Forever Sheltered (27 page)
The song changed, and I took my first step forward. Darion watched my every move. Cynthia seemed in awe of everything — the bows on the chairs, the little flower arch on the shore. Behind the minister, the ocean waves pounded the sand.
Mario clapped Gavin on the back. Behind him, Bud, Gavin’s boss, served as the second groomsman.
I took my place opposite the boys and turned to watch Jenny come up the aisle. A whoop came from the bride’s side, and her director boyfriend, Frankie, stood up to video her. Tacky, yes. But also endearing. I was glad he had showed. We had all begun to wonder if she was running up credit cards and pretending he existed.
Gavin sucked in a breath as Corabelle appeared to wait her turn, her arm through her father’s. The boy controlling the music switched to the last song, and everyone stood.
She looked radiant, her black hair blowing around her face. Gavin was antsy, anxious for her to make it to the front, rocking back and forth on his heels.
Manuel stood in front of me, bouncing up and down with excitement. Finally he couldn’t contain himself, and said, “It’s Corbell!”
Everyone laughed. I laid a hand on his shoulder. He stood up straight again, holding the pillow out.
Gavin’s family was not there. I knew Darion had talked to him about it, but Gavin would not relent. He didn’t even want them to know about it. Corabelle’s parents, who still lived opposite the alley from them, had been sworn to silence.
I glanced at Darion again. Cynthia was standing up so she could see. When she saw me looking, she waved.
Corabelle arrived at the front, and her father passed her hand to Gavin. He leaned in, and I could hear his whispered “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
For a jaded goth girl, I was more choked up than I cared to admit as they spoke their vows. I found myself glancing back at Darion over and over again. When it was time for Manuel to bring the rings, I pushed him forward.
The ocean kept beating against the shore. Not so long ago, Corabelle had walked into it, not intending to come out. Gavin had saved her. And now here they were.
Albert’s assistant had saved him, even if the world still thought he was dead. And Darion had saved his sister.
I had saved myself. I glanced down at my wrists, covered in white elbow gloves. I had purposely chosen a cold climate to live in after I escaped home, where I could wear long sleeves year-round. I had bared my secrets only in the dark.
And now I was here, in sunny California, and soon it would be spring and I wouldn’t be able to hide my past. My scars would be out for everyone to see.
The minister pronounced them man and wife. The small group cheered, and Gavin kissed Corabelle, bending her backwards. Manuelito covered his eyes, making everyone laugh. The photographer snapped the shot.
I glanced up. Above us was a cliff, not the same one I was painting, but this was the same shore, the same landscape, the same world. Albert was right. I was finding my place in it, as an artist and as a healthy person, full of hope. I hadn’t found my style yet, my medium, my voice on canvas.
But I was here. And there was so much to say, to paint, to experience.
I was more than ready to get started.
Epilogue
It was the happiest place on earth on the happiest day of the year.
Cynthia looked up at the massive Christmas tree just inside the gates of Disneyland with something akin to rapture.
I glanced over at Darion. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She had a fuzz of hair now, as blond as a corn husk. Her last treatment was almost two months ago. Otherwise, looking at her, you’d never know that anything had ever been wrong.
“It’s the most beautiful Christmas tree in the world!” Cynthia said. “Take my picture!”
Darion snapped what was probably already the twentieth shot, and we were barely inside the gates. It had been his idea to come to Disneyland on Christmas Day.
Cynthia ran back between us, taking both of our hands. I remembered all the pictures she had drawn of us like this when she was in the hospital, a little family with her at the center.
Until I saw the painting Darion had made of his mother with her long red hair, I didn’t know that the woman in all those images was me. While he and I mucked around and did our best to screw things up, Cynthia had known all along the sort of life we would lead.
“Hold up!” Darion’s father caught up with us, holding a pair of Mickey Mouse ears. “No visit to Disney is complete without one of these.”
