Chapter 13
Sarah
It’s later than planned by the time we drive to Ian’s mom’s place from the reindeer ranch, and I can tell Tina Nolan is exhausted when she opens the door. But her face lights up like a Christmas tree as she throws her arms around Ian’s neck.
“Baby!” Her voice is muffled in the front of his shirt as she sways back and forth with her son in her arms. “I’m so glad you made it.
I’ve got the guest room all made up for you two.
” She draws back and pulls me in for a one-armed hug of my own, still keeping hold of Ian like she’s afraid he’ll get away.
“I couldn’t believe it when Ian told me the news. Congratulations, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” I hug her back, breathing in the smell of the Wind Song perfume that I remember from visits to Ian’s family home years ago. I always liked his mother. “And thanks for hosting us on such short notice.”
“Not a problem at all.” She releases me but doesn’t let go of Ian just yet. Her smile is tired, but radiant. “I was just tickled when Ian told me you kids were coming.”
“And she screamed when I told her about the engagement,” Ian adds. “Pretty sure the neighbors heard her.”
“I certainly hope so,” Tina says. “They’re always bragging about their kids’ weddings and their grandbabies. Now I have something to boast about.”
“Glad we could help.” Ian hugs his mom again, then releases her.
Tina’s hair is red-gold like Ian’s, and she has it in a long ponytail that curls down her back. Her feet are bare, and she wears cuffed jeans and a long-sleeved pink T-shirt printed with tiny white hearts.
She catches me watching her and smiles. “You’ve grown up so pretty, Sarah. I can’t wait to see what sort of wedding gown you pick. Is your mom just thrilled?”
I haven’t told my mother yet, and guilt pinches me between the ribs. I’m not sure why I’m holding off. My mom’s reservations about marriage, maybe, or the fact that I’m still adjusting myself?
It’s probably the same reason I’ve held off on making a big announcement to everyone at the group home. Junie knows, but that’s about it.
“We’re still in the early stages of planning,” I tell Tina, expertly dodging the question. “Things like dresses and rings and venues feel pretty far off.”
“We were just talking about it, though,” Ian says. “About what kind of wedding we’ll have.”
“I just can’t believe it.” Tina gives me a conspiratorial smile. “I did always hope he’d figure it out.”
“Figure what out?” I rest my small overnight bag on the arm of the couch.
“That the two of you are meant to be together.” She smiles and pats Ian’s cheek. “I always knew you were made for each other, but I understand why it took you some time to get there.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “You’ve been watching soaps again, haven’t you?”
“Shush, child.” She swats at him. “It’s not soaps, anyway. It’s romance novels. And it’s about time you got your happily ever after.”
“My mother, the love addict.” Ian shoots me a fond eyeroll as he scoops up my bag and starts toward the guest room.
Tina pats my cheek before turning to follow Ian down the hall. “There’s nothing wrong with loving love,” she calls, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to Ian or me.
I can’t see his face but could swear his shoulders slump just a little.
But he straightens as his mother puts her arm around him, and they walk together toward the back room.
I stand awkwardly in the living room for a moment, not sure whether to follow or to give them a few minutes alone.
Ian said it’s been years since they saw each other, so I’m inclined to give them a private mother/son moment.
My gaze drifts to the bank of family photos lining one wall, and I study them one by one.
There’s a freckle-faced Ian crookedly holding a “first day of first grade” sign with his mom beaming beside him.
There’s another one of teenage Ian in a cap and gown, his mortarboard adorably askew as he holds up his high school diploma.
Ian’s father is noticeably absent from the photos, but I spot one of Shane and Ian at the far end.
I step closer to study it, conscious of the pang of sadness settling in my low belly.
Ian must be about nineteen here, which would make Shane fourteen.
They’re wearing matching Mariners ball caps, and Shane gazes at Ian like his brother hung the moon.
Neither of them had any idea that Shane wouldn’t live to see his next birthday. That Ian would end up dropping out of college, shattered by his brother’s death.
I remember the day he got the call. We were studying for a physics final, and Ian stepped away from our table at the library as he pulled the phone to his ear.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. No hello. No small talk. It was like he knew. Like he’d always expected the call.
Maybe he had. Maybe he’d always been braced for it on some level.
I remember him crumpling onto a chair beside the periodicals section, his knees going out from under him like they’d turned to melted wax.
