Ten Thousand Points of Light

by Michelle Warren

  CHAPTER 59

  “You were right. I’m in a much better place for being here. Thanks for hiring me.” I lean into the doorframe of Linden’s office.

  He glances up from his computer with a smug expression and inclines in his chair. “Damn right.”

  I step inside and hold up a stack of papers before tossing them on his desk.

  “What’s this?” He glances down, taking a few seconds to understand. “You closed the Rosemary deal?”

  He flips through to the last page to confirm the signatures. His attention pops back to me with wide eyes.

  “And...” I slap another stack of papers on top.

  “Lakeman too?” He pounds the desk with his flattened hand and glares in disbelief.

  Now I’m the one who appears smug. My hips bob back and forth. “Looks like you owe me a new office.” I pace in a circle, surveying his. I point around the room.

  “I’m thinking pale gray walls. I’ll hang my Gray Malin print over there. And I’ll sit the Eames chair in that corner so I can enjoy my river view.”

  “I guess a deal’s a deal.” He huffs and leans back casually, spreading his jacket open. His navy necktie falls askew.

  I try not to gloat but I can’t help but yelp at his agreement with clapping hands. I strut for the door to leave before he rescinds his offer.

  “Hold on,” he says.

  I pause mid-stride and warily swivel to him.

  “You’ll be attending the event tonight.” He’s upright again and rolling a pen between his fingers. This isn’t a question. It’s a demand. Despite this small victory, he’s still in charge.

  I nod in agreement, but mostly because Aggie’s been working hard with the charity event, and I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to support her.

  “I heard Google’s shopping for property in the West Loop for a new campus,” he says and tosses a copy of Crain’s Chicago Business newspaper on his desk.

  “Oh yeah? What will you give me for closing that deal?”

  ***

  The Palmer House Hotel’s ballroom is exquisite. High rollers mingle around a bar, convene at tables, and dance near a stage to the beats of a live band. I smooth my lace cocktail dress and weave through the crowd in search of Aggie. Across the room, I find her arguing with Lou.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  At the sound of my voice, they halt and swivel to me. Aggie’s eyes are wide, while Lou appears self-satisfied.

  “Nope. Not a thing. All good here. Carry on,” Aggie rambles before darting away as if on a mission. Her yellow tulle dress swishes as she scurries.

  “Don’t pay attention to her.” Lou waves a dismissive hand before leading me to the dance floor.

  “Uh, okay,” I say, but something’s clearly up.

  “Let’s dance.” He rhumbas to A Flock of Seagulls song. His arms, hips, and shoulders gyrate with perfect rhythm. I watch, trying to glean the steps, but as I begin to move, a voice interrupts.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Evan appears next to me, warm brown gaze sparkling. A grin plays across his lips. He glances away and tugs at the cuffs of his black-tie tuxedo. My heart flips. He’s more than handsome. He’s godly. My mouth turns dry.

  Despite his objections, I dance anyway. I stare at him while I do, knowing full well how I look—like a freak.

  One new memory I have is from my junior year. After a stressful exam, Evan and I drank until we were trashed. I climbed on top of our coffee table and danced, believing with all my heart that Beyoncé had nothing on me. Evan videoed the moment on his cell. But when he shared it with me the following day, I saw what I was: a graceless, twitchy woman, jolting with convulsions. Not Beyoncé. Not even close. Then Evan used the video to blackmail me. It was a joke, of course, but a good memory.

  “Maybe you should video me?” I challenge as I jerk my arm, my shoulder, and hips in awkward movements to the music.

  Evan’s eyes widen and his mouth falls slack. “You. That. How?” He stumbles over his words.

  “Or do you still have the Beyoncé video?” I shimmy playfully.

  “I’m afraid I do.” His mouth curls on one side.

  The song ends and slower one begins. Lou steps away and finds Aggie. They tangle around each other and play dance, but the way they’re watching us makes me think they set up this meeting. In fact, I’m positive they did when they both make kissy faces at me and giggle.

  My face reddens. But Evan’s unfazed by them and reaches for me. One strong hand splays across my lower back, pulling me close to him, and the other clasps my hand. With our hips and chests touching, he controls my movements, joining us in a unifying motion to the song “Crazy For You” by Madonna.

  “You remember?” Evan breathes the words near my ear and my eyelids sink shut. It feels so good to be close to him again.

  “A little,” I whisper, making him shiver.

  “What about this song?” he challenges.

  I press my cheek closer to his. The warmth if his stubble caresses my skin. “I remember.” At those two words, goosebumps race across his neck as if I whispered them from my lips. I melt into him, swaying until the song ends, just like the last time we danced to this song so long ago. We pause but do not disconnect. Our eyes meet as our lips hover inches apart. I suck in a sharp breath and glance down when his mouth parts. I know what I want to do, but I don’t want to do it here.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he whispers.

  I nod, and with our hands clasped, Evan tugs me for the exit when an emcee appears on stage. Everyone in the room presses forward when the lights darken for the charity auction. We shuffle through the gold gilded hotel. After picking up our coats, we emerge outdoors and into a swirl of flurries. A warmed black SUV waits at the curb. Evan and I slide into the backseat, huddling close.

