Where We Left Off (27 page)

I blinked through bleary eyes, the stale airplane air having dried them shut. Stretching the stiffness from my shoulders, I looked over to the seat next to me and saw the best sight in the world. The one thing I could wake up to every day for the rest of my life.

There, in seat E6, were my two favorite people, cuddled together and fast asleep. Heath’s chest rose under Corbin’s cheek with each content and peaceful breath, and the drool that pooled under Corbin’s parted and pouty lips spread onto the pocket of Heath’s V-neck, soaking the fabric. But they were oblivious to it all. Heath had two protective arms draped loosely around my son, and Corbin had one hand pressed to the hollow of Heath’s neck. I stared at them, wanting to cry.

This could be my future,
I thought.
This could be
our
future.

I didn’t get too long to play it out in my mind as the plane suddenly hit a pocket of air, throwing the jet up with a bounce that awoke the larger of the two passengers.

Heath smacked his mouth, his tongue tacky. “Mornin’,” he crooned, his eyes still slivers as he fought the glare of light from inside the cabin.

“Night, technically.”

With a hand to Corbin’s small back to steady him, Heath
dragged
the other across his eyes to pull the leftover sleep from their gaze. “How long did we sleep?”

“Pretty much since the pilot told the crew to prepare for takeoff.”

Heath slumped in his chair. “I’m so sorry, Mallory. I make a crappy travel partner.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “You do realize this is the only peaceful plane ride I’ve had since Corbin’s birth, don’t you? I read SkyMall cover to cover five times, in complete and wonderful silence.”

“Did you buy me any of those wineglass holder necklaces? You know, the lanyard kind?”

I chuckled. “I did not.”

“Shoot, no hands-free wine for me.” Heath pouted his bottom lip out, then glanced down. “Looks like this little guy will be up all night, huh?”

Corbin remained nestled to Heath, unaware of the bustling around him as the plane touched ground and passengers began unbuckling their seat belts and moving about the cabin.

“That huge nap, along with the time change, is definitely going to throw him off.”

Even when Heath handed Corbin to me so he could pull our carry-ons from the overhead bins, my boy didn’t stir. I slipped into the aisle and followed Heath as we departed the plane. Crowds of people scurried around us, the commotion of travel alive with noise.

“Hungry? I could use a Cinnabon.” Heath’s gaze scanned the terminal and he rubbed his stomach in circles. “You?”

“Absolutely.”

Heath got us our sugary treats as I called Nana to let her know we’d landed. She and Tommy had just pulled up to the airport entrance and she said they’d make a few extra loops while we waited for our luggage at baggage claim.

We strapped Corbin into a baby carrier on Heath’s chest and I couldn’t stop looking at the two of them, how Corbin’s little legs dangled and kicked playfully, and how Heath would unconsciously grab and squeeze them as we walked through the terminal.

I’d been in love with Heath before, and certainly loved him now, but this time I fell. Hard. It was the soul grabbing, twisting, crushing intensity that made me feel like I could burst or shatter or explode. Like I needed to stop everyone in this crowded airport and shout at the top of my lungs how much I loved this man standing next to me. Adored him.

I didn’t do that, of course. Instead, I gently slipped my hand into his, and when he looked over to me, I smiled and it felt like the same gesture. I could see in his eyes that he knew, and that was all I needed.

I just needed him to know.

Heath

“Let me take care of those,” I said, gently guiding Nana to the side with my hands on her shoulders.

“Absolutely not. You are a guest. Sit,” she said as she flipped the water faucet on. “That’s an order.”

I backed away from the sink, my hands in the air in surrender. “All right, all right.”

Mallory was in her room putting Corbin down for the night and Tommy was in the den. We’d enjoyed dinner together and it was reminiscent of my first time at the house, back when I showed up with nothing more than youthful confidence and a budding crush. The house was still pretty much the same. Nana was the same, too. Maybe a few more wrinkles, but even those she wore well.

Time hadn’t been as kind to Tommy. I didn’t ask, but I’d assumed he’d suffered at least another stroke between now and then. The spark in his eye was harder to find. There had been more loss of his physical control over his body, but definitely not over his mind. That evidence was hung all over the house. Every room
had at least
one of his paintings, some three or four. It was a museum. It was incredible.

While Nana stubbornly washed the dishes from supper, I walked around the house to admire the artwork. The one thing that struck me were the dates written at the bottom, right next to his unmistakable signature. All were created at least six months ago, nothing more recent.

Tommy had put away his paintbrushes.

“I had to load him with Benadryl, but it looks like he’s out for the night.” Mallory stood in the archway to the family room, her hand to the wall. Her hair was pulled into a messy topknot and she had sweatpants on. She looked incredibly hot and my heart stirred at the sight of her.

“Seriously? That’s how you do it?” I turned my attention from the painting on the wall.

“No! I’m totally kidding.”

I felt like an idiot for asking. All it served to show was how much I didn’t know about parenting. How far I had to go. “Oh. Got it,” I said.

