These Three Words (21 page)

“Wait. You had my iPod? I couldn’t find it when I moved.”

“I found it under the table, but I didn’t return it. When I missed you the most, I’d turn it on.”

I reached out and ran my finger across his stubbled face. “Ash said you were listening to musicals and it freaked him out. Which song were you hunting for?”

“From
They’re Playing Our Song
. I read the synopsis after I found it. I saw me in that main character. He had music and he understood the notes, but the words escaped him. I understand business. I know how to find the information I want, I know how to point the company in the direction I want it to go, but Ash, he’s the one who gets the people. He makes it happen.”

Gray closed his eyes and for a moment I thought he was going to fall asleep again, but instead he said, “I had the perfect life. Ash at work and you at home. I didn’t even try to say the things I should have because I had you, and you always seemed to understand. Then you left and I couldn’t figure out what I needed to say in order to get you back.”

“I’m sorry, Gray. I never should have—” I stopped because he’d fallen asleep again. This time I waited, knowing he’d wake again and pick up our conversation.

I could wait, I realized. We didn’t have to finish this now because we had time. The rest of our lives.

His eyes fluttered and he began to wake up. “I know I’ll need you to help me find the words in the future, but sometimes the words need to be said. A partnership has to be able to change. I let you down because I pulled away and didn’t say the words. You weren’t asking for an opus.”

“I didn’t need—”

“You did. You need to hear me say
I love you
and, more than that, you needed to hear me say
I loved our son
. You needed me to say
I miss him and I will miss him for the rest of my life
. You needed to hear me say
lean on me and let me lean on you. We’ll get through this together
. I let you down because rather than reaching for you, I turned away just like my father did. Only he made a clean break and left physically.”

“I only need three words from you, Gray,” I told him. “Three words and you standing by my side. I don’t need you to be strong for me. I don’t need you to save me. I just need you with me and—”

“I love you,” he said.

“Those were the words,” I assured him. “I love you, too.”

He drifted off to sleep again.

I glanced at the nightstand. There was our picture from before we were a couple. The black plastic swan from the moment that changed us and we were a couple. And Timothy. They all belonged together. They all represented our journey to here.

One thing on that nightstand did not belong.

I reached for the smudged, mangled envelope that I’d carried throughout the ordeal. I got up, took it across the room, and dropped it in the garbage.

It landed with a very satisfying thump.

I went back to Gray and whispered as he slept. “Here I am.” And most importantly, “I love you.”

The next morning, Alice came into the room. She smiled when she saw we were both awake. “Have you had your breakfast yet?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I said with little enthusiasm. The food was adequate, but . . . But. Each meal was edible, but everything was bland.

Her smile grew as she handed Gray a bag. “Have fun, you two,” she called as she turned around and left the room.

“What on earth are you two up to?” I asked.

Gray didn’t say anything as he handed me the bag.

I opened it up. Two small containers and two spoons were in the bag. “Breakfast?” I asked.

He nodded. “You know I believe in balanced breakfasts. There’s dairy, and the nuts are protein . . .”

I popped the lid. “Pralines and cream,” I said.

“It’s never a bad time for ice cream,” he repeated.

I took a bite and handed him his.

As we ate our ice cream and talked, I felt loved.

Two weeks later, when we went home, I finally opened the freezer.

Gray hadn’t just bought a few half gallons. No. The freezer was full. Every shelf filled with almost every kind of ice cream I could imagine. And I heard so clearly what he was saying without words.

I heard his footsteps over the whir of the refrigerator. “Every time I went to the store, I bought a couple more,” he admitted from behind me. “It made me feel better. It made me think of you.”

I turned around, found my husband, and hugged him as I whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The words were sweeter than ice cream.

Epilogue

“To the co-owner of Harbor House,” Gray said, lifting his wineglass.

I tapped mine to his and took a sip.

It was neither too sweet nor too dry.

It was a perfect blend. Rather like Gray and me. The thought made me smile.

“What?” Gray asked.

“I am happy,” I said. Those three words summed up my feelings. “This is the honeymoon I always wanted.”

I’d thrown a buffalo-plaid blanket over my shoulders and along with Gray’s arm, I was warm enough.

I looked at Gray, who was looking toward the peninsula as the sun slipped behind it, leaving a blaze of orange and pink in its wake.

“I get it now,” he said, more to himself than to me.

But I asked, “Get what?”