Cynthia stood in front of him and let him place the hat on her. She still wasn’t quite certain what to make of this man who looked like her brother and said he was her father. But she was kind and accepting of him.
In the psychology book I was reading to prepare me for my coursework, it said that children understood far more than we gave them credit for. Even though this man was eager to get close to her, Cynthia still knew he was responsible for so much sadness for her mother.
And so, she did not take his hand easily, or show him the affection she had for Darion. But we had all established a truce of sorts, a working relationship. It made me wonder if I shouldn’t call my parents. I never went home for Christmas. Some years I didn’t even take their call.
But maybe sometime today, I’d take a cue from this eight-year-old and talk to them. And actually listen. Not understanding someone was not the same as hating them. And having nothing in common did not mean we could not find some things to say.
We strolled up Main Street, all decked with holly and lights. I had never been to a theme park, and it was magical. Even my jaded goth-girl soul was moved by the music piped through the speakers, the palpable joy of the kids dashing excitedly along the sidewalks, and the holiday spirit.
“It’s the princess castle!” Cynthia said. She let go of our hands to run a little bit ahead.
We followed along as the little mouse ears bobbed, aiming for the archway of the castle.
“I’ll catch up with her,” Gerald said.
Darion took both my hands and spun me in a circle. One of the park photographers approached and snapped a shot of us in front of the castle.
Darion’s gray eyes glittered as we whirled around. The weather was ideal, slightly cool but not cold. We both were wearing light sweaters and jeans. His hands gripped mine solidly, then all of a sudden, he just stopped.
“Time to go find your dad and Cynthia?” I asked.
Darion shook his head. “Not yet.” He pulled a box out of his pocket. “I wanted to give you your Christmas present here.”
Then he got down on one knee.
The crowds walking around us stopped to watch. My hands flew to my cheeks.
He opened the velvet box. “I know you totally intended to ditch me after one night. So, I worked really hard to get you to stay.”
A little girl gasped, making Darion pause to smile.
“I promise to keep doing that, making you want to stay,” he said. “Forever. I love you, Tina Marie Schwartz. Will you marry me?”
The photographer was waiting, his camera raised to his face. The park seemed suspended, everyone close by, holding their souvenirs, their children, the hands of the person they loved.
Time stood completely still. I looked down at Darion, his riot of black hair, those earnest eyes. I guess this is what a normal life looked like. I had never pictured it before. But the canvas was right here, waiting to be painted. It didn’t matter what scene went behind it. Wealth. Poverty. Sickness. Health. What mattered is that you captured the feelings you had.
And right now I knew exactly what I felt, so I said it. “I love you, Dr. Darion Marks. Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”
The light flashed from the camera. People cheered and clapped and resumed their motion, their happy day. Darion stood up and slipped the ring on my finger. I would look at it later. Right now I wanted him to kiss me, here where everyone could see.
And he did, thoroughly and long. I sensed a crowd growing around us, then little arms wrapped around my leg. I looked down. Manuelito.
“Little Man!” I said.
We were surrounded. Gavin. Corabelle. Jenny. Frankie. Everybody, even Nurse Angela. And Gerald and Cynthia. They tossed flower petals at us, hugging and laughing. And I knew the scene I had just pictured had to be expanded. We didn’t need just one person in our lives, but many. To be sheltered didn’t simply mean you got married. But that you weaved a safety net of family and friends. We all needed people in our corner. As many as possible.
I took Darion’s hands. He looked both relieved and happy. I laughed, realizing he thought I might say no.
I kissed his cheek and whispered, “I need another promise,” as our group headed to the base of the castle.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“That we never give up on duct-tape panties and meetings in Surgical Suite B.”
He picked me up and spun me around one more time. “Now that’s the sort of promise I can definitely keep.”
THE END
~*´♥`*~
While this is the end of Tina and Darion’s story, you will see them again in the next Forever series book. I just haven’t decided who will star in it!
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Love to all of you,
Deanna
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Deanna is a passionate advocate for women who have miscarried. She founded the web site
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