On the Island (26 page)

I hugged her back. “Merry Christmas, Sarah.”

“Merry Christmas.”

I went to the shelter at noon on Christmas day, bearing gifts for the kids: handheld video games for the boys, lip gloss and costume jewelry for the girls, and stuffed animals and books for the younger kids. The babies received soft fleece blankets, diapers, and formula. Henry dressed up like Santa Claus to pass everything out. I fastened reindeer antlers to Bo’s head and tied jingle bells to his collar. He barely tolerated it.

I was reading
Frosty the Snowman
to a lapful of kids when Henry walked over holding an envelope. When I finished the book, I sent the kids off to play.

“Someone made an anonymous donation a couple days ago,” Henry said. He opened the envelope and showed me a cashier’s check made out for a substantial amount. “I wonder why someone would do that and not give me the opportunity to thank them,” he said.

I shrugged and handed the check back to him. “I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it.”

That’s why.

Bo and I walked home after I helped serve Christmas dinner. A light snow was falling and the streets were empty. Without warning he bolted, yanking the leash out of my hand. I sprinted after him, stopping short a few seconds later.

T.J. stood on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. When Bo reached him, he bent down and scratched him behind the ears, looping his hand through the end of the leash. I approached, holding my breath, propelled forward by sheer longing.

He stood up and met me halfway.

“I’ve thought about you all day,” he said. “On the island, I promised that if you just held on we would spend this Christmas together, in Chicago. I will always keep my promises to you, Anna.”

I looked into his eyes and burst into tears. He opened his arms and I fell into them, crying so hard I couldn’t speak.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he said. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the smell of snow, of wool, of him, as he held me tight. A few minutes later, he put his hand under my chin and lifted it. He wiped my tears, as he had so many times before.

“You were right. I did need to be on my own. But some of the things you wanted me to experience already passed me by, and I can’t go back. I know what I want and it’s you, Anna. I love you, and I miss you. So much.”

“I don’t fit in your world.”

“Neither do I,” he said, his expression tender yet resolute. “So let’s make our own. We’ve done it before.”

I heard my mom’s voice in my head, almost as if she were standing beside me whispering in my ear. The same question she told me to ask myself about John.

Is your life better with him, Anna, or without him?

I decided, right then, standing on that sidewalk, to stop worrying about things that might never go wrong.

“I love you, T.J. I want you to come back.”

He held me tight and my tears flowed until his sweater was wet. I lifted my head off his chest. “I must cry more than anyone you know,” I said.

He brushed the hair back from my face and smiled. “You puke a lot, too.”

I laughed through my tears. His lips brushed mine and we stood on the sidewalk kissing, covered in snowflakes, while Bo waited patiently at our feet.

We went inside and talked for hours, lying on a blanket in front of the Christmas tree.

“I never wanted anyone else, T.J. I just wanted what was best for you.”

“
You
are what’s best for me,” he said, cradling my head in his arms, his legs intertwined with mine. “I’m not going anywhere, Anna. This is right where I want to be.”

Chapter 66

—

T.J.

I glanced at the clock one morning two weeks later. I was still on winter break from school and Anna and I were having a late breakfast.

“I have to go out for a while, and then there’s something I want to show you,” I said. “What time will you be home from the shelter?”

“I should be back by three o’clock. What is it?” she asked, setting down the newspaper.

I put on my coat and grabbed my gloves. “You’ll see.”

Later that afternoon, I parked in front of Anna’s building and opened the car door for her. Having her in the passenger seat was something I had been looking forward to.

“Are you a good driver?” she asked when I slid behind the wheel.

I laughed. “I’m an excellent driver.”

We headed out of the city, Anna growing more curious. Ninety minutes later I said, “We’re almost there.”

I made a left off the highway and drove along the gravel road. I turned again, glad I had four-wheel drive because five inches of snow covered the driveway. Pulling up in front of a small light-blue house, I parked in front of the garage and turned off the engine.

“Come on,” I said.

“Who lives here?”

I didn’t answer her. When we got to the front door, I pulled a key out of my pocket and unlocked it.

“This is yours?” Anna asked.

“I bought it two months ago and closed on it today.” She walked in and I followed her, switching on lights. “The previous owners built it new in the eighties. I don’t think they ever changed a thing,” I said, laughing. “This blue carpeting blows.”

Anna toured every room, opening closets and commenting on the things she liked.

“It’s perfect, T.J. All it needs is a little updating.”

“Then I hope you won’t be too disappointed when I tear it down.”

“What? Why would you tear it down?”

“Come here,” I said, leading her to a window in the kitchen that looked out into the backyard. “What do you see out there?”

“Land,” she said.

“When I would take long drives, I’d pass this place and one day I pulled in and looked around. I knew right then I wanted to buy it, to have land of my own. I want to build a new house here, Anna. For us. What do you think about that?”

