My Butterfly (38 page)

“Here,” she softly says, bringing the cup to my hands.

I notice her eyes lock onto the photo. A piece of it is sticking out, revealing the side of her young face. She acts as if she doesn’t see it, and she meets my eyes again and smiles.

“I love you, Will Stephens,” she says.

I take the tea cup in one hand and squeeze her soft, creased hand with the other. I look deep into her eyes then. I’m remembering all the moments that we loved and we cried and we loved so much that it made us cry. And I’m remembering all the hell we put ourselves through just to realize we should have been together from that very first moment. I love those moments, though. I love every one of them now. They’re our story now. Every mistake, every hurt, every joy, every longing—it’s ours, only ours.

“Jules,” I start to say, and for some reason, I just can’t get the words out.

I’m fighting back the tears in my eyes, and I’m remembering a lifetime of memories, and I just can’t get the words out to let her know how much love I have for her. I feel my lips quivering, and I quickly press them tightly together.

“I know,” she says softly. “I know.”

I search her eyes and let the air escape my lungs, as she buries her face into my hand near the mattress. I set the cup onto the nightstand’s surface and then place my other hand near hers. I can’t see her face, but I feel her tears falling wet onto my hand.

“I know,” she says again.

She buries her face deeper into both of my hands now and slides something hard in between my fingers. Then, she lifts her head and releases my hand, and my eyes fall onto a small, metal object.

“She kept you safe all these years,” she says, in almost a whisper. “I can’t come with you now…”

Her words trail off as I meet her gaze again. Pieces of her soft, gray hair have fallen near her face, and there are tears in her eyes. They make my heart break for her.

I squeeze the guardian angel, and then I rest my hand on top of hers again.

“Don’t be sad, sweetheart,” I say.

A forced smile is edging up my face.

“Will,” she says then, so softly I almost don’t hear her.

“Yes, sweetheart?” I say.

“Sometimes, I feel like we’re just kids,” she says and then pauses.

I follow the path her eyes make to the open window.

“And I think I hear rocks hitting the window, and I get the urge to climb out in the middle of the night and fall into your arms,” she says, returning her gaze to mine again and smiling through her tears.

“And sometimes,” she continues, “I just want to go to the end of a gravel road and stare up at the stars from the hood of your truck or climb that big bluff downtown and watch the fireworks dance to the sky—just one more time.”

She stops and smiles wider.

“And there are actually times when I just want to fight, about nothing—because that’s what you do when you’re young and in love,” she says, as a tear escapes from her face and lands gently on my hand.

“Will,” she continues.

I gaze deeper into her tear-filled eyes. There’s a sincere, yet longing smile on my lips now.

“I loved being young and in love with you,” she says.

I take a shallow breath and then let it escape my lungs.

“Me too,” I say, squeezing her hand tighter.

“And I know we missed some of those years,” she goes on. “But from those years we missed, I can only remember you in them now.”

She takes a moment before she continues.

“I remember your face when you first looked up and saw me in the doorway that New Year’s Eve so long ago,” she says. “You looked so happy, and for a second, you made me forget that we were ever apart. And I remember that night in the hospital. I never told you, but I woke up early that next morning and told myself that I should leave. But I took one look at your handsome, sleeping face and snuggled back into your arms. Those are the parts, along with all the other wonderful parts before them and after them, that I remember. Those are the parts I hold onto.

And Will, I love being not-so-young and in love with you too. Because whatever the moment, I love us.”

I watch her bury her face into my hands at my side again, and I let my head fall back as I squeeze my eyelids shut and fight back my own tears. Then, suddenly, I feel her lift her head again, and my eyes open and fall into hers.

“Sometimes, I’m scared I won’t remember who I am without you,” she says.

There’s a longing and an anxiousness in her eyes now. This part makes my heart ache, and finally, a tear wins the battle and escapes down my cheek.

