Chapter 28 #2
“He was playing soccer. He was tackling Rome. He was laughing.” I leaned closer. “When was the last time you saw Alec laugh like that? Before we brought our ‘storm’ into his life?”
She didn’t answer, but a single tear spilled over and tracked through the powder on her cheek.
“You’ve held this family together through the worst of times,” I continued, my voice softening.
“Patrick told me. He said he wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for you.
You created the structure that kept them alive when their world ended.
But they don’t need to just survive anymore. They need to live.”
She brushed the tear away, her pride warring with her pain.
“I can’t do this without you,” I said.
She looked at me, confusion furrowing her brow. “What?”
“Ten kids,” I said, letting out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Twelve on the weekends when Michael and Shelly drop off the boys. And Patrick and I both work. We’re going to need help.
Not just an employee, but someone who knows them.
Someone who loves them.” I paused. “Someone who can remind me that Eoin is allergic to strawberries, and that Brody needs quiet time before bed or he gets weepy.”
I reached across the table, and I covered her hand with mine. It was cold and rough, the skin thin like parchment paper.
“I’m not here to take your place,” I promised her. “I’m here to stand beside you. We’re going to need a general to run this army, Mrs. Kowalski. Are you resigning your commission, or are you going to help us build this?”
She stared at our joined hands. For a long moment, the only sound was the refrigerator humming in the corner.
Then, she took a shaky breath. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes with quick, efficient movements. When she put it away, her spine straightened. The steel returned to her posture, but the brittleness was gone.
“Eoin isn’t allergic to strawberries,” she said, her voice thick but steady. “He just claims they make his tongue itchy because he prefers chocolate ice cream.”
I smiled, feeling a knot in my chest loosen. “See? I’d be lost without you.”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, with an appraisal that felt weightier than any interview I’d ever sat through.
“He loves you,” she said. “I haven’t seen him look at anyone like that since... well. Since before.”
“I love him too,” I said. “And them. All of them.”
She nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. “Well then. We can’t have the proposal happening over broken crockery, can we?”
She stood up, smoothing her apron. “Go on. Mr. McCrae is waiting. I will clean this up.”
“We can help—”
“Go,” she ordered, pointing a stern finger at the door. “Before I change my mind and put you on a cleaning schedule.”
I stood, impulsive gratitude washing over me. I hugged her—a quick, hard squeeze. She stiffened for a second, shocked, then awkwardly patted my back.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I found Patrick in the hallway, leaning against the wall, looking like he was about to jump out of his skin. He was gripping the broom so hard his knuckles were white.
“Is she—”
“She’s fine,” I said, taking the broom from him and leaning it against the wall. I took his hand. “She’s staying.”
Relief washed over his face, making him look ten years younger. He let out a long breath. “Thank God. What did you say to her?”
“I told her we needed her. And she told me that Eoin is a liar about strawberries.” I smiled and pulled him toward the back door. “Now, I believe we were in the middle of something?”
We walked back out into the night. The air felt clearer now, the heaviness in the kitchen replaced by a strange, fragile sense of peace. We reached the gazebo, and the string lights seemed to glow a little brighter against the dark.
Patrick turned to me. The nervous pacing was gone. The energy had settled into something steady. Sure.
“I had a speech,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “About finding light in the dark. About second chances. About how you brought me back to life.”
“I like speeches,” I said, stepping into his personal space.
“Forget the speech.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He didn’t drop to one knee; he just stood there, looking at me eye-to-eye, equal to equal.
“Theresa,” he said. “My life was a schedule of grey days until you walked into it. You’re the smartest, bravest, most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. You love my children like they’re your own, and you let me love yours.”
He flipped the box open. Inside sat a sapphire, dark and deep as the ocean, surrounded by a halo of diamonds. It was breathtaking.
“I want to be part of that life,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I want the noise. I want the burning toast and the football games with no rules. I want to build a life with you that’s so full it spills over the ocean.”
He took a breath, his blue eyes locking onto mine, stripping me bare.
“Marry me. Let’s make a beautiful mess of this life together.”
Tears pricked my eyes—happy tears, free of guilt, free of the shadow that had trailed me for so long. I thought of Marco, and I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that he wasn’t looking down with jealousy. He was looking down with relief that I wasn’t alone anymore.
“Yes,” I whispered. Then louder, for the stars and the garden and Mrs. Kowalski in the kitchen to hear. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, the weight feeling like an anchor in the best way.
Then he pulled me in, and his kiss tasted like the future. It tasted like hope. It tasted like home.
“We’re going to need a bigger car,” he murmured against my lips, his hands tangled in my hair.
I laughed, a sound that bubbled up from my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “We’re going to need a bus.”
“I’ll buy a bus.”
“I love you, Patrick McCrae.”
“I love you, Theresa Carideo.”
Above us, the lights flickered in the breeze, and somewhere inside the house, a floorboard creaked as one of our ten children rolled over in sleep. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t tidy.
It was everything.