“Why you love sunsets so much. Every time I watch one now, I realize that it’s the end of another day . . . another day I spent with you. That’s a gift.”

It was such an un-Gray-like thing to say, but I’d noticed that he’d said a lot of un-Gray-like things since we’d gotten back together. I tried not to take moments like this for granted.

I moved closer to him and draped the throw over his shoulder, too, as I snuggled under his arm. We watched the last of the color fall below the peninsula as well, leaving the evening stars in its wake.

I started to move, ready to go back inside, but Gray held me in place and turned so we were facing each other, the blanket still hanging over both our shoulders. He reached under it and into his pocket.

“This is for you,” he said.

I opened the box, and inside was a round opal ring. “I gave you a ring when we got engaged. I gave you another one when we got married. And I wanted to give you something to celebrate us. The last year has been . . .”

He seemed to run out of words, but I remembered the promise I’d made so many years ago and listened to what he was trying to say. “It’s been amazing,” I filled in.

He nodded. “Yes. The girl at the jewelry store said opals are a stone that people don’t buy for themselves. She said they’re best given as a gift, and that in some folklore they’re known as the
anchor of hope
. I liked that.”

I slipped it on my right ring finger and it fit perfectly. I kissed him and said, “I like it, too.”

“I thought this was the perfect gift to represent our anchors of hope.”

My heart melted a little and I understood perfectly what he was trying to say.

“I’ve sort of bought you an early Christmas present, too,” I said. “Sort of,” I reiterated.

“Sort of?” he asked.

“Well, it’s a big gift, and while I think you’ll like it, I didn’t want to commit to that kind of money without asking you. There’s time to stop it if you want, but I don’t think we should.”

“Is it here?” he asked.

“Inside.” We quietly opened the sliding glass door and walked back into the bedroom with the bed positioned so the first thing you’d see in the morning was the bay. As I entered the first thing I saw was our own personal anchor of hope.

I tossed the blanket on the chair and it landed on a rattle. The noise was sharp in the quiet room. I held my breath a moment, but there was no other sound.

I picked up the large manila envelope from my overnight bag and I handed it to Gray.

“Another honeymoon?” he asked quietly, smiling.

After he got out of the hospital, we’d talked about going to an island resort somewhere, but in the end, life got in the way of flying, so we’d come here, to Ferncliff. “Being with you is all the honeymoon I’ll ever need. Plus, I don’t think we could have gone anywhere in the world and found such lovely souvenirs.”

I glanced at the bed where our
anchors
were still lying.

I knew that kind of stillness wouldn’t last long.

Gray followed my look and kissed my forehead, then hesitantly opened the envelope, scanned the paper, and looked at me with questions in his eyes.

“It’s the cottage next door,” I explained, pointing to the ramshackle building to my right. “I think JoAnn stayed away this year in order to give us a regular escape from the real world. I feel like we’ve rediscovered us again down here. It’s been a yearlong honeymoon.”

We came almost every weekend that JoAnn wasn’t using the house.

“I know they’re busy with the boys’ activities and they didn’t use it much,” I said. “But I think they’d have used it more if it weren’t for us. I’ve felt guilty, and when I heard the one next door was going on the market, I went over and talked to Mr. Laraby. If we buy it, he won’t have to list it with an agent, so he’d give us a very fair deal. Then I went to the bank and here’s what our payments would be.”

“You want us to move here?” he asked.

“No. I want us to live on Willow Lane and keep coming down here for
vacations—honeymoons. All of us. I’d like JoAnn and Harmon to bring
their kids here, and our family would be next door. I like to think of years of all of us coming down here. The kids growing up together down here.”

I glanced again at the king-size bed. The babies both slept soundly in the middle of it.

When Gray and I rediscovered each other, I thought that I had reached the pinnacle of happiness. Then when I’d found out I was pregnant, fear mixed with joy. Joy mixed with love. So much more love.

We’d clung to each other throughout the pregnancy, terrified we’d lose these babies, too, but not turning away from each other. No, we’d held on tight.

“I look at it as a lifetime of honeymoons,” I said. “I want you to teach Maude Alice and Mark James to fish here. I want to buy a canoe when they’re bigger, and row across the bay to the peninsula.”

“And maybe lie on the deck and watch the sunset behind Presque Isle?” he asked.

I nodded. “Us. The four of us. We’ll escape here for a day or a weekend. We’ll shut out the world and just be us.”

