These Three Words (7 page)

There it was again
. . .
that smile I so loved. “It’s yours if you want it,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“I know you love Glenwood Hills and Tudor-style homes. When Ash and I were looking for an office, I mentioned to the agent that if he ever saw a screaming deal on something like this in Glenwood, he should call me. He remembered and called yesterday.”

The real estate agent called yesterday and we were here today? That sort of timeline was so not Gray-like at all. “And you bought it?”

“He’s got the paperwork on his desk right now. I just needed to know that you liked it before I had him make the offer.”

“This is your house, so it shouldn’t matter if I like it.” It shouldn’t matter, but I knew the moment I said the words, it would. Gray was asking if one day, when we married, I could live here.

“No, it would be our house,” he said.

I smiled, realizing how well I knew this man I loved.

Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a ring box. “If you still say yes.”

And at that moment, I realized that even if I knew him, he could still surprise me. I—who normally had enough words to fill in both sides of our conversations—was suddenly speechless.

“Gray” was all I could manage.

Graham Grayson was a man who planned everything out to the minutest detail. But this? The agent had called yesterday. And here we were this evening. And there he was with a ring.

My world had tilted.

“Addie, I need you to say the word,” he prompted.

I took the ring box from him. “Yes. Of course, it’s yes. It will always be yes. Yes.”

He smiled then. And it occurred to me that despite my previous assurance, he’d been nervous.

“And the house?” he asked.

I looked at the empty living room and nodded. “If you think we can afford it, yes as well.”

I thought he’d kiss me then, but instead, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. “Make the offer,” he said.

I opened the ring box and pulled the small diamond ring out of it.

“I’d planned something more elaborate, but if we’re buying the house, I can’t afford anything more right now. But someday I’ll replace it with something bigger,” he promised.

“Don’t you dare. This is perfect.” I slipped it on my ring finger and it fit perfectly. I’m not sure how Gray had gotten my size, but as always, he was meticulous. “The ring and even the house aren’t what I’ll remember about today,” I told him. “I’ll remember that you asked and I said yes.”

“I was nervous,” he admitted. “It’s not the way I planned it.”

“You and your plans,” I teasingly scolded. “Life happens while you’re making plans. I think I realized that first day of school when you took me under your wing that I was part of you. And you were and are most assuredly part of me. I definitely knew that my world was better when I had you in it.”

And then, the waiting was over. He finally kissed me. “I love you.”

Those three words sealed the deal. The house, the ring
. . .
none of it mattered as much as those three words.

I touched my thumb to the ring that bound us together in the living room of a house he’d bought us. A house where we’d live and raise a family
. . .

I pulled myself back from the memory, my thumb still touching the ring I still wore. “The agent called before we finished our picnic. The sellers had accepted Gray’s offer,” I told James.

“And so did you,” James said.

I nodded. “Even without the house, I’d have accepted. I didn’t need fanfare, I just needed him and three little words.”

James quirked his eyebrow and I knew the question, just as I thought he already knew the answer.

“
I love you.
Just those three words.”

He nodded, understanding.

I clutched the envelope. I was very aware of the rings that I still wore on my ring finger.

Why hadn’t I taken them off when I’d decided to divorce him?

Force of habit?

Or was it something more?

I felt a resurgence of those old feelings. It was as if the warmth of that long-ago day had somehow been rekindled.

“I know you said he was a planner, but that all sounded very spontaneous,” James said.

“It was. He caught me unaware.” I had thought I knew Gray inside and out. I liked that there was a constancy about him. I knew I could count on him . . . always. And I’d known when I took him the divorce papers I could count on his reaction. He’d see the logic and we’d part as . . .

Well, maybe not friends, but we’d part friendly. If I called him, I knew no matter how many years stood between us, he’d come. And vice versa.

“Maybe your husband simply couldn’t stick to his timetable. Maybe he couldn’t wait another minute to marry you.”

I shrugged. It would be nice to think so, but I thought it was more likely that Gray had decided the deal on the house made passing it up out of the question. And he’d probably budgeted for both our incomes in order to afford it.

I hadn’t thought of that at the time, but it had occurred to me since.