“
Believe
me, I’ve been tempted before.” She came to sit on the couch and curled her legs up under her small body. “Corbin’s a pretty easy baby, knock on wood.” With her hand in a fist, she tapped on the side table next to the sofa. “And despite all of that sleep earlier in the day, I think traveling still wiped him out.” The moment she finished her sentence, her mouthed turned into an O shape, the yawn escaping her lips. “Me too, I guess.”

I was still wide-awake, the three-hour time difference messing with my senses. “Traveling will do that.”

“Where’s Nana?”

“Doing dishes like a beast. Won’t let me help, of course.”

With another yawn, Mallory nodded. “Yep, that sounds like her.” She looked around the room, taking in the pictures I’d studied earlier. “He hasn’t been painting lately.”

“Do you happen to know why?”

“No muse, I suppose.”

“Muse?” I shook my head. “I didn’t realize he had muses.”

Mallory shifted in her seat. “Well, not in the sense that a person can be a muse. But an event. So much of Tommy’s art is centered around something that happened and the emotion that came with it. It’s like an article on the canvas, the way he retells the story.”

That’s exactly what it was, and suddenly it all made sense. The paintings from Monica’s mom’s studio were exactly that—events retold with his talent.

It felt like maybe it was time for Tommy to have another muse.

“Hey, do you know if he’s is in the den?”

Mallory nodded. “Tommy? Yeah, I think so. Want to visit with him?” She started to stand, her body lifting from the couch cushion.

“If it’s all right with you, do you mind if I go alone?”

The room was essentially how we’d left it that day. The day when I’d barreled in and pulled him from his work, from his life. When the wreckage was more than twisted metal and steel. When it was my twisted heart, my broken spirit. My broken Mallory.

The books in the back of the room had a decade of dust on them, filling the embossed grooves of titles and author names. I resisted the urge to blow across their spines, to see the dust sprayed into the air like confetti. The brocade couch remained in the same place, with maybe a few more springs popped and broken. The floor was thick in texture, layered with paint so you wouldn’t even know there was hardwood underneath.

And there in the middle of the room sat Tommy, with a blank canvas two feet away. It mocked him with its pristine white slate. I wondered how many days
he
sat there, unmoving, the challenge set before him, but yet not accepted.

“Tommy?” I kept my voice low. “Is it okay if I come in?”

I’d learned to read the recognition in Tommy’s mannerisms back then. The faint upward twitch of his brow let me know he’d like my company, so I shut the door slowly and paced over. I stooped down and reached for his hand to give it a shake.

“It’s been a while. Nice to see you again.”

His eyes met mine, the smile behind them sneaking through.

“Do you mind if I pull up a chair?” The wooden feet scrapped across the tacky floor and I dropped down into the seat. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

With his left hand, Tommy guided the wheel of his chair so that he swiveled toward me, our knees touching. He was giving me his full attention and I felt my heart quicken, my pulse a snare drum in my wrist.

“You know I loved Mallory. Your paintings perfectly illustrated what my heart felt. I saw them at Mrs. Broderick’s studio. They were breathtaking, Tommy.” And heartbreaking, but in the most incredible way. “I need you to know that I still love your daughter.”

I tried not to startle—to not choke up—when Tommy’s hand suddenly dropped to my knee with a clap. It was a moment of connection unlike any I’ve had with him before. It overwhelmed me.

“I know we’ve only recently reunited, but I plan to love her forever.” I fought against the lump that balled in my throat. “I would like nothing more in this world than to make her my wife.” My voice vibrated from me. Emotion rattled it out. “I don’t know when I’ll ask her, or if she’ll even accept, but I also don’t know when I’ll see you again, and I wouldn’t feel right asking for her hand without asking your permission first.”

Tommy’s eyes were a storm cloud of emotion and I couldn’t decipher anything in them, couldn’t read or interpret the waves that crossed through them. He wasn’t expecting this conversation, though. That was extremely clear.

I cleared my throat. “So Tommy, would you allow me the honor of marrying your daughter? I promise to protect and love her until the day I die.” A tear rolled down my cheek, followed by another. The fact that my love for a woman could bring me—a grown man—to tears in front of her father was startling. But the way I felt about Mallory—about Corbin—startled me, too.

I knew I wouldn’t get my answer right then, and that was okay.

I would wait for it.

He would let me know.

“Hard to believe this is where it all began.”

The melodic ding of the cash register, the chime of the door, and the sizzle of the fryer was a soundtrack to our first encounter and it played out again tonight. I supposed it wasn’t fair to call it an
encounter
since it was really just me being a creepy teenager and staring at her while she ate.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me when I was here? How come you waited until I was on my ass on the frozen ground?” Mallory pushed the banana split sundae forward while she popped a spoonful into her smirking mouth. The glass base slid across the glitter strewn black tabletop. It was a table that could only exist in a retro diner like this. I couldn’t recall how many times my dishrag swept over these surfaces.