She turned around and smiled. “I’d love to live in a house you built, T.J. Bo would love it out here, too. It’s beautiful. Peaceful.”

“That’s because we’re out in the sticks. It’ll be a long commute into the city, to the shelter.”

“That’s okay.”

I exhaled, relieved. Reaching for her hand, I wondered if she noticed mine was shaking a little. She looked shocked when I pulled the ring out of my pocket.

“I want you to be my wife. There’s no one else I want to spend the rest of my life with. We can live out here, you, me, our kids, and Bo. But I get it now, Anna. My decisions affect you, too. So now you have one of your own to make. Will you marry me?”

I held my breath, waiting to slide the ring on her finger. Her blue eyes lit up and a smile spread across her face.

She said yes.

Chapter 67

—

Anna

Ben and Sarah met us at the Cook County courthouse in March. A spring snowstorm was bearing down on the Chicago area and T.J. and I—wearing jeans, sweaters, and boots—had chosen warmth over fashion.

Getting married in front of a judge might not have been the most romantic choice, but I’d vetoed a church wedding. I couldn’t imagine walking down the aisle if it wasn’t on my dad’s arm. David had offered, but it wouldn’t have been the same. A destination wedding, somewhere tropical—an island perhaps—wasn’t an option either.

“Your mom is not going to be happy about missing this,” I said. Jane Callahan had been surprisingly accepting of our engagement; maybe she decided that opposing it would do no good. She already had two daughters, but she’d done a wonderful job welcoming a third, and I had no desire to upset her.

“She has Alexis and Grace,” T.J. said, waving his hand dismissively. “She can go to their weddings.”

While we waited for them to call our names, a man, probably wearing every item of clothing he owned, his boots held together by duct tape, circulated through the waiting couples trying to sell wilted bouquets of flowers. Many shunned him, wrinkling their noses at his long, unwashed beard and straggly hair. T.J. bought every flower he had and took a picture of me holding them in my arms.

When it was our turn, Ben and Sarah stood up with us while we spoke our vows. The ceremony took less than five minutes; Sarah dissolved into a puddle of tears anyway. Ben was speechless, and according to T.J., that didn’t happen very often.

T.J. dug our wedding bands out of the front pocket of his Levi’s. He slid the ring on my finger and held out his left hand. When the gold band was in place, I smiled.

The judge said, “By the power vested in me in Cook County, I hereby pronounce Thomas James Callahan and Anna Lynn Emerson legally wed. Congratulations.”

“Is this the part where I kiss her?” T.J. asked.

“Go ahead,” the judge said, scrawling his signature on the marriage license.

T.J. leaned in, and it was a good kiss.

“I love you, Mrs. Callahan.”

“I love you, too.”

T.J. held my hand when we left the courthouse. Big, lazy snowflakes fell from the sky as the four of us piled into a cab, heading to a celebratory lunch at the restaurant where Dean Lewis worked. Ten minutes later, I asked the cabdriver to pull over. “It’s just a quick stop. Can you wait?” He agreed, parking in front of a nail salon. “We’ll be right back,” I told Ben and Sarah.

“You want to get your nails done now?” T.J. asked, following me out of the cab.

“No,” I said, pushing open the door. “But there’s someone I want you to meet.

When Lucy saw us she rushed over and hugged me.

“How you doing, honey?”

“I’m fine, Lucy. How are you?”

“Oh fine, fine.”

I put my hand on T.J.’s arm and said, “Lucy, I want you to meet my husband.”

“This John?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t marry John. I married T.J.”

“Anna married?” At first she looked confused, but then her face lit up and she threw herself at T.J. and hugged him. “Anna married!”

“Yep,” I said. “Anna is married.”

Chapter 68

—

T.J.

Anna and I climbed into my Tahoe three months later, on a warm day in June. She wore sunglasses and my Chicago Cubs baseball cap. Bo sat in the backseat, his head hanging out the open window. On the radio, the Eagles were singing “Take It Easy,” and Anna kicked off her shoes, turned up the volume, and sang along as we drove out of the city.

They’d recently poured the foundation for our new house. Anna and I had pressed our hands into the wet concrete and she’d written our names and the date next to them with her finger. I’d hired a crew and we’d started framing; the house was already taking shape. If everything went according to schedule, we’d be able to move in by Halloween.

When we arrived, I parked and grabbed the nail gun out of the back. Anna laughed and plunked a cowboy hat down on my head. Though I should have been wearing safety goggles, I wore aviator shades instead. We walked over to a pile of cut lumber, and I grabbed a couple two-by-sixes.

“Pretty fancy-lookin’ tool you’ve got there,” Anna teased. “I thought maybe you’d want to do this old-school. With a
hammer
.”

