Chapter 26
That moment presented itself the next to the last morning they had in the cabin. Rain had replaced snow, and they were trapped inside. Harrison had been to the big house to begin packing up things and reported that the Bossy Posse had completed a gingerbread house but were packing up, too.
“Is it as big as the gingerbread men in my painting?” Amy asked.
“Weirdly close,” he said. “And decorated within an inch of its life. I don’t know what becomes of it now.”
“Fundraiser,” Amy said as she arranged logs in the small fireplace for a fire.
“They do this every year to raise money for the children’s home.
They can be super annoying, but they are very civic-minded.
” She smiled, thinking about how active they were in the community.
The new pickleball court was due, in part, to their efforts.
They sat on the floor before the fire, warming their feet, Duchess curled into a ball between them.
Harrison took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “I guess we’re at the end of our stay.”
“We are,” Amy agreed.
“I picked up some steaks for tonight. Thought we’d go out the way we came in—with a good meal.” He leaned back against the ratty couch and tugged her into his side. “I have a question for you.”
Here it was, the big convo. The denouement. The end of her dream. “Shoot,” she said, because if nothing else, she wasn’t afraid of life at this point.
“Where do we go from here?”
How funny that her heart should lift almost out of her chest at the mere suggestion of something next for them.
But her brain, her very practical brain, beat it down again.
“Good question,” she said. “The old now what.” She glanced down.
“I heard you on the phone. I gather you’re going back on the tour. ”
He sighed. “My knee is much better. So is my swing, surprisingly. I haven’t had the chance to work on it like this in a long time. I feel good, feel like I could compete. But…” He shifted his gaze to the fire.
“But?”
He looked at her again. “I realize that it’s more than being physically ready to compete.
I’ve been trying to figure out what I want from life now.
I don’t know the answer, but I don’t think I’m ready to give up the competition.
Or the hunt for one more title. I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to so many people who depend on me, like my caddy and my manager.
Not to mention the brands that have endorsed me and paid me a small fortune to wear their logos, presumably not in the comfort of my own little condo.
” He rubbed his forehead. “I still don’t know what I want from life, or how long I’ll play, or what I’ll do after that…
but I have obligations and I’m not prepared to give them all up.
What would I do? Where would I go? I’ve never thought of retiring at this stage.
At the very least, I could join the senior tour, but even that sounds too…
final.” He sighed again, then tightened his loose hold of her fingers.
“I guess what I am trying to say is that I don’t have any real answers for myself or for you. ”
Amy’s heart fell from its climb. She would have preferred to hear some declarations of undying devotion. But she understood—things rarely happened like they did in novels.
“I was hoping maybe you had some answers,” he said softly.
“Me?” Amy gave him an ironic smile. “Well…I think I’ve figured out that I’m not ready for a life of art. Not as a full-time gig, anyway.”
“Seriously?” Harrison seemed surprised. “You’ve seemed so happy painting.”
“Oh, I’ve loved it. Mostly. But I really miss my kids. And my friends. I even kind of miss my job. I miss the life I’ve created, and ironically, not the life I thought I was supposed to have had.”
“Wait,” Harrison said, and brushed a bit of her hair from her cheek. “You miss the job where you tell men not to look at women’s breasts?”
“Yep. The same job where the men will inevitably tell me that women don’t mind it so much. But who is going to educate them if I’m not there? They need me. And my kids need me. And clearly, my family needs me, as you have seen for yourself.”
“I think what they need is an intervention, but it is equally obvious you are cherished and needed there.”
Amy laughed. Then she sobered. “It’s so strange—I was so certain that I wanted to recapture what I used to have, but I really don’t.”
“I get it,” he said. “So the question remains…where do we go from here?”
“We carry on? Remember this fondly as a festive fling by the lake while it was snowing? A merry little Christmas affair?”
Harrison said nothing, and neither of them spoke for a moment as the reality settled around them. This had been a magical interlude, there was no disputing it. But she supposed they both had known from the start that’s all it could be.
“No,” Harrison said softly.
“No what?”
“No, I don’t want to remember it like that,” he said. “I want to remember this as the best Christmas ever. As the one time in my life I was truly, undisputably happy.”
Amy turned her head to look at him, eyes wide. “Really?”
“Of course really. I have fallen for you, Amy. Like…like a meteorite.”
She was startled by his admission and sat up, turning to face him. “You’ve fallen for me?”
“Why do you look so surprised? Is it not obvious? Because if it’s not, I’m doing this all wrong. Yes, I have fallen for you in a way I didn’t think would ever be in the cards for me. I have fallen so hard and so long that even Hillary couldn’t get me back up. Can’t you tell?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “No, wait—yes. I mean, I hoped that was the case because it’s happened to me. I have fallen.”
