Chapter 20 Cole
Iwas going to cry at my own wedding. The stoic mountain man, the guy who'd faced down bears without flinching, was about to ugly-cry in front of everyone because Emma Reed was walking toward me in hiking boots and a flower crown.
The morning had started with chaos. Sarah had lost one of her purple shoes, which was apparently a catastrophe of biblical proportions.
"I can't be a flower girl with only one shoe!" she had wailed, her carefully curled hair already escaping its pins.
"You could hop," I suggested.
"Uncle C, this is serious!"
"I'm being serious. Very dignified hopping."
Maggie found the shoe under the truck seat, where Sarah had kicked it off during the drive up. Crisis averted. I checked my watch for the fortieth time.
"You're going to wear a hole in that thing," Tom observed, handing me a cup of coffee.
"I'm not nervous."
"Your hands are shaking."
"It's cold."
"It's sixty-five degrees."
"High altitude cold."
He laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. "She's not going to change her mind, son. That girl loves you more than she's scared of anything."
We'd chosen to marry at Lily's lookout point.
It was the only place that made sense, the ridge where Emma had finally made peace with her sister's memory, where she'd learned that the mountain could be both dangerous and beautiful.
Someone, years ago, had carved Lily's name into the gnarled pine tree that stood sentinel at the edge.
It had become Emma's pilgrimage site, a place to leave wildflowers and whisper to a sister who couldn't answer back.
Now it would be the place where we became a family. Officially. Permanently.
The guests were already gathered; it was a small group, just the people who mattered.
Maggie was dabbing at her eyes before anything had even started.
Tom stood ready to walk his daughter down the makeshift aisle we'd created with scattered wildflower petals.
A few friends from town, the principal who'd watched Emma transform from a grieving ghost to a woman fully alive.
And hanging from the pine tree's lower branches, swaying gently in the mountain breeze, were two framed photos: Lily, laughing, her hair wild around her face. And Rebecca, holding a newborn Sarah, looking terrified and radiant and so painfully young.
Our sisters. Watching over us.
"Please, everyone!" Maggie called out, her voice cracking. "She's ready!"
I took my position at the front, facing the valley. The view was staggering; endless peaks rolling toward the horizon, the sky a perfect, impossible blue. I'd seen this view a thousand times. It had never looked like this before.
My hands were definitely shaking.
High altitude cold. Obviously.
The music started, an acoustic version of Perfect by Ed Sheeran played in the background. Sarah appeared first, walking with exaggerated care, scattering purple flower petals from a small basket. She'd insisted on purple.
"Because it's the favorite color for both of my moms," she'd explained solemnly. "My mom up there and my mom here."
My mom here. That phrase still grips my heart every time.
Sarah reached the front and stood beside me, bouncing slightly on her toes.
"You look scared, Uncle C," she whispered loudly.
"I'm not scared."
"Your face is doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The nervous thing. Like when the bees are angry."
"The bees aren't angry."
"They were that one time. You made the same face."
"Sarah."
"Oops."
Emma appeared, and everything else ceased to exist.
She was wearing a simple white dress that flowed around her like water, comfortable and elegant and perfectly her.
On her feet were her hiking boots, the same ones she'd worn when she climbed this mountain for Sarah, when she faced her worst fear and chose love anyway.
In her hair was a crown woven from blue columbine and bear grass, the same wildflowers that bloomed across these slopes every spring.
She was walking toward me, her hand tucked into her father's arm, and she was crying and smiling at the same time.
My vision blurred. I blinked rapidly. High altitude. Definitely the altitude.
"You okay there, son?" the officiant murmured.
"Fine," I managed. "Something in my eye."
"Both eyes?"
"It's very dusty up here."
Emma reached me. Tom kissed her cheek, placed her hand in mine, and stepped back. Her fingers were trembling. So were mine.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi." My voice came out rough. "You wore the boots."
"They just felt right."
"I love them."
"I knew you would." Her smile was radiant, tear-streaked, absolutely beautiful.
The ceremony was short. Neither of us wanted anything elaborate. We'd written our own vows, and now, standing before our small gathering of loved ones, I had to actually say mine out loud without falling apart.
I took a breath. Then another. Sarah tugged on my jacket.
"Read the paper, Uncle C. Like we practiced."
"Thank you, Sarah."
"You're welcome."
I pulled the folded paper from my pocket. My hands were still shaking, so the words blurred slightly, but I knew them by heart anyway.
"Emma," I began, my voice unsteady. "A year ago, I was convinced I'd spend my life alone on this mountain.
I thought that was what I wanted. Turns out, I was just too scared to want anything else.
" I looked up from the paper, meeting her eyes.
"You walked toward the classroom door covered in glitter, and you looked at Sarah like she was something precious instead of a problem. And I was done for."
She laughed, a wet, shaky sound.
"You taught me that vulnerability isn't weakness," I continued.
"You showed Sarah that being afraid doesn't mean you can't be brave.
You climbed this mountain when every step terrified you, because love mattered more than fear.
" I had to stop, swallow hard. "I promise to be your safe harbor.
To face every storm beside you. To remind you, every single day, that being courageous doesn't mean never being scared.
It just means being scared and showing up anyway. "
Emma was crying openly now. So was Maggie. So was Tom. I was fairly certain I was, too, but I was going to deny it later.
