Andy sat in Lester’s attic, finishing another word game. The wordplay was so good for him, and it must be healing to her too. They weren’t spoon-feeding each other information. He and Jolene had never been like that. In this game he had to search his heart to find the right words, and he spent hours contemplating in order to understand what she meant in the few words she responded with.
He breathed in the nighttime fall air. He came to Lester’s house every other weekend, arriving right after dark on Saturday and leaving two to three hours later. His great-uncle had strongly questioned him about coming all this way so often, frowning at the cost of time and money.
Andy couldn’t believe the old man didn’t understand, didn’t get that reuniting with Jolene outweighed all else. He had money. Was there a better cause to spend it on? And what good was time if it wasn’t used to pursue love? Isn’t that what people spent their lives doing—sacrificing in hopes of obtaining what really mattered? He loved Jolene, and that was reason enough to keep coming here.
Would they continue this type of correspondence for another month? Or year? She knew when he arrived every other week, but she’d yet to come. She responded to his words, but she’d yet to write “I’m ready to see you.”
It reminded him of the struggles she’d had to leave the edge of the creek or riverbank. It had terrified her. In some ways this dance was the same. She was good at finding him and drawing him out, but she was more complicated, more hidden to herself as much as to him.
Since returning to the attic after news of Eva’s passing, had Andy not yet found Jolene? She seemed hidden, which made sense. Heroically secretive was a big part of who she was. Yet with him she’d been vulnerable and honest, and it had cost her. As he thought back, he realized her life stayed shrouded in hiddenness. At nineteen she did her best to hide from her siblings the pain of losing Van. She boldly took care of her siblings while hiding from them the pressures of the task and her own dreams. She hid her anger with Van and Donna and trudged onward. She hid her paintings from everyone except Lester … and then Andy. He’d been the one to realize she was terrified of the creek and was uncomfortable having a phone. She’d hidden those fears from others but not from him. Despite how much she’d shared with him that summer, they’d had to keep the depth of their friendship hidden in order to work together.
Veiled. She didn’t mean to be that way. Much of it had happened from the necessity to protect others. Some of it was out of the need to protect herself.
But had she not given him the key to the attic, the most hidden part of her life?
Andy rose and took the time to study every painting. What was it about Jolene that he was missing? Something was keeping her from being ready to see him. Each painting worked its way into his heart anew, and he felt so close to her.
Suddenly it struck him.
He picked up a thick, rounded paintbrush with a point to it and went to a blank canvas. Words teemed in his mind, and he intended to paint each one, using as many colors as he could.
Apparent actions
Disclosed hearts
Revealed souls
Visible lives
Unmasked fortitude
Vulnerable tenderness
Incomplete love
He laid down his paintbrush. It wasn’t bad. She would like the colors and the honesty. If they were open with their relationship, some would take it as an admittance of guilt regarding what took place between them while he was still married. But those who knew them wouldn’t, and that was all that truly mattered.
He went to the desk and found a pen and fresh paper.
My dearest Jolene, our love was undone, and we know that’s how it had to be. Let’s begin anew. Bold and open. Say yes, Jolene, and I will go to your church leaders. I will stand before your church and declare my intentions before our first date. Say yes, and let’s find a way to live life together, being vulnerable and unflinching.
He went downstairs. His driver was visiting with Lester, and Andy sat and joined the conversation. Then a new idea struck. He went back upstairs, grabbed his canvas painting, an easel, and the letter. He then gave the driver directions to Jolene’s house.
As his first act of boldness, he would leave the letter and the painting on her porch.
Jolene closed her book and blew out the kerosene lantern. She moved her hair to the side, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, covering her nightgown, and tiptoed through the darkness until she reached the porch. A streetlamp lit the yard and some of the porch. What a beautiful evening, although there was no moon or stars shining. But the air was crisp and smelled of fall. She went to the porch swing. A lantern and lighter sat on the side table for when she needed it. How many hours had she spent right here, reading to and rocking her nephews?
It seemed unreal that she had a chance to reconnect with a man she loved like no other, and yet she could not reach out to grab it. Why couldn’t she step from the shadows and proclaim her love? She longed to, and yet every time she’d been on the brink of happiness in the past, tragedy ripped it away. Every chance at forever had been stolen. If she dared to reach out, hoping for a final forever, would it also be snatched from her?
Father, I don’t know that I have it in me to lose him again. But loss, whether tomorrow or in sixty years, was inevitable.
A car pulled onto the driveway, probably someone needing to turn around. Then the passenger car door opened.
Andy!
Her heart ran crazy, sounding like a drum inside her. What was it about this man? Moreover, what was he doing?
Sitting at the far end of the porch, she was hidden in the shadows of a dogwood tree and an overgrown azalea bush in front of the porch—both blocking the lamplight from this spot. He couldn’t see her, but she could tell that he was getting something out of the trunk. Was that a painting? He eased onto the porch, set up an easel just outside the front door, and put a canvas on it. He tucked what looked to be a letter between the painting and the tray of the easel. Then he studied the canvas and drew a deep breath.
Unsure whether to make herself known, she closed her eyes, feeling the quality of the man she adored. There was a force to him—a quiet, temperate way that wasn’t silent or mild at all. Had she realized that before now?
He crept toward the steps to leave.
“Andy.”
He jolted and wheeled around, staring at the darkness. She took the lighter off the table beside her and lit the kerosene lamp. He seemed speechless as he focused on her.
“What have you brought me?”
Using his thumb, he gestured toward it but said nothing. Instead, he picked up the canvas and folded paper, moved forward several feet, and held up the painting.
She extended the lantern, reading it. The words made tears sting her eyes.
“You paint words through pictures, and I’m hoping I painted pictures through words.”
“You did.” No one understood her or knew how to overcome her issues the way Andy did. Despite past rumors about them, he wanted to come and speak boldly to her district, proclaiming who he was and his intentions. “It’s beautiful.”
He stared at her. “You are beautiful.” He jiggled the canvas. “This is hopeful.” He leaned the canvas against the house and held out the piece of paper.
She set the lantern on the table, took the letter, and read the most beautiful sentences of her life. But they only made her feel panicky.
“I see the concern on your face, Jo, and I imagine that you feel as if you’re on the edge of happiness, similar to the night your Daed gave you the paintbrushes. And then all your hopes, dreams, and joys were destroyed. It’s terrifying to feel as if you’re in that same spot again. There isn’t a lot I can promise you, because I don’t own a single day. But you own my heart, and you have since those first few weeks together. What I can vow to you is that whatever days we are given, I will cherish every one and do all I can to be sure they are filled with love and joy for you.”
She closed her eyes, feeling much as she had when he began helping her face her fears of the river. He had wanted to help free her from her irrational fears, and even though they had to part ways before she conquered her fears, because of him she had been able to find peace with that river.
Isn’t that what he held out today—freedom to be loved, to be herself, to fulfill her deepest desires if only for a short season? Or maybe until they had great-grandchildren.
She opened her eyes, tuning out the raging fears, and held out her hand. His warm palm was gentle and firm against hers, and he tugged so very gently.
She stood. “You may boldly make your intentions known to everyone. You let them know I am yours and you are mine.”
Andy put his arm around her back and caressed her face before he lowered his lips to hers.