Buster is already there, both his hands and his forehead pressing against the wall.
He sees me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t—”
“It’s okay,” I respond, not sure if that’s true, but not caring, and only wanting to hear what Doc Peterson has to say.
“Surgery went well,” he begins. “We removed the breast.”
I shudder, and Buster’s skin pales.
“Is that all then?” I ask. “Is she better?”
“For now. We’re fortunate we caught it early. But, if we need to, we could consider radiotherapy. It’s fairly new. It’s harsh. It’s expensive. There are risks involved.” I cover my mouth with my hands. “Why don’t you two go home, get some sleep?”
“No, I want to stay. Buster, you go home. Someone needs to be there when Billie comes home in the morning.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. His eyes tell me he wants to be anywhere but here.
I nod.
After Buster leaves, Doc Peterson squeezes my shoulder. “Take some days off from work, help your mother recover.”
“No,” I say. “I can’t. I’ll keep working.”
I don’t tell him it’s ’cause we need the money to pay for this surgery and my ma’s recovery. But he knows. He dips his head before he, too, leaves.
I go back to my ma, quietly pulling a chair up beside her bed. I bite my lip, watching her sleep, not allowing myself to cry again. Ma’s always been so strong. She may not have liked how her life progressed—losing Daddy, raising us alone, struggling for money, and now this—but she faces it head-on, always.
Roy pokes his head through the curtain into the little room. “Hey,” he whispers.
I force a smile. He lifts a spare chair, and I wait for the commotion I know will ensue, ’specially since it’s dark. Roy bangs the legs against a table and scrapes ’em against the floor, the noise echoing in the quietness, ’til he settles next to me.
“Hi,” I say to him. A genuine smile tugs at my lips. Roy wraps his arm ’round me, pulls me against him, and I feel safe, fortunate that we found each other again. “Thank you for being here.”
“How could I not be, Bonn?”
“Plenty of reasons, but I’m glad you’re here. You easily could have walked away from me.”
“But I didn’t.” He kisses the side of my head. “I won’t.”
Those words … so simple, yet I could float away. And in that moment, I allow myself to float, to keep dreaming of Roy being beside me as we grow old and gray. “Marry me.”
A sliver of space forms between us so he can see my face, his own face creased with confusion. “What?”
I cradle his hands in my lap. “You said before that when I’m ready, you’d marry me. I’m ready, Roy.”
“Bonn—”
“I know we got some figuring out to do, and I’ve messed up big.” I glance at my ma, back to Roy. “But there’s so much uncertainty in this world, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I’m certain I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”
“What ’bout your dreams to finish school, get—”
“I still have those dreams, and then some. I want it all; you know that. We’ll just reach it all together, after we’re married. I don’t know why I made a stink ’bout having everything perfect before we say ‘I do.’”
There’s silence between us, but unlike under the bleachers, electricity laces this conversation.
“Bonnelyn,” Roy starts, and I hold my breath, “you’re being unfair to me again.” He pauses, and my heart may as well be in a vise. “I want to be the one asking.” Something between a sob and a laugh comes out of my mouth as he lowers down to a kneel, and he says, “Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I say, not caring how loud that word comes out, and fling myself into his arms. Framing his shadowed face with my hands, I kiss him, and it feels like layers of weight fall away.
20
“Before we go to Doc’s…” Roy leads me from my ma’s house, both of us decked out in our glad rags. Roy’s even in a three-piece suit he borrowed from his daddy, who got it from his daddy.
“You ain’t backing out, are ya?” I rub my neck. “I really think you’re going to like Doc’s. And I thought it’d be a nice way to celebrate our engage—”
“Relax, Bonn. I wanted to show you something first. Besides, I look too good to stay in.”
I tilt my head, smiling, and my curiosity builds as we walk past the library, where we stop.
“Here we are.” He motions.
“Our house?” I ask. I haven’t been here in weeks, haven’t even been able to walk past it.
Roy nods, and the simple gesture has me releasing a breath I didn’t know I held.
She looks the same, the white of the porch and fence gleaming in the darkness. I go to say as much, but Roy says, “What I want to show you is inside.”
Hand in hand, we walk up the broken pathway. Roy opens the door, flicks on the light, and I gasp. Before, I’d stripped the wallpaper, leaving behind an unfinished mess. Now a floral pattern in a soft yellow covers the walls. Crown molding gives the room an elegant style. All the trim is painted white, matching a built-in bookcase.
“You did all of this? You built that?” I raise my hand, taking his with mine, and demonstratively examine his hand. “But where are all your cuts and bruises?”
“Very funny.” Roy steps inside, closes the door. “You like it?”
“I love it. I absolutely love it.”
I love that he kept working, even when things weren’t right with us. I love that he did this for me, for us.
He smiles. “I know things were weird between us, and I wasn’t sure how to act or what to do. Instead of facing you, I avoided you, coming here. I worked, thought. And,” he says, “I couldn’t fathom how one”—he pauses—“mistake could unravel over ten years of you and me. Or the next eighty we’ve been planning.”
I return his smile halfway through his ramble. “Roy Thornton, you are too good for me.”
He laughs, and I lean into him. “Here, let me show you more,” he says.
“There’s more?” I ask, my stomach fluttering with excitement.
“There should always be more.”
Together, we walk through the rooms. The tiny bathroom now has a sink and tub. The flooring in the kitchen has been mended and polished to be like new. Cabinetry needs to be refinished, but we can do that together. The two spare bedrooms still need paint on the walls, new trim work, and such. I adore seeing the rooms all the same, thinking of all the possibilities for what and who could one day fill these empty spaces.
Then we come to our bedroom. I’m nervous walking in, and my palms are sweaty. I don’t know why; I’ve come in here before when Roy first showed me ’round.
The room’s simple, the walls a soft blue. A mattress is on the floor. No furniture, yet. Soon I’ll be bringing over mine.
“I was in here the other day,” Roy says, behind me, his hands on my shoulders. He spins me to face him. “Just standing here, thinking.”
“’Bout what?” I ask.
“You, us, the moment you became more than a silly crush.”
I look up into his familiar eyes, practically jumping out of my skin for him to continue.
“Do you remember that day we were riding our bikes along the tracks?”