“Hell, no,” I said, laughing and holding up the nail gun. “I love this thing.”

What we were about to do now was Anna’s idea. She wanted to hold a few boards for me, just like she did when I built our house on the island.

“Indulge me, please,” she’d said. “For old times’ sake.”

Like I’d ever say no to her.

“You ready?” I asked, positioning the two-by-six into place.

Anna held the board steady. “Bring it, T.J.”

I took aim and pulled the trigger.

Bam.

Epilogue

—

Anna

Four years later

The house is a sage green Craftsman-style ranch with cream-colored trim, surrounded by trees. Its three-car garage houses T.J.’s Tahoe, his work pickup truck, and my white Nissan Pathfinder, nearly impossible to keep clean when you live on a gravel road.

There’s a den with French doors near the large kitchen, and one wall is nothing but floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I can often be found there, curled up in the overstuffed chair, my feet on the ottoman.

There are two porches, one in front and one in back. The one in the back is screened in, and T.J. and I spend a lot of time there, not worrying about bugs, especially mosquitoes. Bo has the run of the yard and when he isn’t chasing rabbits, he’s content to nap at our feet.

Our four-bedroom home has every modern convenience you could ever want. We don’t have any fireplaces, though. We don’t own a grill, either.

We have a houseful tonight. Everyone has gathered to celebrate my thirty-eighth birthday. They’re all welcome here anytime.

In the kitchen, my mother-in-law and sister sit at the island, trading recipes and sipping wine. No one will let me cook on my birthday, so Tom is bringing dinner from the city. He’ll be here soon, so there’s not much to do but relax.

T.J.’s sisters, Alexis and Grace, now seventeen and nineteen, are sitting on the front porch with Joe and Chloe. Thirteen-year-old Joe wishes there was at least one boy around, but he has such a crush on Alexis he doesn’t really mind hanging with the girls.

I grab two beers from the fridge and wander into the family room. T.J. lounges on the couch watching TV. I bend over and kiss him, then open the beer and place it on a nearby table.

“How’s the birthday girl?” He speaks softly because our daughter is asleep on his chest, her thumb in her mouth. We both know that if Josephine Jane “Josie” Callahan wakes up before she has enough sleep there will be hell to pay.

“I can put her down in her crib,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “She’s fine.” That little girl has T.J. wrapped around her finger.

I hand the second beer to Ben. He’s sitting in the chair next to the couch looking remarkably comfortable with Thomas James Callahan III asleep on his lap. Surprising, because when Ben came to the hospital after we had the twins, he told me he’d never held a baby before.

“What are you gonna call him?” he asked, after T.J. got him settled in a chair and carefully handed him our son. “If there are two T.J.’s, I’ll get confused.”

“We’re going to call him Mick,” T.J. said.

“You’re naming your kid after Mick Jagger? That’s so cool!”

T.J. and I laughed.

“Different Mick,” T.J. said.

We didn’t try to have a baby right away. I was adamant about not rushing anything, and if it turned out we waited too long, well, there were lots of ways to have a family. It ultimately took six months of trying and a boost from a fertility drug, the conception taking place in a doctor’s office, the way we always knew it would, using sperm T.J. banked when he was fifteen years old.

I like to think things happen for a reason, and I believe the twins arrived exactly when we were ready for them. “Two will be hard,” everyone said, but T.J. and I know what hard is, and being blessed with two healthy babies isn’t it. I’m not saying it’s easy, though. We have our days.

The twins are already eleven months old, and it’s true what they say: time does speed up when you have kids. It seems like just yesterday I was waddling around with my hand on my lower back, wondering how much longer I would be carrying them, and now here they are, crawling everywhere and getting close to taking their first steps.

I leave T.J. and Ben and head back into the kitchen. David has joined Jane and Sarah, and he gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy birthday,” he says, handing me a bouquet of flowers. I trim the stems under running water, then place them in a vase and set them on the counter next to the pink roses T.J. gave me this morning.

“Wine?” I ask him.

“I’ll get it. You sit down and relax.”

I join Sarah and Jane. Stefani is here, too. Rob and the kids have the stomach flu, so she has come alone, not wanting to risk getting anyone sick. At moments like this, when everyone I love and care about is under one roof, I feel complete. I only wish my parents were here, too. To know my husband. To hold their grandchildren.

I still went to the shelter three days a week until just recently, but the commute into the city finally took its toll. Jane watched the twins on the days I volunteered, but it was time to do something different. I set up a charitable foundation to assist homeless families, and I run it out of our home office, the twins playing at my feet. It makes me happy. Henry’s shelter gets a large donation every year and always will.

I also tacked up a flyer at the local high school and I’ve picked up a few students to tutor. They come to our house in the evening, and we sit at the kitchen table crossing off completed assignments one by one. Sometimes I miss standing in front of a classroom, but I think this is enough, for now.

