Page 97 of Love Always

That’s when I hug her.

Epilogue

Mateus

Early summer is gorgeous in Maine. There’s still a chill in the air and I am so glad to have to put on a jacket as I deplane. I can feel the chilly breeze through the PPB, the passenger boarding bridge. Flying is always tricky with my leg: there’s additional security checks to negotiate and Nubby sometimes swells, but I managed a five-day trip to see my parents and picked up another contract in Colorado while I was at it. Luckily, most of that work can be done remotely.

I’ve missed Laurel so much. So. Much. When I get to the Lexus and toss my duffle in the back, she lets herself out of the car as the bag drops in the back seat and then her arms are around me and I get to kiss her, outside, in the sun, with tendrils of warmth, those early summer promises flowing around us.

It’s only been a week, but I can’t believe how many more flowers have popped up since I’ve been gone.

Cory waves from the big house and he has an apron on. It’s been a learning experience, but Audrey and Andy are fast studies in child management, even a special boy like Cory. He misses feedings with Salty though, so Finn is picking him up soon to grain the horse.

There’s a fire in the woodstove which might be a little overkill this morning with all the passive heat firing in through the windows, but it feels great. I had helped Laurel pick out furniture from the barn out back. Everything here is older, but comfortable, homey and the place is adorable. She and Chloe have painted the kitchen a cheery yellow and Cory’s room a pale light blue. Sponged clouds float near the ceiling in his room.

My leg hurts and I’m beat from the red-eye flight. “I have to crash,” I say.

“Way ahead of you.” She opens the bedroom door. Two glasses of water sit on the nightstand, and the comforter is pulled back. Man, the bed looks perfect. I start to unbuckle my pants and sit on the edge of the mattress. She helps me take my leg off, strip down, and slide under the sheet. The last thing I remember are her fingers carding my hair, her thumbs at my temples ....

When I wake, the room is empty, but I can hear her out in the kitchen. She’s laid out a clean sleeve, and clothes on a chair next to the bed. I’m just finishing dressing when she cracks the door open a few inches and pushes it wider when she sees I’m dressing.

“Where’s Cory? I’ve got a present for him to find buried in my carry on.” It’s a set of plastic dinosaurs.

She smiles. “He’s inside with Audrey.” She pauses as if unsure what to do next. “Can I just show you something first?” Her green eyes glitter just like when I first met her. I still marvel at their color—crystal green.

She takes me by the hand outside to the right of the yard to a trail opening. “Look what Bryce and Finn and Nic helped clear. We’re almost done.”

I look at the trail. It’s the kind of trail I would have run before I lost my leg. “This goes all the way to The Inn?”

She nods. “To behind the stores, but yes. Do you want to walk it?”

I look at her face. She’s so excited. I get it. It’s a link to her family. I kiss the top of her head. “Sure. Lead the way.”

“No. You lead,” she says and tucks herself behind me.

The trail winds and weaves and though it starts out fairly even, it grows rougher. My leg, already swollen from the pressurized cabin starts to complain.

Then there’s a break in the trees and there is a large flat rock, situated to overlook the sea with Main Street below and the roof of The Inn, the Burkes’ place and further down the dirt road, the pasture with the Christmas trees. To the right, the back entrances to the store fronts are cut off from view, but it’s breathtaking. The ocean sparkles and the triangular flare of white sails dot the horizon, the green of the three islands off-shore are set in blue. She steps out on the rock. It’s a good twenty feet long and at least half as deep.

There’s something at the edge though just sitting there. It takes a second for me to realize what it is.

It’s a blade.

It’s my ticket to run.

I have to hold on to her shoulder for support.

She slips an arm around me, and strokes the side of my face. “We’re doing this together,” she says. “The half marathon in August.”

΅

It takes a week to get fitted, get a socket, and just like before, it’s cast to fit just me. The blade is light, and oddly it’s easy to use. When I first begin to train, I feel like I can run forever … I just can’t stop. Stopping takes some practice. I also keep knocking into furniture because the blade sticks out way behind me. The blade is also slightly longer, higher, than a walking prosthetic—it has to be to absorb the impact of running. But in two weeks I’m up and running with no problem. Laurel comes with me, keeping pace by my side. It’s slow and painful, the phantoms are nearly with every step at the beginning, but that’s okay. I leave them behind. When she clocks a mile, I stop, lean over and try not to cry.

It’s futile. I just let loose. Holding her tight to me, looking out at the sea, knowing I could do this, and would do this, getting better at it all the time, wracks every nerve. Looking back, I think I scared her. I haven’t cried hard like that since my sister died. It was way overdue.

΅

The half marathon is hard, grueling, the longest I’d run using Skippy. It was a hot August too. We had carbo loaded the day before, eating lots of Chloe’s food and I made a giant pot of Indian food with chicken tikka saag and rice.