“It would be a lot of work,” he said. “I was in Mr. Laraby’s house that one time. It’s got paneling.”

“I don’t care, but we can paint it if it bothers us.” I could almost see us all working, the four of us smeared with paint as we laughed.

“His kitchen is ancient,” Gray said.

“It’s antique. I like antiques,” I insisted. “Plus, JoAnn has a handyman who takes care of stuff at the store. I’ve never met a job that Darius couldn’t do. I’m sure he’d help us out with anything that has to be fixed.”

“I like the whole history of Ferncliff, and you’re right, having JoAnn and Harmon as neighbors would be a bonus. And I really like the view here,” he said slowly. I realized that rather than looking at the now-dark bay, he was looking at me.

I looked back at Gray. At the man I loved.

“Addie, thank you for the gift.”

“Then you want the cottage?” I asked, checking that’s what he meant.

“Yes. But the gift I was thinking of was you and our kids. And . . .” he hesitated.

“Those words are good enough, Gray. I love you, too,” I assured him. “More than pickles.”

“More than sunsets,” he said in return.

“More than ice cream,” I said.

Before Gray could add another
more than
, Maude stirred, which woke her brother up. I reached for her, and Gray picked up Mark.

I watched him holding our son and I remembered that day I planned on giving him those papers. I’d thought
I must have loved him once
.

I’d been right.

I had loved him once.

Then I loved him again.

And now I knew with certainty that I’d love him always.

Author’s Note

February 2015

Dear Reader,

I think that good marriages tend to be built on two sets of three words.
Here I am
and
I love you
. I loved exploring how a couple could not only find true love once, but could rediscover it again.

I’ve loved and been married to the same man for years . . . wait, decades. And while I’ve never fallen
out
of love with him, I have fallen
in
love with him all over again many times.

I’ve talked about the “Easter eggs” I’ve hidden in my books before. They’re bits of myself that work their way into every story. Some are big ones that most of my readers and friends might pick up on (my hometown, Erie, Pennsylvania, Mondays, and
Glee
are pretty blatant) and some are just special little references that only one other person gets.

They’re Playing Our Song
is a huge Easter egg . . . an homage to my love of Broadway. I’m pretty sure a lot of friends and readers will get that. But those references are something more individual, too.

I was a junior in high school when my mother and father went to New York City. Mom brought me back a pair of pajamas from Saks Fifth Avenue. I’d never heard of the store (sorry, Saks) and she was disappointed that I wasn’t impressed by the tan box with the Saks name emblazoned on it. I still feel bad that I ruined her surprise.

But Mom brought me back an even better gift that day. She’d bought the album from the Broadway show they’d seen,
They’re Playing Our Song
. Lucie Arnaz and Robert Klein played a lyricist and composer in it—she writes the words and he writes the melodies. Romance ensues. At the end of the show, they’ve broken up and Robert Klein’s character sits in the hospital singing “Fill in the Words.” He needs the heroine to find the words for him.

That song kept playing over and over in my head as I wrote this book. That idea of someone who can’t find the words for himself inspired Gray. Gray loves, and loves completely, but he doesn’t know how to tell Addie. He can’t always put all his feelings into words. And sometimes when he does find the words, they come out wrong. I think that everyone has experienced those moments when what you’re trying to say doesn’t just come out wrong, it comes out
so
wrong.

The story was written from Addie’s point of view . . . it was told in
her words
. That made sense to me and to the story. But through Addie’s words, Gray finds his. They both suffer under the weight of their waiting and the weight of their loss, but in the end they both realize that the most important words are
I love you
. Everything else builds from them.

I hope you enjoyed the story. And for those of you who read
Carry Her Heart
, you’ll see that Siobhan had a cameo in this book. Her story is in the works . . . so you’ll get to go back and visit with Ned and Pip.

I want to thank you all for your unbelievable support. Thank you for the letters, the Twitter and Facebook posts. Just thank you!

And a special thanks to JoAnn Ross and Kelli Martin. JoAnn read
Just One Thing
and along with Kelli, my editor, said, “More like that, Holly.” Thanks to them both for the encouragement.

And a special thanks to my mom. I might not have known what Saks Fifth Avenue was, but, like Gray, I played that album hundreds of times! My kids all know the music to that show, too. It was one of the reasons I fell in love with Broadway . . . and that’s a gift that’s stayed with me, long after the pajamas wore out.

Holly