T.J. runs a small construction company. He builds homes, one or two a year, framing them alongside the men he employs. He never went back to school after completing his first semester at community college, but I don’t care. It’s not my choice to make. Outside is where T.J. is happy.

He also gives his time, and money, to Habitat for Humanity. Dean Lewis volunteers there, too; the sixth house he helped build was his own. He married Julie, a girl he met at the restaurant, and Leo loves being a big brother to the baby girl his parents named Annie.

I brought lunch to T.J. at his construction site a few months ago. Watching him do what he loves makes me happy, too. A new subcontractor, there to work on the plumbing, whistled and yelled out, “Hey, baby!” when I walked up, not knowing who I was. T.J. set him straight immediately. I know I’m supposed to be offended, to view the catcall as an affront to women and all that. I’m okay with it, though.

T.J. and I found out something interesting a couple years ago. A police officer from Malé called us with a few questions, hoping to close out the case of a missing person. The family of a man who disappeared in May of 1999 had recently discovered a journal in his belongings. In it, Owen Sparks, a dot-com millionaire from California, wrote in meticulous detail about a plan to trade his high-pressure lifestyle for the peace and solitude of island living in the Maldives. They followed his trail to Malé, but that’s where it ended. The officer wanted to know more about the skeleton T.J. and I discovered. There’s no way to know for sure if it was him, but it seems likely. I wonder if Owen would have made it if he’d had someone to lean on, the way T.J. and I did. I guess we’ll never know.

I carry a pitcher of lemonade out to the front porch and refill drinks, inhaling the smell of fresh-cut grass and spring flowers. Tom pulls into the driveway. We decided that a feast from Perry’s Deli is perfect for this warm May evening and David comes out of the house to help Tom carry it all in. Stefani and I set it out on the kitchen island and I am just about to call everyone in to make a plate when Ben walks up to me, holding Mick out in front of him. The smell of the dirty diaper is hard to miss.

“I think something came out of Mick’s butt,” he says.

“There are diapers and wipes by the changing table in the nursery, and make sure to use plenty of diaper cream because Mick has a little bit of a rash.”

Ben stands frozen, wondering how he’s going to get out of it, when T.J., who has been watching the whole thing, starts laughing.

“Dude, she’s messing with you.”

Ben looks at me and I shrug, smiling. “It’s just so easy.”

The relief on his face is so profound it’s almost comical.

T.J. holds out his arms for Mick. “Josie’s got a load, too. I might as well change them both.”

“You’re a good man,” I say. And he is.

Ben hands the baby over.

“Pussy,” T.J. says to him as he walks out of the room, his arms full of his children. I smile because I know T.J. is teasing, but also because I know he’s happy to have his best friend involved in our lives. At twenty-four, Ben could just as easily be at the bars instead of here, holding a baby. He has a serious girlfriend named Stacy, and T.J. says she’s the one responsible for turning Ben into a mature adult. He’s not quite there yet.

Everyone fills a plate and finds somewhere to sit. Some choose the front steps, some the screened-in porch, and others, like T.J. and me, remain in the kitchen.

We strap the twins into their high chairs and give them small pieces of bread and deli meat. I spoon potato salad into their mouths and take bites of my sandwich and sips of my iced tea. T.J. sits beside me, retrieving the sippy cup Josie insists on flinging to the ground, just to see if he’ll pick it up for her. He always does.

When everyone finishes eating, they sing “Happy Birthday” to me. I blow out all thirty-eight candles Chloe insisted on putting on the cake. It’s an absolute inferno, but all I can do is laugh. From now until September 20, when T.J. turns twenty-five, I’m technically fourteen years older than him, not thirteen, but there’s nothing I can do about that either.

They all toast me with their drinks. I’m so happy I feel like crying.

Later, when everyone has gone and we’ve put the twins to bed, T.J. joins me on the screened-in porch. He brings two glasses of ice water and hands one to me. “Thanks,” I say. The novelty of cold water in a glass has not worn off for either of us. I take a long drink and set it on the table beside me.

He sits down on the rattan love seat and pulls me onto his lap.

“You might not be able to do that much longer,” I say, kissing his neck, which I do for two reasons: T.J. likes it, and it’s how I check for lumps. Thank God I’ve never found one.

“Sure I will,” he says, smiling and rubbing my belly.

We decided to try for one more child. It happened the first month, surprising us both. There’s only one baby this time and we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. We don’t care, as long as it’s healthy. I’m due in four months, so the twins will only be fifteen months old when I give birth, but that just means that sometimes we get what we wish for.

I often think about the island. When the kids are older, we’ll have quite a story to tell them.

We’ll edit, of course.

We’ll also tell them that this house, and the property that surrounds it, is our island.

And that T.J. and I are finally home.