Chapter 39
yet the longest trip I’d taken in years. It wasn’t the fifteen miles or the time involved that stretched the road, nor was
it the traffic, because there weren’t that many cars out. The way was paved for me to make this trip. If I didn’t go today,
I might not have the courage to go tomorrow. I traveled up Village Road and turned off the road the GPS directed me to until
I reached Gabe’s neighborhood. I passed a sign that read: Adam’s Run—Settled by “Freedmen” During Reconstruction.
We had similar signs on James Island for neighborhoods like Grimball, Barnhill, Sol Legare, and Beefield, a community that
had been designated as a historic district. Everything about Gabe’s neighborhood reminded me of the Gullah communities on
James Island. They boasted older homes and mature trees. Most yards had gardens visible from the road and neat, colorful flowers
planted in straight rows near the steps. The Gullah had green thumbs. Being able to grow beautiful vegetation was a purposeful
legacy, and they took pride in it.
“The Gullah grow,” Ms. Kate had told me.
I was Gullah. It was time for me to grow up and stop letting the past hold me hostage, especially now that I knew why my family shied away from who they were.
Gabe’s house came into view. His SUV was in the driveway, and so was the convertible and his pickup truck. Warm light from
the front room added curb appeal. His writing room. Maybe he was working.
I pulled into the driveway, second-guessing the way I was showing up. I hadn’t returned his phone calls or his messages. I
had no business doing this. Before I could put the car in reverse and escape, the front door opened. Gabe fell against the
doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest.
“He is not any of the men from my past,” I whispered.
I stepped out, swallowed my anxiety, and walked to the steps. We stood there for a moment, looking at each other, my regret
thick between us.
“You want to come in?”
“Am I welcome?” I asked.
Gabe didn’t answer. He dropped his arms, and I took that as my yes.
He moved from the opening as I walked up the steps but stayed closed enough to hold the screened door for me. I walked past
him, out of the boiling heat and humidity and into his cool sunroom. The ceiling fan was barely turning, giving its last dance
before it came to a stop.
I turned to face him, and our eyes locked for a brief moment before Gabe broke his stare by giving the tiled floor his attention.
He jammed his hands in his pockets, and I likewise jammed my key in mine. I’d left my bag in the car. I traveled light when
I thought I might need to escape.
Gabe’s eyes slid up to meet mine again. He almost looked . . . bored or bothered. Was he protecting himself from me, or had he moved on emotionally? He talked about moving on emotionally in the book.
I cleared my throat. “I shouldn’t have rolled up to your spot without calling.”
“Why do you say that? I’ve obviously been wanting to talk.” His eyes softened. I saw hurt, not bother.
“I felt like I owed you for all the drop-ins you pulled on me.”
He didn’t respond to that, instead asking, “How was the program at the church?”
I smiled, feeling good. “It was better than I ever imagined.”
Gabe nodded, and his eyes smiled a little before he asked, “Can I get you something? Water, sweet tea?”
I wanted to say yes, delay the start of the speech I hadn’t prepared but owed him. He would get my apology, and then if he
didn’t want me here, I’d leave. “No.”
My eyes drifted to the giant bonsai. I fought the distraction, refocused my attention on him.
“I, uh . . . I’m sorry.”
His eyebrows went up. “Sorry?”
He repeated the word like it wasn’t strong enough, so I continued. “I apologize for hurting you. I apologize for not listening
to you last week.”
“When I said what exactly?”
“Everything.” I stepped closer to him. “I should have trusted you. I should have trusted that you know yourself. You know
what you want.” I shrugged. “You know your family and how to manage those boundaries.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
“I mean my apology. I didn’t come here to gaslight you. I promise this is not a ‘but.’”
Gabe’s face cracked a tiny smile. A shadow of his dimple popped out, giving me hope. “But . . .” he said.
“My response last week was bigger than last week.”
“Go on.”
“Is it too cliché to say I’ve been hurt by my ex and I have trust issues because my daddy left me? I know he died, but gone
is gone.”
“No. That would be the truth. It would be cliché for you to let either keep us away from each other.”