“Do you mean it?” He looked so hopeful, her heart ached for him.
“Oh, Harrison. I mean every word. I fell for you way back there. Before the Bossy Posse. Probably from the moment I knew you weren’t going to kill me. I fell for you the moment you showed up on the deck with that martini.”
“Funny,” he said, and stroked her hair. “That’s about when I fell hard for you.”
She pressed her hand to his face. “I didn’t think I could ever feel this way again.”
“I know. Me too. I thought that was the stuff of the romantic comedies that I watched on planes.”
She laughed sadly. “Well, this sucks.”
He smiled, caught her hand, and kissed her palm. “Thanks. This sucks in the worst way for me, too.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, and damn it if tears didn’t fill her eyes.
He kissed her forehead then pulled her into his side once more. “Is this what middle age is like?” he muttered. “Making decisions with your head and not your heart? Because if love was the only deciding factor, this would be a no-brainer,” he added.
The word love sent a small quake through her. “Did you say what I think you did?”
“What, love?” He stroked her hair. “I do love you, Amy. What I feel for you is not something I’ve felt in a very long time. I don’t know that I ever felt it so strongly. These two weeks have been…perfect,” he said.
“Perfect,” she repeated softly. “For me, too. This terrible, excellent week in this terrible, excellent little cabin has been the best week I’ve had in years and years.”
“For me, too, Amy. Me too.”
She felt like her entire body was fizzing. His words were magic, his touch was safety. Her heart felt so full it could burst. “It’s so unbelievable, isn’t it? I love you, too. I feel like a whole new Amy when I’m with you.”
“Same. I feel like I belong when I’m with you. So how can there not be something more for us?” he asked. “I’m going back to my work, and you’re going back to your work and your family. But there has to be more.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Amy wondered if he, too, was trying to imagine how there could be more. But when no solution presented itself, she said, “Can’t we just stay here forever?”
“I wish,” Harrison said. “But there is the problem of the water pressure in the bathroom.”
“And that really funky smell in the kitchen. Why does life have so many responsibilities?” she groaned. “Why can’t we all pick up when we like and start over?”
“Maybe we could,” he said. He squeezed her tighter to him. “Would you be willing to go on tour with me?”
“More than willing. But I can’t leave my kids. Are you willing to settle in a small town with a Putt-Putt course?”
He smiled sadly. “Absolutely. Someday.” He looked down at their entwined fingers.
“I had a feeling it would go this way,” Amy said.
“We’re too old to abandon our lives. Too young to hang it all up.
It’s the wrong time or the wrong place, I don’t know, but, Harrison, I’m so grateful for the time I had with you.
You did the impossible and made me believe in love again.
You’ve definitely made me believe that excellent sex is still a possibility. ”
He laughed.
“I wish I was twenty all over again,” she said.
“No, you don’t,” Harrison said, and rested his chin on top of her head. “If you were twenty and went on tour with me, you wouldn’t have your kids, and I would never be available.”
“True,” she sighed.
“I will never forget this,” he said. “I will be an old man on my deathbed and this is what I’ll remember.”
“I won’t forget, either,” she said quietly. “Never.” She kissed his chin. “Can we at least be friends?”
“The very best of friends. Lovers, when time permits. Confidants. Windup Santa competitors.”
Amy laughed, but her heart ached. She had a sinking feeling that they would not see each other again.
She knew how things like this went—they’d make promises, follow up with a few phone calls.
But eventually, life would creep back in, filling up all available space, and one week would stretch to two, and two weeks to two months, and before long, it would be a year.
She was startled by the tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away.
“Ah hell, I don’t want to make you sad, Amy.”
“You never did. You’ve made me very happy.” She looked up at him. “You were exactly the right person for me to meet at the very right time. The rest of it is just life. People come and go, but sometimes, one will lodge in your heart and take up the empty space.”
“You’ve taken up every inch of space in mine. It’s not fair.”
“At the risk of sounding like my mother…life seldom is.”
There was nothing left to be said, and they remained sitting there, the warmth of their bodies keeping them together.
They made love that night, slow and steady, drawing it out as long as they could by mutual, unspoken agreement. And then they held each other until their arms fell asleep and their joints stiffened, and they laughed at how unlimber they were.
It was the banter of two people who didn’t want this to end but could see no other option. The best thing to do in the middle of the night was to ignore the pain of it. That’s what you did in middle age—you learned to accept all the disappointments and keep going.