Mandy. The sound. The precious sound of him saying her name poured out like fine oil. She lifted her face to it, unbelieving.
He stood before her, holding her cat. A scruff on his cheeks, his hair matted. Swollen blackness claimed one eye, and the other blinked at her. A horrible T-shirt that would normally have made her smile.
Not Mark. This was not her Mark but an insane dream. An illusion brought on by hurricanes and heartache.
His image bent in slow motion, lowering Mr. Chesters to the ground. The cat pounced forward, purring violently.
She reached forward to pet the animal on foolish instinct. Knowing the orange fur couldn’t be real, even as she kept her vision locked with the ghost who looked like her husband. But Mr. Chesters brushed solid beneath her hand, his whiskers pricking her like gentle needles.
Real.
She pushed herself to stand. She wished for breath, for speech. “Mark.” It came out as a sob. She half ran, half stumbled to him, fell into his chest with all her strength. He smelled like sweat and sorrow, of road and rain.
Arms wrapped around her, muscle and bone. His face pressed to hers.
He shuddered, and she realized he was crying.
Crying, crying for her, arched over her, clinging to her as she clung to him. Saying her name over and over as his body shook, holding her so tight she couldn’t breathe.
She didn’t care. Oxygen meant nothing as her pores opened wide, faint hairs like tiny nerves, sensing every touch. Soaking him in. Drinking his scent. Breathing through his presence.
Together they sank to their knees, mouths mingled with tears. No words spoken. No room for words with all they had to say.
In a different country, a strange city, but together, they were home.
She couldn’t stand to leave his lips. Yet, she had to see him. She pulled away.
Red rimmed his eyes as his gaze touched her. Knowing her. Staring, as if memorizing her features, her form.
“How did you… the storm… ?” Wonder brought her fingers to his face. Real.
“For you.” Hoarseness thickened his voice. “I’m here for you.” He traced the shell of her ear, her brows, her cheekbones. “Is that okay?”
“Okay… is it okay?” She swallowed, took in clarifying air. “What took you so long?”
He smiled, then winced, bringing a hand to his beaten forehead.
“What happened?”
“Later. I’ll explain everything later.” He shifted and pulled a small bag to his lap. “This is more important.” Clearing his throat, he smoothed the wrinkled canvas. “I’ve brought something for you.” He stared at it, as if pondering whether or not to hand it over.
She scooted closer, touching her knees to his. Wondering what he had brought with him, this far. She opened the handles, and she saw the baby book inside. Her baby’s book. The Story of Baby.
The one that never got told.
Her fingers trembled as she ran her hand along the familiar spine. The edges of the sonogram photos, slick white paper, slipped out the top. She pulled the strip out, frame by frame, careful of the dirt on her hands.
Her eyes blurred as she stared at the familiar shape. Little one. Captured for a moment, then gone.
Why? Why all this way? Why now?
His fingers enclosed hers. “I want to fill in the empty spaces.” He looked scared, unsure of her reaction. But he didn’t let go. “With you. Where we can. I want to talk about the baby.”
“Her name,” Amanda whispered. “I call her Grace.” Would he think she was crazy? Naming a baby she’d never seen, never met?
“Grace,” he echoed. “Beautiful.” He cupped her cheek, catching her tears on his thumb. “She would have been beautiful, you know. Like her mother.”
“And tender,” she replied. “Like her father.”
He held her to him, and she pressed her face into the hollow of his neck. A favorite spot. She thought she could stay there the rest of her life.
A bird called high and clear. Rose petals danced as the wind shifted, the wet earth smelled like spring. New beginnings, delivered on the wind.
He turned his face, scratching her with his scruff.
She embraced the roughness. Real.
Bringing firm lips to hers, he gathered her closer as tears dried on her cheeks. Souls and hearts connected through the hunger of their mouths. Gentle, yet insistent.
A verse, wood and ancient, older than the broken building behind them, took a breath and moved in her heart. Echoes from their wedding gathered tendrils of her soul, weaving strength and truth within her.
And a man shall leave his father and his mother…
This man is mine.
And take a wife…
I am his.
He tilted her head farther, kissing deeper, the sun shining and her eyes closed, red-hot through the lids, the moment blossomed in her soul.
The past, fault and faltering, slipped away. Sharp lines of regret blurred to memory. Forgiven.
The two shall become one.