Gabe put a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed it once like he was checking to see if I was real, and then he placed his other
hand under my chin. He lowered his head, hovered for a few seconds, and pressed his lips against mine, but he didn’t linger,
didn’t give me a full kiss.
“I read the book again.”
Waiting for me to go on, he didn’t reply.
“I think I was so in love with your writing that I missed your message. I read it through this weird prism of comparison.
Like, ‘look at all he’s done with his words.’ I know we talked about that. I should have done better.”
Gabe squinted and said, “Keep talking, Alex. Share your heart with me.”
I tried to keep my bottom lip from trembling, but I couldn’t. I hated that it made me feel so vulnerable, but I forced myself
to keep going. This wasn’t the time to fail. “When I was a child, my mother would always tell me not to compare myself with
others. I had a habit of doing that. Comparing myself to girls who had more: better clothes, better houses—heck, better-looking
lunches. Mom said, ‘Give your own life your daylight hours. Work while it’s day. No one can work when night comes.’ If I put
my effort into me during my productive time, I wouldn’t have the energy to worry about anyone else.”
Gabe’s eyes softened, and I knew something inside him clicked.
“That’s wisdom.”
“My mother is smart.” I grunted. “Social media makes that so hard. Sometimes other writers are getting movie deals and awards and—”
“And you forget you didn’t start doing this for those things,” he said, finishing my thought as if he were living inside my
head. He was right. I forgot about the Red Cars who enjoyed my books.
“This time when I read your book, I saw you. I saw everything you wanted me to see. How you are healed from what happened
to Erik, your father, the land, your mother. You resolved it all in the pages of the book.”
“I forgave your father and his uncle a long time ago. It took a lot of hard work, but the work is done.”
I nodded.
Gabe continued, “I won’t let them take anything else away from me. I won’t let them take you.”
A small tear trailed down my cheek. Before I could wipe it, Gabe did. I reached up and took his hand.
“You’re not your father, Alex. His legacy with his people is not yours or your mother’s.”
I nodded again.
He said, “The same way we don’t get to inherit someone’s salvation, we also don’t get their hell.”
Gabe’s eyes were a place of openness, honesty, and peace.
“I realized that just today when I was talking to the student at the church,” I said. “I learn so much from kids.” I swiped
at my eyes. “But I’m still working on my heart.”
“As long as you’re working and not getting stuck in angry places in the past that you can’t do anything with but find pain
in.”
A long moment of quiet settled between us before I spoke. “You’ve made this easy for me.”
“I’m easy,” he said. “I’m a simple man. I just want a good woman, good food, and a good book.”
“In that order?”
He smiled big enough for dimples. “Depends on the day.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
He kissed me again, this time longer, deeper, more intense, more of him, which made me give more of me. Later, he said, “Sometimes
I have to decide what I want to eat and read. You I know I want, all the time. Every day.”
“You’re really making this easy for me.”
“If you let me, I’ll always make it easy for you, but I’ve done all the begging I’m going to do. No more thirsty texts. It’s
not who I am.”
I nodded.
“You have to choose me the same way I’ve chosen you, Alex.”
Choose him? How could I not choose someone so perfect for me? I wondered about his parents now. He was young to have lost
both of them. Which of them had this gentle, kind temperament? He described his father as strong and determined but reasonable.
His mother was liked by all and funny. He was both of them. Two people I would never meet. Two people who had in some way
been casualties of my father’s crime, yet created this love.
The memory came to mind: The palm tree. The hand slipping away. The sobbing. The voice growling that it would be worse.
We were all victims. My family lost their land. Beck and Leah lost their inheritance. I had not asked for any of what my father
did. Beck either.
Gabe’s voice broke through my deep reflection. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m wondering if you still like me.”
Gabe pulled me to him. Ran his hand over my cheek and touched my lips. “Yep.”
I backed out of his arms and dropped onto the couch. “I’ll have that tea now, and when I’m done, I’d like to see the post
office stump.”
Gabe laughed. It was the kind of laugh that spilled from a man finally breathing easy, and I loved hearing it.