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JAKE STOOD AT HIS BEDROOM window and stared into the night. The moon, now concealed behind a layer of fog that magnified its whiteness, cast a dreamlike aspect upon the landscape. Close by came the occasional rustle and lowing of the dairy herd. Another hour or so and it would be dawn.
In his hands he held the strip of photos taken at the fair eight years ago, the black and white images ingrained in his memory. Two people, young and carefree, faces glowing with confidence.
He’d seen that glow of confidence in Annie’s face just a few hours ago. But it had no longer carried the innocence and untarnished optimism of youth. Fresh regrets had stricken him as he’d watched her celebrate with her family. He knew it’d take a while longer for those feelings to subside. At least he was acknowledging them, not burying them so deep inside that he could pretend they didn’t exist. Like he’d done with his love for Annie.
The truth was, he’d never had a choice in loving her. Loving Annie was who he was. For seven months, he’d been half alive. The moment he’d seen her again at the bus depot, a tiny fissure had appeared in the thick layer of ice that had encased his heart. And that fissure had spread and deepened until the ice had cracked wide open. Now, the ice was completely melted away.
He’d learned some hard lessons about himself these past seven months. One of them was to never take anything or anyone for granted. Another was that love wasn’t perfect. Love didn’t mean that two people would always be happy. Love hurt. It could make you stagger under its weight. It could make you bleed. It wasn’t at all like the whimsical fairy tales Zelda had often spun when he and Annie were kids. Not a damn bit.
For a while, he’d made himself believe that if that was what love truly was, then he didn’t want any part of it.
But the hurt that had come with loving Annie was vastly outweighed by the pure joy of loving her. He could happily live with the extremes of her artistic personality, the little insecurities that he knew would always pester her. He’d fight for her. He’d fight with her if he had to, but he knew that their little battles would always settle beneath the healing balm of forgiveness and the reassurance that, no matter what, the two of them would always stick together. Through thick and thin. Two peas in a pod.
Maybe this past year had been the biggest test to their love that they would ever have to face. Maybe not. There was always a risk in loving another person this deeply. But it was a risk he was willing to take.
He slipped the photo strip into his pocket as though it were a kind of talisman and headed out the door.
Outside, the ground was damp with condensation. Pearls of moisture dripped from the tree branches overhanging the path to the creek. Jake walked with a steady, resolute pace, his thoughts on what he would do once he reached Zelda’s house. It was a challenging climb to Annie’s attic bedroom. He’d try throwing some pebbles at the window first. If he woke up any of the bed and breakfast guests, so be it. This was too important.
The grass was slippery where the path sloped down to the footbridge, and he had to look down to watch his step. When his foot struck the wood planking of the bridge, there came the sound of another footstep, like an echo. He raised his head and stared at the opposite end of the bridge.
Annie stood there, startled into stillness, her hand gripping the rail. She was wearing one of Zelda’s weather-beaten coats over plaid pink pajama bottoms. Her feet were clad in an old pair of rubber boots.
They watched each other in silence, each breathlessly still. Water trickled over rocks below them, the sound like a raging rapid in Jake’s ears.
Slowly, Annie blinked. “It’s tomorrow,” she said.
He took one step forward. “So it is.”
Her expression turned solemn. “I’m not drunk anymore.”
He smiled. “You weren’t really that drunk. Just not clear-headed enough to have the conversation I wanted to have.”
She took a couple of steps towards him. “I’ve been thinking about what it is you want to tell me. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I.”
He saw that she was shaking. He moved forward until they stood a footstep apart. Her hand still gripped the rail like it was a lifeline. He placed his hand over hers and she gave a tremulous sigh.
She’s such a tiny thing, he thought. Like a wisp of wind. “Are you warm enough?” he asked, his eyes alighting upon the thin coat.
She nodded. “I was so eager to see you, I just threw on whatever was in the hall closet.” Her forehead creased as she gazed up at him. “I realized that I haven’t told you yet that I’m sorry.”
He brought his other hand to her temple, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her brow, smoothing away the worry lines. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
“But I do. I should never have allowed my self-doubts about my art to get in between us. That was selfish. And I should never have doubted you. Us.” Her voice shook, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I worried that things were so broken between us that they could never be fixed. But that’s not true, is it, Jake? Because, even if it is, I still love you. I have always loved you. I’ll love you forever.”
With a movement both rough and tender, he drew her face to his, burying his cry of joy against her mouth. All of his love and longing poured into that kiss. Every unspoken word of his heart was transferred to hers. He felt her arms wrap around his back, the warmth of her body pressing close to his.
“Annie,” he sighed against her lips. “You are my heart. I loved you the moment I first saw you. And I’ve never stopped.”
“It’s the same for me,” she whispered, pressing tiny kisses along his jaw before surrendering her mouth to his once more.
They pulled apart every so often for each to whisper the other’s name, to murmur a sweet “I love you” as though it were a prayer of thanksgiving.
Dawn was turning the sky to pale gray when Annie—cuddled close against him as they sat on the footbridge, their legs dangling over the side—said, “You know that painting you like the best? The one with the girl standing in the field?”
“Remembrance,” he said, his mouth against her soft, silky hair.
She hugged him tighter. “That was the day I knew. The summer I turned eighteen. It was a week or so after we’d all gone to the fair. Remember?”
“I remember.”
“I was alone, walking through your dad’s hay field. I was confused about things. I’d always loved you, but I hadn’t realized until that day that my love for you went deeper than friendship. When I acknowledged to myself that it did, I danced around that field like a gypsy girl. I remember saying to myself, ‘I want to be with Jake Lancaster for the rest of my life.’ I vowed I’d never forget that moment. So, I painted a picture of it.”
He tilted her face up to his to kiss her again. Then he said decisively, “You are never selling that painting.”
She laughed. “Never.”
“It will hang on our bedroom wall in the house I’m going to build for you.”
“The house we’ll build together.”
His eyes glistened into hers. “The house we’ll build together.”