Then, we hear a “mommy” echoing through the hallway. It’s one of her little ones. The voice sounds shaken but not life-threatened. It’s probably nothing a kiss and a Band-Aid can’t heal.
Austin rises from her chair, still holding my hand. Then, she kisses my head and rests my hand back onto the bed before turning to tend to her child. I watch her hurry to the doorway, but before she disappears into the hallway, I remember something.
“Austin,” I say, regaining her attention.
“Yes, Daddy?” she asks, as she turns around.
I gather the letter from my lap, carefully fold it twice and hold it out toward her.
“Will you put this in your mother’s journal?” I ask.
She hesitates, her eyes locked on the cream stationery.
“Sure, Daddy,” she says, walking back toward me.
I release the letter into her keeping and softly smile. She forces a smile too. It’s a knowing smile. It understands. I’m thankful and also saddened — only because I can’t make her hurt go away. It’s all a part of life, I tell myself. And I would tell her the same, except that she already knows.
“Mommy.”
We both hear the little voice calling from the hallway again.
“Go,” I say, smiling wider and nodding in her direction.
She glances at the letter pressed in between her soft fingers, and then she looks back up at me. I watch her take a deep breath, and I can tell she’s fighting back tears.
“Go, go,” I say, chuckling and shooing her out the door. “And bring him in here once you’ve made him all better.”
She smiles one, last time and then turns and exits the room, with the letter in her hand.
I rest my head back against the headboard behind me after she’s gone. I’m well aware that my time here is short, and there are no late check-outs when the Big Man calls you home. I know that, and anyway, I’m not looking for any. I’ve said my peace, and I’ve lived a good life — a full life, with my butterfly at my side. That’s all I ever wanted. And now, I have a new mission — to spend forever with her. Get to forever. Get to forever. Meet her at the gates of forever — do what I’ve got to do to meet her there, so she has someone there waiting for her, so she’s not alone.
I turn and reach inside the nightstand drawer next to the bed and pull out her photo.
“My Jules,” I whisper, as I clutch the old photo in both hands.
And suddenly, a silhouette appears in the doorway. I look up and then quickly shove the photo under my leg and fight back my tears. I can’t explain the tears. I’m at peace, but I guess it’s still hard knowing I have to leave her for a little while.
“I brought you some tea, dear,” she says, shuffling into the room.
I watch her make her way toward me, set the tea tray down onto the nightstand and then fall slowly into the chair beside the bed.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I say, meeting her eyes and gently smiling.
Her eyes are the same — the same eyes I remember from her pigtail days and her cut-off-jeans days and her eight-months-pregnant days. They’re soft and sexy and beautiful. I smile again at the thought. The only thing I didn’t see back then was just how loving they really are.
“Here,” she softly says, bringing the cup to my hands.
I notice her eyes lock onto the photo. A piece of it is sticking out, revealing the side of her young face. She acts as if she doesn’t see it, and she meets my eyes again and smiles.
“I love you, Will Stephens,” she says.
I take the tea cup in one hand and squeeze her soft, creased hand with the other. I look deep into her eyes then. I’m remembering all the moments that we loved and we cried and we loved so much that it made us cry. And I’m remembering all the hell we put ourselves through just to realize we should have been together from that very first moment. I love those moments, though. I love every one of them now. They’re our story now. Every mistake, every hurt, every joy, every longing — it’s ours, only ours.
“Jules,” I start to say, and for some reason, I just can’t get the words out.
I’m fighting back the tears in my eyes, and I’m remembering a lifetime of memories, and I just can’t get the words out to let her know how much love I have for her. I feel my lips quivering, and I quickly press them tightly together.
“I know,” she says softly. “I know.”
I search her eyes and let the air escape my lungs, as she buries her face into my hand near the mattress. I set the cup onto the nightstand’s surface and then place my other hand near hers. I can’t see her face, but I feel her tears falling wet onto my hand.
“I know,” she says again.
She buries her face deeper into both of my hands now and slides something hard in between my fingers. Then, she lifts her head and releases my hand, and my eyes fall onto a small, metal object.
“She kept you safe all these years,” she says, in almost a whisper. “I can’t come with you now…”
Her words trail off as I meet her gaze again. Pieces of her soft, gray hair have fallen near her face, and there are tears in her eyes. They make my heart break for her.
I squeeze the guardian angel, and then I rest my hand on top of hers again.
“Don’t be sad, sweetheart,” I say.
A forced smile is edging up my face.
“Will,” she says then, so softly I almost don’t hear her.
“Yes, sweetheart?” I say.
“Sometimes, I feel like we’re just kids,” she says and then pauses.
I follow the path her eyes make to the open window.
“And I think I hear rocks hitting the window, and I get the urge to climb out in the middle of the night and fall into your arms,” she says, returning her gaze to mine again and smiling through her tears.
“And sometimes,” she continues, “I just want to go to the end of a gravel road and stare up at the stars from the hood of your truck or climb that big bluff downtown and watch the fireworks dance to the sky — just one more time.”
She stops and smiles wider.
“And there are actually times when I just want to fight, about nothing — because that’s what you do when you’re young and in love,” she says, as a tear escapes from her face and lands gently on my hand.
“Will,” she continues.
I gaze deeper into her tear-filled eyes. There’s a sincere, yet longing smile on my lips now.
“I loved being young and in love with you,” she says.
I take a shallow breath and then let it escape my lungs.
“Me too,” I say, squeezing her hand tighter.
“And I know we missed some of those years,” she goes on. “But from those years we missed, I can only remember you in them now.”
She takes a moment before she continues.
“I remember your face when you first looked up and saw me in the doorway that New Year’s Eve so long ago,” she says. “You looked so happy, and for a second, you made me forget that we were ever apart. And I remember that night in the hospital. I never told you, but I woke up early that next morning and told myself that I should leave. But I took one look at your handsome, sleeping face and snuggled back into your arms. Those are the parts, along with all the other wonderful parts before them and after them, that I remember. Those are the parts I hold onto.
And Will, I love being not-so-young and in love with you too. Because whatever the moment, I love us.”
I watch her bury her face into my hands at my side again, and I let my head fall back as I squeeze my eyelids shut and fight back my own tears. Then, suddenly, I feel her lift her head again, and my eyes open and fall into hers.
“Sometimes, I’m scared I won’t remember who I am without you,” she says.
There’s a longing and an anxiousness in her eyes now. This part makes my heart ache, and finally, a tear wins the battle and escapes down my cheek.