James continued, “Sometimes it’s hard to wait for what you want . . .
sometimes it’s impossible. I know that waiting for Anne to get better has
become impossible for our friends. But I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “She worries that she will never get back to her old self. That she’ll be less than who she was. I keep telling her less of her means more to me than any other person in this world. I’ll wait as long as it takes for a chance at just one more day with her.”

As I looked at James, so willing to wait for his Anne—willing to have her back in any state—I envied his patience.

And I wondered if maybe I gave up too easily?

If I should have waited a little longer?

Chapter Five

I sat with James for another half hour until the nurse came and got him. “Mr. Patterson, your wife is awake and asking for you.”

I squeezed his hand before he got up. “Good luck. I hope that Anne’s recovery is quick.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Good luck to your husband. I hope you don’t have to wait much longer.”

I watched as he walked out of the room next to the nurse. There was more of a lift in his shoulders, as if he was lighter now that the weight of his waiting had ended.

I missed him when he left.

It was odd to feel a connection to someone you’d just met—someone you knew so very little about.

I knew his name was James with an S and he was married to Anne with an E. And I knew that he loved her.

Maybe all the rest didn’t mean so much after all. Maybe what mattered was a man named James loved a woman named Anne and planned to wait as long as it took to have more time with her.

I’d always thought my love for Gray was limitless, but looking back, it couldn’t have been. I placed a limit on it. The evidence of that was in my hand.

I’d proven that I wasn’t willing to wait any longer.

And I wondered if that was because of Gray . . . or because of some inherent flaw in me.

No one sat in James’ seat. And I was left alone with only the hum of the televisions and bits of conversations as my companions.

Images from old television shows collided with my fears for Gray. People calling codes. Crash carts. Doctors in scrubs throwing bloody pads on the floor.

I desperately wished James or Maude would come back and distract me from my imagination.

And as if on cue, JoAnn appeared and sat in James’ vacant seat, just as I’d assured him she would.

“I brought you granola and a charger,” she said by way of a greeting and handed me a baggie filled with dried fruit and nuts and a charger. “And coffee. And this . . .”

She leaned over and hugged me. “Harmon said he’ll check in with you, and Wills said to be sure I told you he peed in the potty. If you want to be accurate, he peed pretty much everywhere but the potty, but it was the attempt that mattered. You know what they say about being perfect in the attempt. Don’t tell him, but I’ll be even happier when he’s perfect with his aim, too. And before you ask, I’ll assure you that yes, I potty danced for the victory.”

As she said the words, she did a little wiggle in her chair. A ghost of a potty dance. Despite the heaviness of waiting, I couldn’t help but laugh.

I knew that had been JoAnn’s intent.

“Whoever knew that one day my children’s bathroom antics would be such a frequent topic of my conversations?” she asked.

I smiled. “You love every minute of it.”

“Wrong. I don’t enjoy cleaning up after Wills attempts peeing standing up. But otherwise, yes.” She patted my hand. “Bathroom exploits aside, I called Tom into work. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’ve got everything managed. Everyone at the store is pitching in, and they all send their love. I’ve got to get back soon.”

“Oh, Jo, I’m sorry. What about the kids?” She didn’t leave them more than for an hour or so with her neighbor. She still worked part-time, but only during hours when Harmon would be home with the kids. She often said she couldn’t wait until they were both safely tucked up in school so she could return to work full time, but I think we both knew that when that day came, she’d be heartbroken.

“Listen, the kids are fine without me for a few days. To be honest, they’re probably sick of me and welcome the change of venue.” She laughed as if it were a joke. I knew she wanted me to laugh as well. She was trying to lighten my mood, if only for a moment. But I couldn’t manage it.

She nodded as if she understood. “Joey’s taking a nap. Leslie’s going to drop him off with me at the store when he wakes up, but she’ll keep Wills.”

“JoAnn—”

“Listen, you remember when I used to come into the store with Wills when he was an infant. The sales went through the roof. I am going to blatantly use Joey as my sales ace in the hole, too. I just dropped in to bring you something to eat and give you a hug and share a new, scintillating story of my adventures in potty training. Everything’s fine with the store. The entire staff is picking up hours for you. I’ve got the next week scheduled. We’ll play it by ear after that.”

“I don’t need a week—” I started to protest.

JoAnn shook her head. “Honey, I know you. You’re not leaving until Gray leaves here. And if they’re doing surgery, he’ll be here for a while. Is there anything else you need? Your iPad? Your iPod?”

