8. Chapter Eight
B reaking our embrace was the last thing I wanted to do. I longed to curl onto my side, pull her flush against me, and hold her in my arms for the rest of the night. I might agree with her request to stay in separate rooms, but I would respect it. My thumb stroked against her cheek. “I’ll move your suitcases, then come back to move my stuff. Meet me on the patio for dinner when you’re settled?”
She nodded her silent agreement as she untangled her arms from my neck and then stood. Instead of heading for Amber’s room, she walked to the bookshelf. “Tell me about this.”
“It’s step one of my grand gesture. I went to the bookstore. Sophie mentioned your wish list. I cleared it. Then I went to Seaside Harbor, thinking I’d pick up some wood and make the bookshelf, but they had this in one of those kits you put together.” My chest pressed against her back as my fingers gathered hair and moved it off her shoulder. I convinced myself the gasp was from startling her since her back was to me—she didn’t know I’d moved across the room—and not from the surprise of my touch. It’d been months since we’d done more than a quick peck on the cheek, or me taking her hand as we entered or exited a room. My lips trailed down her neck as one arm wrapped around her waist. The other hand landed on her hip, gently squeezing. “The jar has miniature books, or as close to a book as I could fold. I’m not the crafty one in this relationship. Pull one out, open that number, and your dilemma of what book to read next is solved. I wrapped duets and trilogies together so you can read them together. Sophie told me the rest were standalone.”
Annie leaned into my embrace. “Did you decorate the books too? Or did someone help you?”
“Sophie showed me how to wrap them so they had little pockets. I included bookmarks, stickers, and some other little accessories. She wrapped the first two, then helped me fix my first three attempts. After that, I was on my own. Since I used light brown and pale pink paper, the books seemed a little plain. I picked up some stickers, ribbon, and that fancy sticker tape stuff you like to use when scrapbooking. While I watched a movie, I decorated. You know me, I can’t sit still. I have to be doing something while I watch TV and movies.”
She stepped forward, breaking our contact, reached into the jar, and pulled a folded paper book. “Number 23.” She scanned the shelf, found the book, and held it to her chest. Then she turned to me. A thin layer of mist covered her eyes. “Jonas, this might be the most thoughtful gift you’ve given me in years. Thank you.”
Then she kissed my cheek before practically skipping out of our room into Amber’s. An hour later, she joined me on the patio, where I had our first activity waiting for her. Newspapers covered the patio table, something I learned I needed to do to avoid scrubbing paint off the glass table for hours. “What’s all this?” Annie asked, glancing at the paint markers, brushes, paint collection, and palettes stacked on the center of the table.
“Our first activity,” I remarked from the grill. “The snacks are in the kitchen bar area. I have your favorite wine chilling in the fridge, and I’m just about done with the kabobs. I made a mix of chicken and shrimp. Plus plenty of veggies. I figured we’d eat dinner while you tell me about Ashland. Then we can paint a few rocks. Maybe a couple to add to the décor here. I’d like to make one for the beach too. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
She crossed the patio toward me. Her hand squeezed my upper arm as she pressed a kiss against my shoulder. “This sounds like the perfect plan. What are the plans tomorrow?”
Before responding, I brushed her bangs to the side and tucked them behind her ear. I loved it when she pinned her hair back so I could see her eyes. She joked that it was unfair how I only had hints of gray around my temple and peppered throughout my beard while her gray took over more than half her color, but I loved it. She wasn’t just aging gracefully; she was more complex and bolder, like my favorite wine. I must have stared at her in silence for too long because her finger brushed across the tip of my nose, something she did to get my attention when I was zoning out or focused on a task.
I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it. “We’re recreating our first day together. Wear comfortable shoes because we’re walking. I’d like to add breakfast at the café to our day. Then we can pick up a coffee before browsing at the bookshop. I know I cleared your list, but there’s bound to be something else you want. And I’d like to pick up another journal. One for us to take turns writing in. There’s bound to be something that comes up that we need to say to the other, but we can’t put it into words, or it’s difficult to verbalize. I thought we could write it down and pass it back and forth. Or it could even sit on the coffee table where it’s available for both of us whenever we need it.”
Her hand warmed my cheek as her bare feet raised onto her toes to kiss me. Not a peck on the cheek, but her lips against mine. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d initiated a kiss, and I’ unsure when I’d done so for more than a quick peck in passing. My wife’s lips against mine shouldn’t feel foreign, but they did. And that was something I intended to change. “I love that idea. You’re really here the entire summer?”
I nodded. “You have my undivided attention until I leave for mandatory camp. Full disclosure, I have my laptop, but it’s in my work bag in the hall closet next to the suitcase and garment bag I’ll take to camp.”
“What about your work phone that seems to ring all day?”
The hurt I saw in her eyes told me that she believed my constant need to do more, be more, and grow not only the Caribou, but my family’s legacy had taken priority over our marriage. She didn’t need to tell me for me to know she thought I valued whatever was on my phone or computer more than her. That was a hard truth to swallow. “Turned it off. Changed my voicemail to a message to contact my office to find out which of my brothers or staff members is handling their needs. Lauren knows I’m unavailable, as do my father, brothers, and coaching staff. The only phone I have is my personal one, and that’s mostly family with a few friends. I can turn that off if you want.”
She shook her head. “Not necessary. But since we’re going back to the beginning of our relationship and reliving favorite memories, let’s travel back in time to when our lives weren’t ruled by technology. No phones on our dates or during dinner. Let’s disconnect and focus on being present.”
My eyes shifted to the small wicker basket on the railing ledge. At one time, it was Amber’s seashell basket. It had been home to a small potted flower after that. Now, it was empty, waiting for its next purpose. I took my phone from my pocket and placed it in the basket before handing it to Annie. “Remember when the kids first got handheld gaming systems, and we couldn’t get them to look at us? Then, the smartphone phase was worse. To the point you collected everyone’s phone at meals.”
“Oh, how I don’t miss the days when I only saw the tops of their heads. My ‘no work calls at dinner rule’ for you expanded to ‘no devices at the table’ and then ‘no devices during family time.’ I missed seeing my children’s eyes and hearing about their day.” She pressed her lips together and ran her finger down her chin, the way she did when she was debating something. “Mostly, I missed dinner conversations with my husband and I used the kids as a guise.”
“Annie, they were teenagers. I know the last couple of years have been hard for us, but you felt as though I’d checked out of our relationship and put my work before you even then?”
She silently nodded her response before taking the basket into the house. I stood on the porch stunned into silence, realizing things between us were worse than I thought and had been for much longer than when she first requested that we go to therapy. How had I missed it?