“You’re right. I’m Sam.”
She stood by him in the kitchen for the next half hour, sipping coffee and talking. When he left her and headed for the shower, she was struck by the extraordinariness of it all: that they could stand around and talk about little things again. A potential dinner party. The newest coffee maker. A movie that was getting good reviews.
She had gone a whole hour without thinking about her heartache. That might not sound like much to some people, but to her it was monumental, like swimming the English Channel. It offered her a glimpse of something she’d given up on: the possibility of being herself again, of even someday being happy with her life. She knew she could never let go of her sadness, but maybe Harriet was right: maybe she could go on. Maybe time didn’t heal wounds exactly, but it gave you a kind of armor, or a new perspective. A way to remember with a smile instead of a sob. Maybe someday when a stranger asked how many children she had, she could simply say one and talk about Zach.
God, she hoped so.
She met Miles in the bathroom and went into the shower as he was coming out. He patted her bare butt, and she smiled and scooted out of his reach and ducked into the hot water. She was rinsing the conditioner out of her hair when the glass door opened.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Miles said again.
“I’m fine. Call Zach and remind them that we’re going to the aquarium tomorrow. Mom is meeting us there.”
Miles paused, and she knew him well enough to recognize that he was thinking about something.
“What?” she said, stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body.
“We had a pretty big anniversary a few years ago. We didn’t celebrate it. We didn’t celebrate any of them … after.”
“We’ll do better this year. Dinner at Canlis.”
He held out a familiar blue velvet box.
She was shaking as she reached out for the small, soft box. The velvet was worn on top; that was how often she’d held it, but she hadn’t touched it in years. Releasing a deep breath, she flipped open the lid. One a bed of stark white, Mia’s graduation ring stood up proudly, the gold glinting in the light. The once-empty prongs had been filled with a sparkling pink diamond.
Jude looked up at this man she loved, and the full power of that emotion, of their commitment, surged through her like a tide carrying her home. He knew her better than she knew herself; he knew that she needed this reminder of their daughter, something Jude could wear, see every day.
“I love you, Miles Farraday.”
He touched her face, smiling. “You’re a warrior. You know that?”
“I wish.”
He kissed her again, whispered, “Tell her hi for me,” and then went back into the bedroom.
After he left the house, she dried her hair and dressed in a pair of old, comfortable jeans and a white hoodie. Ordinarily, she’d take the time to put on makeup, but today she didn’t feel the need to hide anything. She was who she was: a woman who’d survived a war of the heart and had the wrinkles to prove it.
She meant to leave right away, but somehow she couldn’t do it. She spent the next few hours doing chores, picking things up around the house, doing laundry, making a casserole for dinner.
Stalling. Finally, at just after one o’clock, she drew in a deep breath and stopped moving. It’s time, Jude. Now.
Slinging a purse over her shoulder, she went to her car and drove away. As she came to the corner, sunlight skittered along the blue water below and winked from windows along either shore. Such a beautiful, beautiful day.
At Night Road, she slowed down. It had been years since she’d dared to turn onto this stretch of asphalt where her life had changed. It was time to face it at last.
She turned and kept driving. Then, after about a half a mile or so, she pulled off to the side of the road and parked. Slowly, she got out of the car and crossed the street.
The remnants of the memorial were barely visible.