“But then I remember that I’ll never truly be without you,” she continues, as a smile finds her face again. “Even in those years that you weren’t by my side, I was never without you, Will. I carried you with me everywhere I went. I carried you to the mountains and to the deserts and to the sand of
San Diego. And I carried you to the live oaks and to the rivers and to the beaches in Charleston too. Because in the end, our story is one full of stumbles and tears and smiles and holding on and refusing to let go. It’s the best kind of fairytale, Will,” she says, with a happy smile. “And I couldn’t imagine living any of it without you. I love you, sweetheart. I love you a million times a million.”

Her face falls to my hands again.

“And to the moon and back,” I manage to say.

I wipe the tear from my face and then rest my hand on hers.

“Jules,” I say.

She gradually finds my eyes.

“You’ll meet me there, won’t you, My Butterfly?” I ask.

I watch her smile her perfect smile, and I know that she knows what I mean.

“I promise,” she says, slowly nodding her head.

Then, I rest the guardian angel on my chest near my heart and take hold of Jules’s hands with both of my hands again. I want to tell her she’s my everything, but I can’t say the words and still be brave. There are more tears in her eyes. I fight back my own tears and force a smile to my lips.

“I’ll save a spot for you on the hood of my truck,” I whisper.

I watch her beautiful lips lift into a smile right before she lowers her face and softly kisses the top of my hand.

Then, I take a deep, labored breath and rest my head against the headboard. There are butterfly weeds lying on a chest in the corner of the room. They still have all their petals. I smile, knowing they always will, as my eyelids fall over my eyes and my mind replays the song of our life:
Little girl, little boy
If love has a way
Fill their fields with laughter
And scatter the sun on their day
And if it should happen to rain
Make their raindrops kisses
Straight from heaven above
That touch their hands and faces
And that fill them with love
And make the moon reflect their smiles
And their stars plenty
And, above all, keep them together
And hold them as you may
Forever and ever
Until their last day.

First, I would like to thank God for giving me the opportunity to do what I love to do every day. It’s a blessing, and I am
so thankful for it. Jeremiah 29:11

Thank you to my amazing editors and sources for all your time and contributions. Thank you especially to Donna, Calvin, Kathy, April, S
haron, Jenny, Kyle, Dominick and Jon. I am truly grateful for your patience and support and for all the hours you put into making this novel what it is today.

I would also like to thank those wonderful readers and those amazing bloggers who are also readers for their enthusiasm and loyal support of my first novel,
Butterfly Weeds
. Through your love for Will and Julia’s story, you made it what it is today, and further, you single-handedly inspired the creation of this novel. I will be forever grateful for your continued support and your wonderful fervor for fairytales. Thank you for welcoming Will and Julia and their little story into your hearts!

And I would like to thank my family, who continues to be my biggest fans and greatest supporters. And thank you also to my friends and mentors, who are ever inspiring me—whether they realize it or not.

And finally, I would like to thank my husband, Neville, for being exactly what I need when I need it—whether it’s an editor, a personal assistant, a public relations specialist or just a shoulder to lean on. And thank you, most of all, for your constant encouragement from the very beginning of this whole, grand adventure. Honey, I love you—a million times a million and to the moon and back.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
 

Photo by Marc Mayes

LAURA MILLER
is author of the national bestselling novel,
Butterfly Weeds
. She grew up in eastern Missouri, graduated from the University of Missouri-Columbia and spent years as a newspaper government reporter before starting to write fiction. Laura currently lives in the Midwest with her husband. Visit her and learn more about her books at LauraMillerBooks.com.
Connect with me online:

OTHER BOOKS BY LAURA MILLER
Butterfly Weeds
“Beautiful.”
~Fly Away With Me Book Reviews
“A debut novel that will take you on a journey through the trials and adversities of first love and will touch the very essence of your heart.”
~Romantic Reading Escapes
“One of the most beautiful love stories I have ever read.”
~Jelena’s Book Blog
“Beautifully written and sure to leave a lasting footprint on your heart!”
~Angela McLaurin, The Indie Bookshelf