  Between us, he grips my hand. For most of the ride, it’s our only communication. My fingers twine with his. His other hand traces the ridges of my knuckles. But we don’t talk. What we have to say is too personal to discuss in front of a driver. But when we pass by our street I become alarmed.

  “Where are we going?” My attention swings to him.

  “Someplace special.” He squeezes my hand.

  But I think I know. I think he’s driving us to my special spot. What I’ve remembered is our special spot. The one place in all of Chicago I claimed for myself when I moved here. It was another message my heart was sending me that I was too broken to hear.

  Except ten minutes later, that’s not where the SUV stops. I open the back door and step out into the street to find Ozzy’s little house. Evan joins my side as the car pulls away. He twists an arm around mine, leading me through the open gate and up the salted walkway. Several inches of snow cover the yard.

  “Evan,” I protest, tugging him the opposite direction, but he won’t relent.

  Some lights are on inside, and I’m shocked to see curtains have already been hung in the windows, and the yard’s cleaner than I remember. I hadn’t allowed myself to run this street since Ozzy told me the bad news.

  Worried we’re trespassing, I whisper, “Ozzy sold it. Someone’s home. Let’s go.”

  “It’s okay; I know the owner.” He beams.

  My brows furrow when he slides a key into the door and it unlocks. I follow him inside, relaying to add up the pieces.

  “You! You bought this place?” I point, anger flaring.

  “I bought it, yes, but I bought it for you.”

  “What?” I’m breathless. My gaze bounces around the room, trying to make sense of the scene. There’s minimal furniture. There are paint buckets, various tools, and hanging plastic closes off the adjoining rooms. I’m standing in a construction site.

  I continue, voice straining, “This is where you’ve been staying?”

  “Only so I could fix it up. And it’s been...” He pauses and shakes his head. “It’s been a disaster. I’m terrible at it, but I’m learning.”

  I laugh and cover my mo
uth, but as I consider the scenario I become serious. “Evan Wade, are you trying to make up with me by buying me a house?” I fold my arms.

  He shoves his hands in the pockets of his tux. His gaze flutters to the floor before looking back from under his dark lashes. “What I did was epically wrong, and I’m very sorry.”

  “Hmph.” I glide past him to inspect the other rooms, to see what he’s done but also to give myself a moment to soak up his gift. The bedrooms and bathrooms are untouched, thank God. I head to the kitchen. He’s been cleaning up. A pile of construction trash sits in the corner. I stop at the sink and grip the cold edges of the porcelain. I close my eyes and listen to what my soul’s telling me. With my heart punching against my chest, I spin to face him and tell him what it’s saying.

  “You can’t just buy me off. It’ll take a lot more than this to make things right,” I say and frown.

  “I agree.” He nods but looks determined.

  “It’ll take some white marble counters,” I keep my tone serious.

  He cocks his head and grins before taking one step forward. “Yeah?”

  “It’ll take refinishing the wood floors.” I point to the scratched and dusty floor.

  He appears more confident with the next step, his elation growing.

  I continue, “And a hell of a lot of new tile and paint. And it might take a really, really long time.”

  He reaches for me, fingers sliding seductively around my hips, gathering me close. His eyes become hooded when he says, “We—I mean, the house—can be a work in progress, but I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  He leans in to kiss me, but I place a hand on his chest and ease him away. I’ve spotted something else that needs an explanation before this goes any further.

  “And finally, you need to explain what this means.” I pick up the red spatula from the counter and wave it in front of his face. I cock an eyebrow in question. Many memories have returned but not this one. This is the spatula from my box. The one item he didn’t talk about the last time we chatted. He must have brought it here, though I don’t understand why.

  He tosses his head back in a deep, brilliant laugh. His hair hooks forward across his forehead when his insightful eyes meet mine. “I’ll give you one guess what we used that for and it wasn’t for cooking.” He takes it from my hand and swats my backside. I yelp with a jump and laugh.

  He tosses it aside with a loud clank and looks at me seriously. “This house is more than a peace offering, it’s where I want to put of our life back together. I want to pick up where we left off. This is the place I want us to have a second chance.”

  His features soften; the muscles in his cheeks relax. His gaze moves across my eyes and to my mouth, consuming me. As my fingers slide along his lapel, pulling him near, the air around us thickens. This is my chance to be happy. This is a chance to take back the life I once had. I link my hands around his neck. There I thread my fingers into his dark hair until we move closer, mouths hovering over each other’s.

  Our lips brush for the millionth time and the first time in our new beginning. When his lush lips slide over mine, I angle into him, acknowledging our promise to each other. His touch teases and my mouth opens, accepting him. Accepting us.

  “I never stopped loving you, Cait. Never.” He breathes the whispered words into my soul. I inhale deeply, allowing his message to quiet my mind and course like magic through my opening heart. The connection between us is undeniable and tangible. The proof can be found in the unimaginable journey we each traveled to arrive at this point.

  I tell Evan what I’ve come to understand with complete certainty in these past months. “My mind may have forgotten, but my heart didn’t. It was always waiting for you.”

