“No, you did the honorable thing. You married me because you have an overinflated sense of right and wrong.”
“I married you because I was passionate about you. Because you were the sexiest, most intriguing, most beautiful woman I had ever met, and for some unknown reason, you appeared to want to spend your life with me. I followed my heart, and I would do it again. Here, now, the morning after Valentine’s Day, I choose you.” He pulled her closer still. Breathing in lavender, he kissed her hair. “I choose you for the rest of my life.”
She draped her arm over his thigh. “Even though I look like death on a stick.”
“You’re beautiful and sexy, and you always will be. You can’t hide it, Ella. The only thing that prevents me from jumping your bones right now is the realization that sex would probably kill both of us.” He stroked her cheek, smooth as porcelain, cold as marble. “On the other hand, what a way to go.”
“Not for Harry. He’d find us.”
“And need even more therapy. Ella, I’m sorry—for not being a better husband, a better father. For not being someone you could trust with the truth.”
“Do you have any secrets to wipe clean?”
Felix eased himself out of her embrace, stood, and adjusted the thermostat on the wall. “Let’s continue talking in bed while the house warms up.” He held out his hand; Ella took it.
“It’s been a while,” she said, “since we just talked.”
They stopped outside the spare room, and he put his ear to the door. “Snoring soundly,” he said. This constant concern for others was a strange new feeling. He still couldn’t decide whether to categorize it as good or bad. He made a move toward their bedroom, but Ella didn’t budge.
“Forty-eight percent of women don’t survive their first heart attack,” she said. “Do you ever wonder why I survived, Felix—why I’m not in the forty-eight percent?”
“No. It’s a statistic. Nothing more.” He might have shared the truth once with Harry, but he would never say, Ella, I’m terrified. Fear had always been something he’d wrestled alone. Besides, from now on, he was choosing a different path, a different attitude.
“Tell me it’s going to be okay,” she said. “The future, I mean. Please.”
“I can’t.” He kissed her—a kiss that wasn’t a prelude to sex, to good-bye, or to hello. A kiss that screamed mine. From now on, he would kiss her every day—and take the time to do it right.
The house hummed back to life: the fridge gurgled, ice dropped from the ice maker, the hall floor creaked as if a ghost were walking toward them. The wind must have shifted. The flue was still open, and a sudden draft came from the fireplace, bringing a strong smell of wood smoke.
“Things might never be the same.” Felix combed his fingers through her hair. “They might be a little harder, but you’re still Ella Bella. And this—what we have here, right now—this is good.”
“You’ve discovered mindfulness?”
“I’ve discovered the world according to Eudora.”
Finally, Ella smiled. “Maybe she really is Mary Poppins.”
They lay side by side, facing each other as the morning light filtered through the gauze blinds. Outside a solitary bird sang the dawn chorus.
“The wood thrush is awake,” she said, turning away from him. “Do you remember why I agreed to buy this house?”
Was that a trick question? “Because the camellias were blooming?”
“That was part of it, yes.” She turned back with a smile. “But it was also because of the light in this room. When the sun hits our bed around mid-morning, and Harry’s in school and you’re at work, it’s my guilty pleasure to sneak in here and lie down for fifteen minutes.”
“A power nap?”
“An excuse to shut out the world and just be.” She exhaled—a long, slow release. “Felix. You’ve been amazing. Thank you.”
“I have another Valentine’s Day gift. More of an idea, really. I was thinking about turning the shed into a workshop for you.”