The Look of Love: A Novel (30 page)

Pike Place Market

Christmas Eve 2042

C
am stands beside me in our bedroom. He looks sharp in his tux, even for a man of sixty-two. But I always knew he’d age well. He presses his nose in the place between my neck and my shoulder, which still sends a tingly feeling down my back, even after all these years. “You’d better get dressed,” he says. “The ceremony starts in an hour. The kids are all there.”

I tighten the right strap of my white silk slip and stare at my reflection in our bedroom mirror. I turned fifty-seven last year. There are wrinkles around my eyes now, and my hair has lost its luster. But I feel beautiful, because to Cam, I am.

“Shoo,” I say to my husband. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding.”

He takes my hand lovingly in his. “To think that I was never going to get married, and not only did you get me to marry you; you’re getting me to walk down the aisle again. You’re either really good or I must really love you.”

I grin. “Both.”

He kisses the top of my head, then rests his chin on me and we stare into the mirror that we face together. “Honey, I’d renew my vows every day of the week if I could. But get dressed! Everyone’s waiting.”

I smile. “I will. You go on ahead to the church. I’ll meet you there in a half hour, promise. There’s something I need to do first.”

“All right,” he says. “Don’t leave me at the altar, now.”

“Promise,” I add with a wink.

After he’s closed the door behind him, I slip into my white silk floor-length dress and give myself a once-over in the mirror before letting my eyes rest on the framed photo of my family on the table beside the mirror. Cam and our two sons. Darby is a physical therapist; Landon, an attorney. I’m proud of them, exceedingly so.

I smile as I reach for the ancient book in the drawer to my right. I run my hand along the spine and study the lettering on the leather cover just as I did the day I first took it into my own hands. I think about the woman I was then—a little jaded, lost, unsure. But this book set me on the journey of discovery, a journey that taught me about love. I nod to myself as I reach for the birthday card I purchased last week. It nestles in its pale pink envelope. I reach for my pen and write:

Dear Grace,

Happy birthday. I am an old friend of your mother. I knew you as a child, before your parents moved to California. You see, twenty-nine years ago, I was there when you came into the world. I know that you are, like I was, lost when it comes to love. The year before my thirtieth birthday, a stranger wrote me a birthday card, and in the card, she told me something about myself that changed my life forever. And that is what I must do for you. Grace, you have a gift, a very special gift. And a beautiful one. I’ve enclosed my card. Please call me when you receive this. There are many things I must tell you, things that will alter your life forever, for the better, if you trust your heart as I did. You get to choose. But, if I may say, love is always the best choice. And I challenge you to be brave. I will be here when you’re ready to talk. Oh, and do we have much to discuss.

Sincerely,

Jane Williams

I tuck the card in the envelope and address it to her at the university in Italy where she is studying abroad, in her adopted father’s homeland. I find postage, enough for the letter to travel a good long way, then affix the stamps. It’s half past one. The ceremony will begin in a half hour, just enough time to walk the three blocks to the church.

I reach for my sweater and step outside to the street. Pike Place looks just as glorious as it ever has, and as I navigate the old cobblestone streets, I think about my journey, and the people along the way. Pigeons congregate on the corner where the old newsstand once was, and I smile when I think of Mel and his beloved Vivian, rest their souls. Elaine’s daughter, Ellie, runs Meriwether now, and I still stop in for chocolate croissants on occasion, but not often enough. Flynn and his cat, Cezanne III, share an apartment a block away. He’ll be at the ceremony, as will Katie and Josh, who just welcomed their first grandchild.

I stop at the Flower Lady and poke my head in the door. My assistant, Alise, shakes her head in surprise. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a wedding to go to? As in
yours
?”

I grin. “It can’t start without the bride. Besides, I forgot to pick up my bouquet.” I poke my head into the refrigerator behind the counter and retrieve it. “Gorgeous job, by the way, Alise.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve learned from the best.” She sets down a vase of white daffodils and then turns to me with big eyes. “You’ll never believe who just came into the shop.”

“Who, Brad Pitt?”

“Eww, he’s so old,” she says with a grin. “No. Lo Hemsworth. The mega-best-selling author.” She shakes her head. “I still can’t believe she used to work here with you.”

I smile to myself. Lo, who’ll be at the ceremony later, went on to write four critically acclaimed books on love and dating. The first received a generous (and life-changing) endorsement from Oprah Winfrey.

“She bought herself a bouquet of roses,” Alise says.

“Ah,” I say with a knowing smile. “Yes.” Lo’s life changed when she finally realized she didn’t need a man to buy her flowers. She could do that for herself.

“All right, dear, I’m off to my wedding.”

Annie grins. “I’ll sneak into the back pew just as soon as I can close things down.”

“Hurry,” I say. “I want you to be there.” I hold my bouquet in one hand and the pink envelope in the other. On the next block, I stop and take a deep breath as I let the birthday card fall from my hand into the dark abyss of the mailbox on First Avenue.

I smile to myself as a seagull squawks overhead. And so begins another woman’s journey. Love is waiting for her, in all its forms, ready to be discovered, reveled in, felt, and seen from every angle: the raw and the beautiful, the joyful and the sad, the temporary and the eternal, and every shade in between. And love can be hers if she’s brave enough to look for it, and ultimately, to see it.

The end