Not To Us (10 page)

His generosity to protect the emotions of my children overwhelms me. He moves nearer to me now. The love for him just emanates from me now like a light bursting from inside of me. I do love this man. It really is that simple.

≈≈

We’re sitting in Michael’s car in front of the most extraordinary beach house property I’ve ever seen on Bainbridge. The house is about two hundred feet from the sandy beach and Puget Sound. A long gravel driveway with numerous towering Cedar trees gracing each side of it lead visitors to this welcoming home. It’s magnificent.

“What do you think?” Michael asks. “Do you remember this place?”

“Yeah, I remember it,” I say softly. I look over at him. “I love it. I always have. What was it fifteen years ago that the Mackey’s had a Halloween party, here?” David and Helene Mackey have since divorced and left the Island. I sigh to myself.

“Would you like to go inside?”

“Can we? I’d love to. I wonder what’s been done to the place.”

“I got the key from a friend of mine. It’s empty. The owner’s away most of the time. I thought you might like to see it.” Michael shares an abbreviated story about knowing the owner. Then, he smiles at me in that secret way of his and hands me the key. I gingerly get out of the car, being careful with my left side as I undo the seat belt and slide out.

We’ve had a great morning. The fiasco of forgetting Emily’s birthday is behind us and in combination with our wonderful evening with all of the kids last night all but forgotten possibly even by me. The pleasant morning we just shared with all of them has practically erased my guilt of mother failure. If it wasn’t for the dull aching pain in my upper torso that even pain killers have not been able to reach today, I’d be in a virtual state of bliss, right now.

As it is, I’ve hidden my discomfort from Michael all morning. I paste a wide smile on my face now and try to damp down the throbbing pain by holding my arm tight to my chest.
Oh, the webs we weave and the truths we hide.

Our life together seems to get more multifaceted with each passing day. But, for now, I just want to take a moment away from our complex reality and embrace an extraordinary one with the chance to go inside and see this beach house that I’ve always coveted. I think Michael knows this. He seems unable to contain his excitement and his smile only deepens, as we enter this private and perfect oasis.

“They redid the whole interior,” Michael offers.

I turn the key and push open the front door. He follows behind me.

I gasp in wonder at the simple brightness
—
pale yellows and light crèmes set off with pure white wood trim and navy blue accents in the foyer and the living room. The beach-house color scheme along with the cozy dark navy sofa and chairs make the place so inviting. Michael flips a switch and the gas fireplace comes to life. It’s done in river rock with an all-white, painted wood mantel and hearth. I run my hand along the smooth surface and smile over at him.

“Want to see the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

I follow Michael out to the kitchen and practically moan with envy at the Viking gas stove and matching refrigerator in gleaming stainless steel. “Love the white cabinets and the earth-tone granite counter tops. It’s perfect. I would have done it this way, too.”

Forgetting my sore left side for a moment, I run my hand along the smooth cool surface of the counter tops and touch the red knobs of the gourmet Viking stove.

“It’s great.” My voice is less than enthusiastic. Michael gives me a quizzical look.

“You okay?”

“Sure.” I give him a contrived wide smile. “This looks great. I love the way this looks. They really pulled warmth into the room with the gold tones and the light colors and the touches of navy blue
—
a true beach house theme.”

We walk through the lower floor of the house. I hold on to Michael’s hand and try to temper my emotions which have climaxed with excitement and growing dismay.

“You like it?”

“I do,” I say, subdued.

“What’s wrong?”

“I love it,” I say with a shrug. “It’s perfect. It’d be great if this place were for sale.” I try to hide my feelings of disappointment behind a weak smile.

“You would move?”

“In a heartbeat. Look how private it is and the view and the waterfront. The house is beyond…” My voice trails off.

“Old,” Michael muses.

“No! It’s lived in and treasured,” I say to him with a hesitant laugh. I start to climb the stairs, holding on to the banister with my good hand. “Hey, there are more bedrooms than I thought,” I call out, racing ahead of him now. With a quick survey, I’ve counted six bedrooms. At the end of the hall, we stand in the middle of the master bedroom.

“It’s a little small,” Michael says with a touch of deprecation as we step inside.

“Hmmm…I love it.” I touch the white lace duvet. “Whoever decorated the place kept things simple and understated. They have great taste.” I smile over at him as we look around. “It has its own charm. The master bath is fabulous, too. Wow, it’s like the house is…” My voice trails off and I look up at him, overcome with shyness all at once.

“What Ellie?” Michael looks at me with a bemused smile.

“It’s like it’s already…ours,” I say wistfully.

Michael takes a deep breath; then grins over at me. “It is.”

“What?” I ask in a faraway voice.