  Epilogue

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Evan lifts a sledgehammer and swings it like a bat. Or like he wants to kill a rabid bat. It connects with the wall with a boom. The drywall crumbles in chunks to the floor. White dust swirls in the air. I wave it away from my masked face.

  “You sure Ozzy won’t get mad at us for this?” Evan asks before taking another swing. This hit breaks through to the adjoining bedroom with a huge crack, where light pours in from the other side. More drywall tumbles to the floor.

  I step across the room, away from the dust and remove my mask to answer, “I think he’ll understand.”

  I continue, “Besides, we only have four months to turn this into the bedroom of our children’s dreams.” I rub my belly and the two growing babies inside.

  Evan sets the sledgehammer aside. Every time I mention the twins, he has to stop what he’s doing, drop to his knees, and chat with them. This time he lifts my shirt and kisses my bare belly. I watch him with an amused expression as he acts out. I wish my parents were this excited. Things have been better with my dad, but my relationship with my mom is still a work in progress.

  “Tell me what you want, girls. I’ll do anything. A room for princesses? Mermaids? Unicorns?”

  I clear my throat and adjust my stance with one hand on my hip. Reading my displeasure, he readjusts his words. “Or we can do astronauts? Dinosaurs? I know, fighter jets. What do you think? Tell me.” He places an ear to my skin and listens. I press my lips, trying not to giggle.

  “They’re saying no to dinosaurs. Too scary. Unicorns—overdone. Princesses are okay as long as they are ninjas by night, and they prefer cowgirls over astronauts. Wait, hold on. They’re arriving at a decision... World travel? I love it. You got it, girls.” He glances at me with a smile.

  I consider it. A traveling theme? I can already imagine sweet little vintage suitcases as shelving. A map of the world in soft colors painted on the wall. A complementary compass rose on the ceiling. Hot-air-balloon mobiles can hang over the cribs. It makes sense because these girls will be our greatest adventure.

  “I like it but I think we’ll still need two vision boards. One for Stephanie and one for Ramona,” I say.

  Evan stands to meet my eyes. His expression appears confused. “Stephanie?”

  “Steph was responsible for getting us together.” I shrug and recall a faded memory. “And she may have made me promise to name our child after her.”

  “She made you promise too?” He laughs.

  “She was such a manipulator. Or a mad genius,” I add.

  “She was both and wore them like a badge, and I can’t imagine a better way to honor her. Stephanie it is. I love it.” He kisses me, but when he pulls away, his face scrunches, “But let’s talk about that other name. I’m not sure about Ramona. In the endless lists of baby names you’ve been hounding me with, you’ve never mentioned that name.”

  I try to keep my face plain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I love it.”

  “Mrs. Wade, are you messing with me?”

  Now I’m the one laughing because Evan’s tickling me.

  “Stop, you’ll make me pee!” I gasp a cry as I hop around trying my best to avoid his assaulting fingers. My lack of bladder control is my one complaint about pregnancy.

  I give in when it becomes too much. “All right, all right. I was joking. I was thinking of the name Ada.”

  “I love it. Ada and Steph.” He beams and changes tactics. He kisses my neck. But still, I giggle and dart away, arms swinging, not ready to give in. When he catches me again in his arms near the wall, I become distracted.

  “Wait. What’s that?” I tap his shoulders and point to our newly made giant hole. Evan’s gaze moves along my finger. He releases me when he sees it too—a box lodged deep within the wall.

  Evan reaches his arm into the hallowed out space and removes a wooden box. The top is burned with the words The Elliot family.

  “Oh my gosh, I forgot all about this. Ozzy told me he hid a time capsule.”

  Evan carries it into the living room and sets it on the coffee table. With us sitting in front of it, we unhinge the latch and lift the lid. It squeals open. On top sits an old newspaper, it’s paper yellowed and brittle. It cracks and cri
nkles when we unfold and hold it open. I read the date.

  “That’s a few years after he and Ada moved in,” I explain.

  Evan removes a stack of photos: Ozzy and Ada’s wedding photo, photos of the house long ago, including interior shots, and then there’s a book of poems, a small leather bag with money inside—a dollar bill, a few coins with the same year, and a button from a presidential election. And finally, an envelope with the words Dear Future Residents scrolled in a beautiful penmanship across the front.

  “Should we open it?” He glances at me.

  “It’s is addressed to us.” I slide my hands between my knees and squeeze.

  Evan opens the envelope, careful not to tear the letter inside. He unfolds the heavy, cream paper. Sepia letters in the same handwriting covers the top half. There are only a few sentences, but they’re beautiful. And as Evan reads, I imagine Ozzy’s clear radio voice.

  Dear family,

  My wife Ada and I can call you that now because once someone enters our home, that’s exactly who you become. Family. By moving here, you’re a part of us. We hope and pray you’ll find the happiness we’ve known here, the love we grown here, and experience the laughter that kept us inspired in good times and bad. May you prosper in all endeavors, especially in those of the heart.

  Love,

  Ozzy and Ada Elliot

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