“I don’t need anything. Really. And I lost my iPod when I moved out and haven’t bothered getting a new one.”

That was an utterly random piece of information and I had no idea why I said it. I just shrugged.

She nodded as if that information was of the utmost importance to her. “For the next week, don’t worry about the store or anything else. I’ve got it. You just worry about yourself and Gray. And remember, all of us are here for you. You call and I’ll come running.”

“Even if I don’t call, you’ll come running,” I said with certainty.

A tear fell. It landed on my hand, then rolled onto the divorce papers, creating a new little smudge next to the coffee one.

“I didn’t tell him,” I said in a whisper.

“I didn’t tell him,” I said again, a little louder this time.

“Tell who what? Gray?” JoAnn asked.

“I didn’t give Gray the papers. I didn’t tell him I was divorcing him. He was talking about ice cream and waiting for me, and I thought maybe . . . But I think he knew why I was there, though. What if my going to his office suddenly made it real? What if that’s why he had a heart attack?”

Maybe his being here was my fault. It felt as if the universe was being perverse. After all, I’d said I was done with Gray. And now, I might be, on a permanent basis.

For months, I’d been stuck at our worst moment. I couldn’t see what had come before it. Now, thanks to Maude and James, I was remembering the other moments—the better moments—and I wasn’t sure if I’d survive losing him.

I’d thought I’d missed him in the vast silence before I left, but now—knowing I could lose him permanently—I realized that void was nothing compared to what I’d face if he died.

“It wasn’t a heart attack, remember?” JoAnn said gently. “I looked up an aortic dissection after you called. It was something he’d had for a while. There can be a genetic component. Mainly they happen with people much older than us, so that would be my guess, not that I’m a doctor.”

“You don’t know that.” I didn’t know, so she couldn’t know. “What if my being there exacerbated the situation?” I asked, voicing my secret fear.

I rubbed the spot where my tear had fallen on the envelope. It left a mark.

“Then you saved his life,” she said with surety. “What if he’d been home alone when it happened? You wouldn’t have been there to call for help. You didn’t do this to him, Addie.”

Even in the fog I was trying to think through, I realized logically JoAnn was right. Just as quickly I realized that being
right
didn’t matter.

Logic and feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with each other. And I felt as if it were my fault.

I also realized that I hadn’t set the divorce papers down because I felt as if I had to hold on to them.

I wasn’t sure if they had become my talisman or a scarlet letter.

“Addie, are you sure you’re okay? I can stay,” JoAnn offered.

She would. She’d juggle and restructure her plans to be with me. “No. I’ll feel better if I know you’re at the store.”

“You know that you mean more to me than the store, right?” she asked. “I love you, Addie.”

“More than pickles?” I asked. That was her phrase for Wills and Joey.
I love you more than
. . .
She always started out with pickles, and then added to her list. Pickles. Pizza. Ice cream.

“I most definitely love you more than pickles,” she assured me.

I’d commented once that most of her
more than
s were food. Afterward she’d made an effort to include nonfood items.

Which was probably why she added, “And I love you more than sunsets.”

I reached over and took her hand. “Ditto” was all I said because that was all that needed to be said.

Hands weren’t enough . . . she hugged me again. “You are my best friend, Adeline. I’ll be here whenever you need me for as long as you need me.”

“I knew that before you walked in. But right now, I really need to be alone. I have to think and sort things out.” I felt another tear gather in the corner of my eye, but I blinked it back. I knew she’d never leave if she thought I needed her.

She studied me a moment, then nodded again. “I’m a phone call away. And I’ll be back later.”

“Thank you.”

“You can thank me by eating something.” She leaned down and kissed my cheek as if I were one of her boys. “More than pickles,” she whispered.

“Or sunsets,” I responded.

I watched as JoAnn left.

I lost my parents before I graduated from college and had no extended relatives I was close to. But I’d never lacked for family.

I read a book when I was in grade school about a couple who’d adopted all their children. Their family was made, not born. Their family was bound by love, not by blood.

That’s how it was with JoAnn. She was my family . . . not by blood, but by love.

I loved her more than sunsets.

Or pickles.

And I knew she’d be there for me, whenever I called.

There was a comfort in that.