43 #3
There was a fire in the hearth. No blue hydrangeas this time, and Kate had specifically requested no roses.
Frances had offered to fill the suite with white ranunculus, bouvardia, calla lilies, anemone, and tulips, and at first Kate had said no, she didn’t need a lot of flowers.
Plus, flowers were such a big part of 1740: Enchanted Petals, the roses that opened and died and fell away.
But Sam had convinced Kate that she did need flowers.
“Auntie, the world went dark for a while, and nothing was in bloom. It was as if all the flowers died. I thought they’d never come back.
But you’re alive, you survived. I want you to have a whole garden.
We all want that because we’re so grateful you’re here,” Sam said, breaking down and hugging Kate so hard it hurt.
So Kate had said yes, and Frances had chosen the most beautiful flowers to be found anywhere, never mind in a blizzard. And Kate was so glad she did, because she had driven all those wicked associations away. She had given Kate a garden of love.
The Tower Suite was at the very top of the Ocean House.
The suite had multiple levels. Kate got dressed in the bedroom; Conor and their wedding guests were one flight up.
Faith, the harpist, was playing, but the roaring wind nearly drowned her out.
Kate looked out the window and saw snow falling so hard it was impossible to see the ocean.
The beam of Watch Hill Lighthouse was a mere flicker through the whiteout.
Kate’s wounds had mostly healed, but the nerves were still raw, the muscles still strained. She didn’t have a gown this time. She had a cream-colored long silk skirt that she’d worn in the past and a white cashmere cardigan that had belonged to her sister, Beth.
“Okay if I come in?” Conor asked through the closed bedroom door.
“Yes,” Kate said.
He entered the room and walked over to where Kate stood by the bureau.
Very carefully, he helped her step into her silk skirt, one leg at a time.
He pulled it up, and she closed the button at her waist. He slid the sweater around her shoulders and gingerly helped her put each arm into a sleeve.
She had to sit down on the edge of the bed from the exertion.
While she was sitting there, catching her breath, Conor brushed her hair. That gave her a chance to look at him. He was dressed the way he always was when they did something special: a blue blazer, white oxford shirt, striped tie, and gray pants.
Sam had offered to help Kate get dressed, but Kate had thanked her and said no.
There was only one person she wanted to do this with her, and that was Conor.
He had held her, fed her, loved her in ways she had never imagined possible.
Even though it might have traditionally been the maid of honor’s role to help the bride get ready, Kate knew she wanted only Conor.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I didn’t think I was going to make it,” she said, her voice shaking. “Back in the hospital—not the first night, maybe the second—I died, didn’t I? I heard the nurses call a code, I felt the paddles on my chest. Or did I just dream that?”
“You didn’t dream it,” Conor said, taking her hand.
“You know how you hear stories about when people die, or almost die, they go toward the light?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I didn’t go toward the light,” she said, swallowing hard. “I went toward you.”
“Kate . . .”
“I felt myself dying,” she said. “And all I could think about was, I want to see Conor again. I want him to have the most beautiful life, but when it’s over, I want us to be together. I was seriously prepared to kick the bucket. And then, you know what?”
“What?”
“I was in that tunnel, and the white light at the end, and I said no way. So I turned around, and instead of going toward the light, I went toward you.”
Conor put his arms around her. She felt his heart pounding through his chest. “Do you know when that was? What day?”
“I have no idea,” she said.
“I think I know,” he said. “There was one night when I was really afraid. You were on life support. Your heartbeat was so weak. Kate, I could feel you leaving me. And I held your hand and just kept saying—stay, stay with me. Just one more day. If you can make it until midnight, you’re going to be okay.
And you did—you made it until midnight, and then it was the next day, and the day after that, and now we’re here. ”
Kate closed her eyes. She swore she could remember that night: hearing Conor begging her to stay with him, asking her to marry him. She was sure it was his voice, those words, that had made her decide it wasn’t time to die, that she wanted to turn around and return to life. Return to Conor.
“Are you ready?” he asked after a minute.
“Not quite,” she said.
“Is this too much?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him, eased him down onto the bed so they were facing each other. She kissed him and wished the kiss could go on forever. They stayed there for a long time, holding each other.
Outside the Ocean House, the wind was howling.
The snow fired off the Atlantic Ocean. It drifted on the long white sands of East Beach.
It covered Bluff Avenue, obscured the view of the harbor down the hill.
It tapped against the hotel windows. Kate and Conor lay together, looking into each other’s eyes, and this time, she asked him:
“Are you ready?”
“I am,” he said.
So they stood up and held hands. Upstairs, in the living room of the Tower Suite, their guests were waiting. Tom had offered to walk Kate up the stairs, give the bride away, but Kate had said no. There was only one person to do that.
Conor.
So the bride-to-be took the arm of her betrothed, and Kate Woodward and Conor Reid walked slowly up the stairs on their way to be married.