I sat there at the table we’d been sharing, torn between going to him and giving him some privacy.
I was still wrestling with that when he stood up and walked out of the library, phone pressed to his ear.
He didn’t come back. The next week, he dropped out of school.
He went back eventually, earning his MBA, but I’d already graduated by then. We kept in touch, but our friendship was never really the same. Neither was Ian.
“Hey, beautiful wife.” Ian swoops up behind me, echoing Sean’s words to Amber back at the reindeer ranch. I wonder if he’s feeling the same giddiness about using the title, even though we’re months away from “wife” and “husband” and everything those labels entail.
He plants a kiss on my neck, and I do a full-body shiver. “Everything okay?”
I nod slowly, my heart still breaking a little for the guy he used to be. The guy he probably still is somewhere deep inside.
“Everything’s good,” I assure him. “This whole marriage thing, it’s going to be great.”
“Excellent.” He smiles and takes my hand to lead me down the hall, and it occurs to me that my words sounded like a pep talk. For Ian or for me?
I’m honestly not sure.
Tina turns in early, but Ian and I aren’t tired yet. Maybe it’s the result of the long car ride. Maybe it’s the newness of being away from home together. Maybe it’s the electric current of desire that never seems to stop arcing between us.
The steady hum builds to a full-fledged buzz as Ian moves behind me in the kitchen and presses a corkscrew into my hand. “Here, take this.”
As I turn to face him, he hands me a bottle of wine we bought this morning at a vineyard we scoped out for Simon and Cassie’s rehearsal dinner. This was before we called to tell them we’re positive the reindeer place is the best spot, which they were thrilled to hear.
I wrap my fingers around the neck of the bottle. “Where am I taking it?”
Ian moves back through the living room, and I lean against the patio door to watch him. The man has a damn fine ass. And shoulders. And—
“Outside,” he says. “How often do we get away from the city lights to see stars like this?”
“Good idea.” Even from this side of the sliding glass doors, I can see huge swaths of bright stars blanketing the inky black. “And there’s the perfect little thumbnail crescent moon.”
“I’ll grab wineglasses and a blanket and meet you out on the lawn.”
I consider changing out of my knee-length summer skirt and into yoga pants or something toastier. But Ian and the blanket should provide enough heat, so I tuck the corkscrew in the pocket of my skirt and shove the patio door open.
The night is surprisingly warm, with a gentle breeze that ruffles the hair on my bare arms. The coal-colored sky is dusted with glitter flecks that bend and curve into familiar constellations.
I set the wine bottle on the brick wall that marks the edge of the patio.
Breathing deeply, I remember my last visit here the week after Shane died.
It was springtime, and a freak thunderstorm turned the pastures into wet waves of limply bent grass and sage-scented wind.
The memorial service was supposed to be outside, but we moved the whole thing indoors to escape the ominous black clouds and muddy earth.
I turn my attention to the wine bottle in my hands and focus on prying the cork out of it. It’s a younger Pinot Noir, one we both agreed was our favorite when we tried it back in the tasting room. I turn when I hear Ian’s footsteps behind me.
“I found some Triscuits and a can of Easy Cheese,” he says with a look that’s almost apologetic. “The best I could do on short notice.”
“It sounds perfect to me.” I nod at the blankets in his arms. “Want to set up a picnic in the grass over there?”
“Deal.”
I follow him to the edge of the lawn, a darkened spot just at the fringe of the fence line.
I notice he’s shut off the porch lights so it’ll be easier to see the stars.
He drops a red plaid blanket on the grass and spreads a smaller tan one beside it.
“One for sitting, one for snuggling,” he says.
“I couldn’t find wineglasses. I grabbed some water glasses instead. ”
“That’s perfect, they won’t tip over in the grass.” I study the characters printed on the sides, smiling when I recognize the Disney logo. “Here, you take Mickey and I get Donald Duck.”
“Or we could just pass the bottle back and forth like we’re in college.”
“That sounds kinda awesome, actually.” I set the glasses aside in a tall patch of grass, but Ian grabs one of them and settles onto the blanket beside me.
His body heat warms me instantly, and his shoulder is broad and strong enough for me to lean against. Taking the bottle from my hand, he tips a tiny splash of wine into the lone glass, then presses the cork back in firmly and gives it a hard shake.
“Aeration for dummies without decanters,” he says as I set the glass aside.