by Lindsey Hart
She shrugged. “Then I’ll go. Don’t borrow tomorrow’s troubles. If my mom ever taught me anything of value, it was that.”
“And the house?”
“What about the house? She’ll either crumble and fall or eventually you’ll put her right. I doubt there could be a lot of in the middle.”
He slowly smiled. That hard web of pain clenching his heart started to unravel. He felt freed, in the same way he had the first time she’d come back. “You’re awful certain of yourself.” As he said the words he saw doubt flicker in her eyes for the first time. A flash of her own pain, an insight into just, shockingly, what he meant to her.
“Should I not be?”
Joe reached out and gently touched her arm. He drew her in with his half-healed hand, into the solid wall of his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she slowly unfolded into him, melting against him.
She reached up and placed her warm, delicate hand on his neck. He bent his head, closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to hers. She was there, in his arms and the bleak future he’d promised himself, set out for himself, truly seemed anything but dark.
EPILOGUE
Charity
The best part of having a brand-new kitchen, even if it had been designed to look old, was the coffee. Real, honest coffee brewed in a real machine, powered by real power, not just a generator.
Prissy lay sprawled out on the brand new checkered floor. The kitchen was her domain. It always had been, even after it was freshly renovated. Her kittens, all four of them, grown into beautiful, healthy adult cats, were nowhere in sight. Charity knew their habits and she was willing to bet they were out in the yard, giving the birds in the garden hell.
“I thought you were supposed to be cutting back on that. It’s not healthy right now.”
Charity whirled, blushing guiltily as Joe strode into the kitchen. He’d cut his hair, decided to wear it short and oddly enough, grew out his beard. She loved it either way. She loved him either way.
“It’s decaf,” she responded quickly. Too quickly.
He grinned. “We both know that’s a lie.” His eyes danced with amusement. “Just one cup a day, right?”
“And lots of water. And Vitamins. And fruits and vegetables. And less bread,” she parroted the doctor they’d just been to see, and Joe laughed. “At least we have the garden in. Vegetables are so much better when they’re ones we’ve grown.”
“That’s right. It’s great you’ve got it memorized.” He frowned, but it wasn’t a true expression. “I suppose that’s not going to stop you from making that apple pie you promised me tonight?”
She set the mug down on the brand-new butcher block countertop, next to the white farmhouse sink. “Of course not. The best part of having this kitchen is that it smells like a kitchen again.” She beckoned him with her index finger. “Come here, my love.” She moved slightly so that he had to come to her. He did so without complaint. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her gently, almost reverently. She set one hand on Joe’s broad chest, the cotton of his t-shirt warmed by his skin. She inhaled the sweet scent that she’d come to learn was just his. “You know that I’ll always be careful. I’m just as excited as you are.”
“I know.” A shadow passed over his eyes, but then it was gone. “I know you’re not glass. I’ve made my peace with the past. I’m just as worried as any future father is.”
“You have eight more months of that, my love. Both of us.” Charity cast her eyes out the window. “Damn that cat. It’s Bella. She’s got her collar off again and the bell with it. I can tell from here that she doesn’t have it. I’ll have to search the yard again.”
“You’re awful hard on those poor cats.”
“And they’re awful hard on the birds. Why put out feeders if it’s just leading them to slaughter?”
Joe sighed. “You’re right. I’ll go out and look for it.”
Charity reached for his hand. “I’ll come with you. She brought his palm up to counter height and examined it. She loved how the square nails were always dirty underneath, stained with paint. She loved the way the creases of his skin, the web of his palm was just as stained in a million bright colors. Most of all, she loved that those hands made her come alive, on canvas and in every other way.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s been five years. Five long years to get this place back to what it once was.”
“Oh, it was never like this. Now she has power and internet and running water. She’s modern.”
“We saved a lot of her character though, don’t you think?”
Joe’s eyes glowed. He bent and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead. “Yes. I do think. I think, if she could talk, she’d thank us.”
“She’d thank me.” Charity feigned seriousness. “It was me who refused to leave.”
“Technically we both refused to leave, if I recall correctly.”
“That might be true. I guess you’re right. She’d thank you too. That old couch that was in the living room and the pantry that was in the kitchen, they don’t thank you.”
“Oh, they do. They’re happy somewhere else.”
During the long years of renovations, the trades, the modernization, the endless dust and building materials, the long hours, she and Joe made the decision to sell off most of the antiques. They all went to loving homes and people were very glad to get them at bargain prices.
The house was now unrecognizable. The floors had been sanded and restained. Most of the walls were new since the wiring had to be put in for power. The ceilings too were new. Shockingly, most of the siding could be brought back to life with a few fresh coats of paint. The porch was redone, bathrooms added, the kitchen gutted and brought back almost exactly the way it had been before.
It was the gardens and the yard that truly made a difference. A team of landscapers had been hired and they’d worked their magic. It wasn’t nearly the same as it had been before, even in the height of its glory. It was different, and it was beautiful for it. Now it was a place Joe truly loved to paint.
“And you? Are you happy, my dear?” She gazed up into the depths of his loving eyes. She could see the answer written all over his face.
As the years marched on and their lives intertwined, as the house changed, and their futures merged into a solid line, they’d made the decision to be married. Joe hadn’t wanted to do it in town, but Charity, who had made it a point to get to know just about everyone, insisted. To his surprise, people had been supportive and kind. They accepted them, Joe and Charity, and the new life they were forging together.
People from town now drove by to check on the progress of the house. They came for tea or cookies or just a chat and left happier than when they drove up. The neighbors stopped by. Sometimes old Mrs. Rickerson even brought her special cherry pie, baked just for them.
They hadn’t exactly planned on having a family, though they knew their parents eagerly wanted it. Surprisingly, resuming a relationship with her mother had been far easier than she thought. It turned out that distance and separation had a way of healing even the worst wounds. Joe’s parents were more than happy to have their son back.
Slowly, the wounds of the past healed over. It didn’t mean they were forgotten, though he had made every effort to keep moving forward. There were times Charity still caught Joe standing by the window, gazing out at nothing at all. Some nights he left their bed and got up to paint or read or just sit in the living room, lost in thought. He let her into his heart. He made space there for her as she welcomed him. They dwelled in each other and she was never afraid to share him with the past or comfort him and assure him on the odd occasion he still needed it. His past was a part of him and she loved him. All of him. While she wished she could take away his pain, she recognized that without it, she would not be there. The beauty of their life could not exist without the pain of the past.
“You’ve taught me how to be happy. Slowly, I learned what that meant again. Never doubt it. You are m
y world, you and this brand-new life and I am humbled and honored to be a part of it.”
Charity blinked hard. She offered a watery smile. “Don’t go and do that. It’s too early in the morning for tears.”
“You asked,” he chuckled. “I love you, Charity. You are, and always have been, my angel.” He bent his head and kissed her deeply. If there had been room for doubt in her heart, which there was not, that kiss banished it. It flooded her with warmth and life.
She pulled away gently after, took his paint-stained hand and twined it through her own. “Come on. Let’s go look for that cat collar before she gets up to no good without it.”
“Do you think it’s ironic that it’s Bella that’s always the one losing her bell?”
Charity had to think about that for a moment before she burst out laughing. She led her husband, her love, her life, out the back door, into the beautiful garden and the waiting sunshine beyond.
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