Her Wedding Wish. Jillian Hart
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coffee table that separated them. “These were the pictures we took on our last vacation. Maybe that will be a good place to start.”
“Vacation.” He stretched out his hand, straightening his fingers, and snagged the book from the table. “Where’d we go?”
“I’m not telling. See if you can figure it out.”
“Someplace important, then.” He watched her carefully, and his emotion was unreadable to her. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The bing of the microwave saved her. “I’ll be right back.”
She spun on the heel of her sneakers and retreated to the safety of the kitchen. This was worse than starting out on a first date with someone, she thought as she rescued the steaming mug. Back then, she’d felt comfortable with Jonas right from the start, so their first date had been familiar, as if meant to be.
But this, now with him, was painful in too many ways to count. She plucked a bag from a tea box and dropped it into the water to steep. In the next room, she could hear the slight creak of the photo album’s binding and the first squeaking turn of the plastic-coated pages.
She’d spent hours on that book—before Jonas’s accident she’d been a serious scrapbooking fanatic. It had been the last project she’d finished before he’d been shot. She didn’t dare think about the others in progress stuffed in the back of her downstairs craft closet. Yikes. Considering the importance of those pictures now, maybe she should find the time to finish them.
After dunking and squeezing the tea bag, she added a teaspoon of honey. It was silent in the living room, so she peered around the kitchen corner just enough to see him on the couch. Jonas, her husband, looked different from the man he’d been—his hair was too short, his big physical frame no longer imposing or strong. Yet there was much that had remained the same—that tensile, decent goodness of his that she loved so much.
Her heart filled, watching as he studied the first page. His face lined with concentration, he lifted his right hand—he used to be left-handed—and ran his finger across the plastic-sheathed page. Emotion welled in his eyes, and she felt it like a bolt of lightning. Stricken, she pulled back into the kitchen, longing, just longing for everything to be all right. For the pieces of their lives to be put back in place.
She hurried about, putting his favorite chocolate cookies on a plate. By the time she’d loaded everything on a small tray and carried it into the living room, Jonas had leaned back onto the couch and had the book open on his knees.
He looked up with a grin on his face. “That sure smells good.”
“I hope so.” She slid the plate onto the coffee table first and then handed him a soft cookie.
He paused before he took a bite. “I liked the ones you sent in the box.”
When he’d been in rehabilitation, she’d sent weekly care packages, when she hadn’t been able to make the long trip to Seattle. “The oatmeal-raisin cookies didn’t break when I shipped them,” she explained as she eased beside him onto the couch. “I was saving these for a homecoming surprise.”
He took a bite. “Good. Very good. I like them.”
She knew he wouldn’t remember they were his favorite, or that she’d made them all the time for him when they’d been dating. That he’d said—oh, her heart cracked deeply remembering—
“I can see why I married you.” He held up the remaining half of the cookie. “Why? What did I say?”
The room suddenly blurred, and she shook her head, blinking hard. She reached for a cookie. “That’s what you used to say before you proposed to me.”
“Yeah? What else can you make? Maybe I’ll have to propose again.”
There was that ghost of his grin. How good it was to see. She relaxed against the cushions. “You’ll have to wait and see. What do you think of the pictures?”
“I sure got a pretty wife.”
“Now you’re just trying to get more cookies.”
“Sure, but it’s true.” He took another cookie from the plate with his awkward fingers. “I’m a lucky man.” He tapped the page with his knuckle. “What’s that?”
“Mom and Dad’s RV. It’s a motor home.” When he stared at her uncomprehendingly, she explained, “You drive it and sleep in it.”
“We did?”
“Handsome, you drove that monster.” She didn’t suppose he remembered their half affectionate and half not-so-affectionate name for the vehicle that had been hard to park and harder to maneuver along narrow roads. She leaned close to get a better look at the page.
The digital pictures, which she’d printed off on the snazzy little photo printer her twin sisters had given her for her last birthday, showed them starting out from their driveway. She looked at herself and groaned. Even with Madison on her hip, her tummy problem still showed. Goodness. She sighed. Otherwise, the snapshot looked great. Tyler was grinning wide, practically a blur of motion. “It had been almost impossible for Tyler to stand still for a single moment. He was so excited that morning.”
“He looks happy.” Jonas swallowed, as if he were struggling with emotions. “Everybody did.”
“It was your first vacation all year.” Somehow, remembering made her heart warm, made the distance between her and this new, different Jonas less cumbersome. “You got everyone up early, you were so excited to go, and made everyone breakfast before we left. It was wonderful, and a little easier on me.”
“You make breakfast?”
“Just about every morning.” She didn’t add how, that long-ago morning, he’d hugged her so tightly and sweetly and whispered in her ear how glad he was to be able to spend the next two weeks with her. Then he’d set the timer on the camera and rushed back to the steps to scoot in next to her, and tickle Tyler so he was laughing when the timer went off.
Maybe he would remember that in time, she hoped. “Turn the page and you’ll see—”
She waited while he fumbled with the thick plastic edge. She hated how hard he had to work to turn the page and she waited, not knowing if it would hurt his pride worse to have her help, but he finally managed it on his own. His strong beautiful hand was slightly bent and twisted, a condition that the neurologists thought would gradually disappear. She resisted the urge to take his fingers in hers and massage them, as if she could rub that partial paralysis away.
“I’m driving.” He looked surprised. “I had hair.”
“Yes, and it will grow back.”
He looked sheepish and nodded. He studied the page for a long time. They were the photos she’d taken from the front passenger seat of Jonas driving away from their home, of Tyler wearing his fireman hat and strapped into his seat, grinning ear to ear, and of Madison yawning hugely in her car seat. Her soft brown curls were like a cloud around her button face. Danielle felt full to the brim. Her family. Her loves. Her everything.
When Jonas turned to the facing page, his lopsided smile widened. Happiness lit his eyes. He tapped the page where they’d pulled over to the side of a small-town street. In the cluster of small pictures, Jonas was holding his son’s hand, so small in his big capable one, and they stood side by side watching a hawk perched on a high branch of a tree. Another picture showed Tyler’s little face staring trustingly up at his father—so vulnerable and good and sweet.
Jonas swallowed visibly. “I don’t want to—” He stopped, as if searching for the word. “I don’t want to—” He shook his head. Lines of frustration and misery dug into his handsome face. “I can’t think of the word.”
She laid her hand on his and felt the warm unyielding band of his wedding ring beneath her palm. “I’m glad to have you home, Jonas. If you’re worried about disappointing us—”
He