This Time, I Wanted Him

I woke with my fingers around the pendant.

For a moment, I was back in the hotel, about to leave before someone could decide I'd stayed too long.

Then I heard Cole outside my door.

"Ella? Breakfast."

He wasn't asleep. He wasn't a stranger. And he hadn't forgotten I was there.

I opened the door.

His gaze dropped to the necklace, then returned to my face.

"You kept it on."

"It has a clasp. I couldn't solve the machinery."

"I could help."

"I didn't ask you to."

His smile arrived slowly.

Downstairs, Richard told him to stop staring at me and pass the toast. Margaret looked pleased enough to make me blush harder.

We returned to Alder Creek together that afternoon. Grandma inspected the necklace and asked Cole whether he had chosen it himself.

"I did."

"Good," she said. "I was afraid you might let a committee do it."

He laughed.

When Margaret mentioned the wedding, he stopped laughing and looked at me.

"You haven't asked me properly yet," I said.

He became very still.

"I thought I'd been asking almost continuously."

"You've been announcing your intentions and hoping I'd catch up."

Grandma turned her face toward the window. Her shoulders shook suspiciously.

Cole pulled his chair closer.

"Ella Bennett, will you marry me?"

I looked at the man who made other people straighten when he entered a room. His hands lay open on his knees. He wasn't smiling now.

"Yes."

He stared at me.

"You can breathe," I added.

He took my hand, lifted it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.

Grandma gave us a minute before clearing her throat.

"I would like to attend while I'm still young enough to enjoy the cake."

We chose a small ceremony in Seattle two weeks later. Cole wrote down my requests: Grandma there, no speeches about family honor, and no being handed from one man to another as though I came with the furniture.

Then we dealt with my parents.

They expected a negotiation. Dad had cleaned the sitting room. Diane had arranged biscuits on a plate I wasn't allowed to use.

"Of course, we want her happy," she began. "But there are expenses. Renovating before the wedding. Sophie's plans. The years we've supported Ella."

I stood beside the chair instead of sitting.

"You want payment for agreeing not to hurt me again."

Dad sighed. "Nobody said that."

"Then what are you offering in exchange for the money?"

Neither answered.

Margaret set a folder on the table. It held Grandma's care arrangements, the letter setting out her wishes, and contact details for the officer handling the reports.

"Rose is moving to our house when she's ready," she said. "She has asked that you don't visit without arranging it with her. Ella's wedding gifts will go to Ella. There will be no payment for your approval."

Diane looked at Cole.

"You're really going to let her cut us out?"

"I'm going to marry her," he said. "Your relationship with her is something you've been building for twenty-three years. You don't get to blame me for finding it in pieces."

Dad looked at me then.

"You could tell the officer you misunderstood the conversation."

"I didn't."

"Think about your grandmother."

I felt the old reflex, the sharp pull to protect her from anything unpleasant.

Then I remembered her voice on the ward: That ought to have mattered to him too.

"I am thinking about her," I said. "That's why she won't be here for you to threaten anymore."

Diane shoved the folder away.

"You know what people will say if your parents aren't at the wedding."

"They'll have to ask me," I said. "I'll answer."

We left without eating the biscuits.

In the car, Cole waited while I tried to fasten the seat belt with trembling fingers. He didn't touch the buckle until I nodded.

Then he drew it across me and clicked it into place.

"I wanted to hit him," he said quietly.

"Dad?"

"When he used Rose again."

I stared at the windscreen.

"I wanted to ask him why he didn't love me."

Cole's hand stopped beside mine.

I hadn't meant to say it. The words came anyway.

"Even now. After everything. Some stupid part of me wanted him to say he was sorry because he meant it, not because the police had begun asking questions."

Cole undid his own belt and leaned toward me.

I turned into him before he could speak.

He held me while I cried for something he couldn't replace, even with all his determination.

When I finally pulled back, he wiped my cheek with his thumb.

"You can miss what you should have had," he said. "You don't have to go back and ask them for it again."

That afternoon, Grandma agreed to move to Seattle. She and Margaret discussed the ground-floor room, a visiting nurse, and how much interference Richard could expect when he tried to cheat at cards.

I asked privately whether she truly wanted it.

"I want a life where nobody is angry that I'm still living," she said.

I hugged her.

Within the week, the injury report led to charges against Diane. Dad's part in the drink remained under investigation. I gave my account and the hotel's details, then let the people responsible for that work do it. Their consequences weren't mine to soften.

Mrs. Walsh wrote that neighbors had stopped repeating Diane's version of the story. Dad had been counting on a Whitmore connection to secure new customers for the shop. Richard informed him, in writing, that no such introduction would be made.

They had tried to turn me into an investment. They would get no return.

Cole went back to Port Mercy when his leave ended. The selection position was assigned elsewhere. Grayhaven remained on the schedule, awaiting his answer.

On the telephone, he admitted he hated losing the team he'd built.

I listened without trying to make the loss disappear.

"Do you want to reconsider?" I asked.

"Do you want me to?"

"That's not an answer."

"No. I want to be disappointed for an evening and then hear what you did today."

So I told him about Helen Brooks showing me college applications. About Grandma sleeping without nightmares. About a book I had borrowed and couldn't understand yet.

He listened as though every detail mattered.

One evening, I told him to eat before calling again. Ten minutes later, he telephoned back.

"Sandwich," he announced. "I can describe it if proof is required."

I laughed until Grandma asked what was happening.

Afterward, she studied me over her tea.

"You miss him."

"He's been gone three days."

"That isn't an answer either."

I began noticing how often I looked at the clock. I wanted to tell him things before anyone else. When a staff member asked whether my husband would visit over the weekend, I didn't rush to correct the word.

Friday evening, I went downstairs carrying a flower vase. Cole stood at the bottom of the hospital steps, hair disturbed by the wind.

I stopped.

"You weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow."

"I found an earlier train."

"You look as though you ran."

"Only from the taxi."

I set down the vase.

He watched me, trying to judge whether he had come too soon.

I hated that I'd taught him to expect disappointment from me.

"I was thinking about you," I said.

His expression changed.

"You were?"

"I keep doing it. It's becoming inconvenient."

He took a step closer.

"I might be able to help."

"You are the problem."

"Then I should stay where you can keep an eye on me."

I caught his collar and kissed him.

He went still for half a heartbeat, then his arms came around me. The vase could wait. So could the stairs, the people passing, and every explanation I'd used to keep this feeling small.

When we parted, his breath was uneven.

"Ella?"

"I love you."

He closed his eyes.

I touched his cheek.

"Not because you're the father. Not because you helped Grandma. I would still want you if none of that gave me an excuse."

He kissed me again, then rested his forehead against mine.

"You should have warned me before saying that."

"Why?"

"I'm supposed to be able to stand."