He smiles at the waitress. “The Mystic Vineyards Chardonnay.”
“Of course,” she says. “Bottle or glass?”
“Glass,” I say. “I’ll just have a little.”
“Two glasses,” Jacob says.
“I’ll be right back.” She hurries away.
“I shouldn’t,” I say.
“One is okay. You’re not an alcoholic.”
“You said I stopped the alcohol when we were trying . . .”
“So we’ll stop the alcohol again, when we try again.” He pulls his chair around the table, so he’s sitting closer to me. “I want to make you happy. Why don’t you let me?”
“Jacob . . .”
The waitress brings the wine and then lets us be alone.
Jacob lifts his wineglass. “A toast to us. To starting again.”
We clink glasses, and he leans over to kiss my cheek, and I hurtle back to the last time we were here. He leaned over to kiss my lips. You’re not yourself, he whispered. My heart ached. I took in the curve of his jaw, the soft sunset, his brilliant blue eyes, as if memorizing his face.
“Are you okay?” Jacob says, putting down his glass. His forehead creases with worry. “We can leave.”
“No. We’re staying.” The wine goes down smoothly with a touch of sweetness. I begin to feel warm.
“But you’re not happy,” he says.
“I’m perfectly fine.” Our food comes and I pick up my fork, the flickering candlelight reflected in the metal. “I’m with my handsome, patient husband, eating a delicious meal at a nice restaurant.”
“I have reason to hope, then,” he says, smiling, and as we eat, I catch him looking at me now and then with an expression of promise, anticipation.
*
“Dessert?” the waitress says later, when she comes to pick up our plates.
“I’m full,” I say. “I can’t eat another bite.” I’m a little tipsy.
Jacob pays the bill with a credit card and steers me out to the truck. He reaches over from the driver’s seat to kiss me. The wine seeps through my body, dulling my judgment. How many glasses did I have? More than one. Two, three? I can’t recall. I kiss him back, the way I know I have before, many times. His lips taste familiar. I’m enjoying his touch. I want him. I wanted him before. But something went wrong between us. And I suddenly remember thinking, What secrets would I hide to save my marriage?
At home, while Jacob makes a fire, I change into comfortable sweats. Will this be the night he joins me in the master bedroom? How will it feel, to be with him again? I’m infused with excitement, trepidation, and fear. I pace in my room, glancing at my gaunt, worried face in the dresser mirror. The dinner at the Whale Tale recedes into a fog. Aiden Finlay’s face emerges in my mind. He reaches out to me, then fades. I see Nancy hurrying to the front of the classroom today, while I stare into space, lost in the past.
A few minutes later, there’s a tentative knock at my door.
“Come in.” My heartbeat kicks up. Jacob’s about to cross a boundary. So am I. No, I already have.
He’s carrying a shimmering gown on a hanger. The dress I’m wearing in the wedding photograph.
Tears spring to my eyes. “It’s so beautiful,” I breathe. “We still have it. You still have it.”
“I kept it in the back of my closet. Until you were ready. Now seems like the right time to give it back to you.”
He lays the dress across the bed next to me.
I touch the silk, soft and familiar against my fingers. “I’m glad you kept this.”
“I wouldn’t get rid of it. It’s Lucia Embroidered Motif.” The designer language sounds awkward coming out of his mouth.
“How do you know?”
“You told me. You used to tell me everything.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t even know why I’m apologizing anymore, but it always feels like I should.
“Things will go back to the way they were. How many couples can say they’re starting again with a clean slate?”
“Not many, I’m guessing.” I hold up the dress in front of the mirror. “It might still fit . . .” I search the shiny folds, the crystals, the beautiful stitching, for some sign of the past.
Jacob comes up beside me. “You will still look beautiful in that dress. You always did.”
I look at him in the mirror. “We got married in Discovery Park.”
“Your uncle flew in from Oregon to give you away.”
“Uncle Theo.” My mother’s only brother, fifteen years her senior, kept in touch with me after my parents died, but because of his dementia now he doesn’t even remember my name.
“Uncle Theo, yes,” Jacob says.
“There’s no chapel train on the dress.”
“You didn’t want to trip.”
“I wanted to dance.” An image comes to me, of Jacob sweeping me off my feet.
“Do you want to dance again?” he says.
“I’m not sure I remember how.”
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room and returns with the heavy gold earrings I wore in the wedding photos. And something else. A delicate gold necklace inlaid with emeralds.
“Gorgeous,” I say, dazzled.
“It belonged to my mother.”
“Did your mother . . . come to our wedding?” I say.