"Also," I added, folding the paper back up, "I promise to keep fixing things around the house. Because you're terrible at it."
She laughed again, louder this time. "That's fair."
Her vows were simpler, but they wrecked me.
"Cole," she said, her voice trembling but clear. "You waited for me. When I pushed you away, you waited. When I was too scared to love you, you waited. You showed me that the mountain could be beautiful, not just terrifying. You gave me a family when I thought I'd lost everything."
She paused, glancing at Sarah, who gave her an encouraging thumbs up.
"I promise to keep climbing," Emma continued.
"To face my fears instead of running from them.
To love you and Sarah with my whole, unprotected heart, even when it's scary.
Especially when it's scary." She reached up and touched my face, her palm warm against my cheek.
"You're my home now. Both of you. And I'm never running away again. "
"Do you, Cole Brennan, take Emma Reed—"
"Yes," I said, before the officiant could finish.
Laughter rippled through our small crowd.
"I need to finish the question," the officiant said mildly.
"Sorry. Yes. Continue."
"—to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"Yes. Still yes. Absolutely yes."
More laughter. Emma was grinning through her tears.
"And do you, Emma Reed, take Cole Brennan to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"Yes," she said. "A thousand times yes."
"Then, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her deeply, thoroughly, not caring that people were watching, not caring about anything except this woman, this moment, this impossible, beautiful life we'd built from the wreckage of our grief.
Sarah threw her remaining flower petals at us, which mostly ended up in my hair. I didn't care about that either.
We took photos by the pine tree. Emma pressed her palm against the carved letters of her sister's name and whispered something I couldn't hear.
Then she turned back to me, eyes bright and a wide smile on her face.
The reception was at our new house, a sturdy, sun-filled place exactly halfway between my mountain ridge and the school. It had a porch for evening coffee, a garden Emma was slowly filling with flowers, and a big backyard maple tree perfect for the tire swing Sarah had been begging for.
Sarah's room held photos of both her mothers now. Rebecca was on the bedside table, watching over her dreams. Emma and her building a snowman, framed on the wall. Two mothers. A heart that had expanded to fit them both.
Tom gave a toast that had everyone reaching for tissues.
"My daughter spent a year hiding from life," he said, his voice thick.
"She thought that was the only way to survive the claws of grief.
Then she met a stubborn mountain man and his extraordinary niece, and she remembered how to live.
" He raised his glass. "To Emma and Cole.
May you have a lifetime of adventures, and may you always climb toward joy. "
All our loved ones cheered, and animated conversations filled the air. I was talking to Tom about the different ways to spot good honey when I noticed Emma was no longer in the hall.
I excused myself to search for her, and couldn’t help the stupid smile on my face when I found her on our back porch, looking at the dark silhouette of the mountain.
"Escaping your own party?" I asked, wrapping my arms around her from behind.
"Just taking a moment." She leaned back against my chest. "It's a lot."
"Good a lot or bad a lot?"
"The best a lot." She turned in my arms to face me. "I keep waiting for the panic to come. The fear. But it's just... quiet."
"Still scared sometimes?"
"Always," she admitted. "But it doesn't paralyze me anymore. Now it just means I have things worth protecting."
The sliding door opened, and Sarah padded out in her pajamas, the flower girl dress traded for unicorn-printed flannel.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Being romantic," I said.
"Gross."
"Very gross," Emma agreed.
Sarah climbed onto the porch swing between us, wedging herself into the middle like she belonged there. Which she did.
"Tell me a story," she requested, yawning. "About my first mom. When she was brave."
I put my arm around her, drawing her close. The old grief was still there, but it was no longer a sharp wound, just a gentle ache that reminded me of how much I'd loved my sister.
"She was the most adventurous person I knew," I said. "She wasn't afraid of much. She wanted you to know the world is big and beautiful, and that being curious is the best way to live in it."
"Emma is brave too," Sarah said, looking up at Emma with sleepy adoration. "She was scared of the mountain, but she climbed it. That's really cool."
"The coolest," Emma agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
Later, after Sarah was tucked into bed and the last guests had left, Emma sat on our bed flipping through a magazine she'd grabbed from the coffee table.
"Listen to this," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "'Literary Award Winner Patrick Reid Slams Penelope Carter's Bestselling Romance as Sugar-Coated Drivel.' There's a whole book world feud happening, and we've been too busy getting married to notice."
"Shocking," I said, not remotely interested.
"Apparently, he called her writing 'garbage and an insult to literature.'"
"Scandalous."
Emma looked up at me, eyes dancing with amusement. "Are you even listening?"
I took the magazine from her hands and set it on the nightstand. "We could focus on more important things," I said, leaning in to brush my lips against hers.
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that I just married the most amazing woman in the world." I kissed the corner of her smile. "And we have the rest of our lives to read about literary feuds."
She laughed, free and full and joyful, and let me pull her close.
Through the window, the mountain rose against the stars, steady and eternal.
No longer a monster.
No longer a threat.
Just part of our story, the backdrop against which we'd learned that being brave didn't mean never being afraid.
It meant being afraid and choosing love anyway.
I held my wife as the moon rose over the peaks and knew with absolute certainty that we'd chosen right.
The fear would probably never disappear completely. Life didn't offer that kind of guarantee.
But neither would the love.
And that, in the end, was the only promise that mattered.
Next in the Series: Lost Without You