“I bought this place two months ago.”

“How is that even possible? We weren’t even speaking two months ago?” I ask in irritation.

“Well, that was only a matter of time. I had three months to get my act together and win you back.”

“It was never you, Michael. It was
me,
” I say with sadness.

“No. It’s never been just you, Ellie. It’s always should have been you and me. Once I allowed myself to believe in that, I was intent on buying this house for you…for our family. I just didn’t know the significance of six bedrooms at the time.” He pulls me to him and brushes my stomach with his hand and gets this thoughtful look. “Ellen Kay, will you marry me?”

How could I have not known that this would be what he would ask of me? I’m still in shock that I’m pregnant and haven’t ventured further into where that might lead us. I look up at him now in true surprise. This was not what I’d been expecting because I thought we were in agreement about not rushing into anything. I tell him this now.

“Michael…” A rush of words form in my head, but nothing comes out.

“I know it’s crazy. I know that we should wait, but, Ellie, you’re pregnant with my child. I want to marry you and it’s honorable and everything, but, that’s not why I want to marry you.”

“Well, why then?”

“Because I want a life with you and I want that life to start right now
—
this very minute. So, Ellen Kay, will you marry me?” His blue eyes do not leave my face and he stares into mine, openly conveying his wishes.

“Yes,” I say without thinking. Michael Shaw seems to be connected to me at a soul level.
Why would I even wonder if this the right thing to do?

“I thought you might say yes,” he says with a mischievous grin.

“What?” Now, I feel this panic invade me as if I’ve been trapped in some way.

“I told the kids that you would probably say yes.”

“You
told
the kids?” I’m having second and third thoughts, now. “Exactly, what did you tell them?”

“I told them that we love each other and that we wanted to be a family and that I wanted to make it official.”

“You do know that Nick and Elaina are not exactly brother and sister. Just how are you going to address those little details in the grand scheme of this house?”

“Well,” he says with a wicked smile. “It’s a smaller house, not quite on the grand scale of yours. I think it will be to our advantage and Nick and Elaina will figure out, too late, that it’s not to theirs.”

“Uh-huh. Oh…Michael…this is too much.”

I move away from him, take the stairs two at time, and find refuge in the living room by warming my hands in front of the fire. “God, I love this house,” I say with a tinge of regret. I whirl around, realizing he knows this. “Was this part of your seduction all along? Get me into this house? Knowing full well that I would find it impossible to say
no
to you?”

“You want me for my house?” Michael teases me now.

“That didn’t come out right,” I say. “I love the house. I have to have this house. You … you are
trouble
, Dr. Shaw.” I give him an exasperated look.

“Come out to the beach,” Michael says.

His seductive tone is impossible to resist. I watch him go.

He opens the French door to the backyard and begins to make his way down the gravel path that leads to the shoreline.

I follow him, mindless, reeling from the events and revelations of the past few minutes. I love the house. I love the patio. I love the yard. I love the landscape. I love the trees. There’s a sandy beach right there. The waves lap in this methodical rhythm.

Damn him. Why is he doing this to me? I love this place.

It would be different enough to embrace and the same enough to feel right at home. The kids would love it. We could be a family right on this sandy shore on the very first day. I can already imagine the nights we could cook out on the beach and roast marshmallows or dig in the wet sand for clams. Oh, he’s making this so hard to turn down. I glare at him as I make my way down to the sandy beach, where he stands, watching the waves gently lap the shore. He glances sideways at me.

“What?” he asks in that innocent voice of his. “What’s wrong, Ellie? It’s too perfect; isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.”

I stare at him as a shaft of sunlight breaks through the clouds and shines down on his golden head, illuminating his remarkable face. He smiles at me.

We’re in this strange dance. Unplanned. Unforeseen. I’ve changed partners after an almost lifetime, but I can’t even remember Robert’s face any longer. All I see is Michael’s. Is it just me? Or, does Michael experience the same thing. I don’t miss Robert because I have found a better way to complete my life with Michael.

“Do you miss her?” My hands move out in front of me, imploring him to tell me the truth because I have to know.

“I don’t.”

His honesty brings a weird connection between us that passes through us both at once. I see this incredulous expression cross his features when it happens. I smile wider, witnessing this magic.

“I don’t miss him, either. It’s strange; isn’t it? Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’ve always been standing right in front of me,” he says. “And now that I can touch you any time I want; I’m not lonely anymore. I’m complete with only you, Ellen Kay.”

I am the master of words. I am editor. The writer.

Yet, it is Michael who has said the words that perfectly describe what I feel. Blame it on the cancer; blame it on the pregnancy, but now I start to cry. This man moves me to tears with his words.