and soul. The pale gold gown was only window dressing.
From outside, she heard the faint strains of an acoustic guitar. “Oh. Oh.” She waved nervous fingers in front of her.
Kitty Wainright poked her head through the door. “Time to rock and roll, ladies. Mrs. Crawford, your escort awaits.”
Annie’s brother, Neil, stood in the hall, crooked arm extended. Though he lived in Dallas, Neil had been coming home more often since their father’s arrest. “Ready, Mom?”
Carleen’s gaze met his and then swirled back to Annie. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Stop, Mama.” Annie rapidly fanned a hand in front of her eyes. “You’ll get me started again. Go. Take your rightful place as mother of the b
ride.”
In a rustle of satin and lace, last-minute peeks in the mirror and a final hug, Carleen hooked her hand into her son’s elbow and disappeared.
Delaney was next, as the only bridesmaid, dressed in a flowing burnt-orange gown identical to Jilly’s. Her white-blond hair, held back by a pearl headband, fell softly around her shoulders. Holding a single, beribboned sunflower, she proudly followed her grandmother down the hall with Jilly close behind.
Then there was only Annie.
“Lord,” she whispered. “Thank You.” She knew God would understand all her heart held that words could not express.
Two ushers, wearing black tuxes and silly grins, swung wide the double French doors and Annie stepped out onto the veranda. “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” swelled in joyous announcement over the gathering. She stood for a moment, soaking in the beautiful music and the Wedding Garden filled with friends and loved ones. Cameras flashed and snicked. She smiled and found the one her heart was reaching toward. He was there at the end of the pathway beneath the arbor, hands folded in front of him, waiting for her. She would finally be his. He would finally be hers. He smiled and the world, already bright with fall color and the spill of sunshine, seemed to glow.
There was Justin, too. Oh, my, he looked so grown-up and handsome, standing next to Mack Jett, Sloan’s best man. She’d never seen her son prouder than the day Sloan had asked him to be his one and only groomsman.
They were stunning, all of them. Standing beneath the arbor with red and gold leaves rustling around them and the colors of the wedding blending with the season. Jilly and Delaney, Justin and Mack, with Pastor Parker between them.
But most of all—oh, most of all—her husband-to-be. In a black tux and a pale gold vest that matched her dress, with his black hair perfectly groomed and his blue eyes fastened on her, Sloan Hawkins was the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
“I love you,” she mouthed, and his smile grew wider. He hitched his chin as if to say “Come on. I miss you.”
Annie grinned and raised one eyebrow, then lifted the hem of her skirt and descended the steps to the path of autumn leaves scattered along the stone walkway.