Late Fall Page 18

  “They have no idea.”

  “So you have this neurological thing wrong that they can’t do anything about?”

  “Pretty much.” He gives me a faint smile. “They say I’m in great health otherwise.”

  I shake my head, staring down at my lap. “How long do you go between episodes?”

  “I’ve had four. The shortest length between them has been three months. The longest is seven.”

  “Did the one you just had come the soonest?”

  “No. It’s been almost five months since I had the last one, I think. It’s been two and a half months since you, and the episode was a couple months before then.”

  I notice he’s keeping time by the day he reconnected with me. I can’t help but like that fact. I feel like everything has changed since he came back into my life, and maybe he feels the same way.

  “At least they don’t seem to be getting any closer together.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  We sit without speaking for a minute.

  Finally, I say, “It’s scary.”

  “What is?”

  “This thing you have—something wrong with you that can’t be identified or fixed.”

  “It happens.”

  “I know.”

  “Knowing what’s wrong doesn’t mean it can be fixed.”

  “I know.”

  He hesitates before he murmurs, “It is kind of scary.”

  And I know that’s why he made the decision to move, even though it isn’t really what he wants. I know he feels like he’s not in control of his health, of his life, and so he wants the safety net of being close to family, people he can be sure will take care of him if he goes downhill.

  If he stays here, he’ll have the staff of Eagle’s Rest, and he’ll have me. But maybe that’s not enough.

  I wouldn’t want to leave Roger and Beth. I can understand.

  I clear my throat. “When do you move?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I look up to check his expression and notice he looks slightly uncertain. “When does Kevin leave?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “I guess it would make sense for you to move at the same time.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Will you find another home to live in there, or are you planning to stay with one of them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I feel the strangest sort of jittery excitement, even though there’s absolutely no reason for it. It’s difficult not to hope, even when there’s no reason for it. “Why don’t you know?”

  “It’s hard.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure it is. You’ve been here a long time, and you … well, I think you really love it here.”

  “I do love it here.” He’s suddenly meeting my eyes.

  “But you really think leaving is the best option for you?”

  “I don’t know.” He looks down and then up again. “What do you think?”

  “You know what I think.”

  He lets out a breath. “I guess so.”

  There’s a turmoil going on in my chest, and I’m having trouble keeping my hands still. I’m twisting them together on my lap, trying to channel the rising anxiety and excitement.

  I have no idea why I feel this way. Nothing appears to have changed.

  But maybe something has changed. Maybe it’s me.

  I’ve spent my life never being vulnerable, never showing fear or need. I’ve been that girl up in the tree, nearly falling to her death but determined not to let anyone know.

  I could stay that girl. I could be the person I’ve always been. I could watch Dave leave and spend a quiet, peaceful life without him.

  Or I could bend a little. I could reach out a hand.

  “If it helps,” I begin, the words breaking slightly in my throat, “I could …”

  “You could what?” He straightens up, something sparking in his face that wasn’t there the moment before.

  “I could consider … moving with you. Talk about it, at least.”

  He stares at me motionless, his lips slightly parted.

  This is not a response that makes it easier for me—this absolute shock. “I mean, you know I want to stay here, but I can at least check it out. Maybe we could find some place nice there. If … if …”

  “If what?” he breathes, still not moving.

  “If you really want me. With you.”

  He makes a choked sound and reaches out his hand. It fumbles for a moment before it finds and grasps mine. “If I really want you?”

  “Yes.” I feel self-conscious and kind of foolish and incredibly vulnerable, and I can’t quite meet his eyes. I’ve never done anything like this before. Not once in all my life. “I wouldn’t want to consider such a big step unless you really … I mean, unless we’re really in this together.”

  He still doesn’t speak. I can hear him breathing in the quiet room.

  Then finally, he says, “You would leave here for me?”

  “Well, maybe. I’d consider it, anyway. I’m not saying for sure, since I have to feel like the situation would really be good for both of us.”

  He takes my hand in both of his and holds it very tightly. “I love you, Eleanor.”

  I swallow hard. “I love you too.”

  “I don’t want to do anything without you.”

  I’m shaking now—in relief and emotion, since I can hear the truth of it, see the truth of it, feel the truth of it, in his presence beside me. “Me either.”

  “And I don’t really want to leave Eagle’s Rest.”

  I make a brief little sobbing sound as the words hit my brain. “What?”

  “I don’t want to leave. It felt like … like it would be easier, if I just went with my family. They all seemed so sure of it, and I don’t always … I don’t always trust myself anymore. And when I thought you didn’t really want to commit to me, then I decided it would be best just to leave. But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with you. I’m sure of it.”

  My throat is tightening, and my eyes are burning. “You are?”

  “Yes.” He holds my eyes and raises my hand to his lips. “So will you stay here with me—for the rest of our lives?”

  I nod through the emotion.

  He kisses my knuckles again. “Is that a yes?”

  “Y—yes!”

  He moves from the chair to the couch so he can wrap me in his arms. I’m shaking, so I cling to him tightly, and I’m surprised that I don’t feel weak.

  Maybe that’s the difference. If both of you bend, maybe neither one has to break.

  When you’re young, the first instinct after such a romantic, emotional moment might be to fall into bed and do some passionate, life-affirming lovemaking.

  Dave and I take a walk.

  We take the path around the woods until it reaches the bench, and then we sit down to gaze out on the valley. We don’t talk very much. Dave still seems really tired. He’s walking much slower than normal, as if his episode has taken a toll on the rest of his body. It worries me. Of course it does. But I don’t coddle him, since I know that will make him feel worse.

  He’s better today than he was yesterday, and he’ll probably be even better tomorrow.

  I can hope, anyway. We can hope.

  No matter what else I’m feeling, I mostly feel incredibly happy, and I’m sure Dave does too. I can see it in his face, despite the fatigue, as he smiles over at me.

  It’s a cold afternoon. It’s already November. The fall is almost over. The woods are half naked, gray and gnarly and chilled, but at least the sun is shining very brightly.

  “I was thinking,” he says at last.

  “What about?”

  He’s holding my hand in both of his, stroking the back with his thumbs. “They have couples’ apartments—in the residence, I mean,” he says, that old, seductive charisma in his eyes. “They’re very nice.”

  My heart does a little jump of excitement, but I say primly, “Do they? How interesting
.”

  He chuckles and reaches over to pull me against him. “I think we could fit in one of those apartments very nicely.”

  “You do move fast, don’t you?”

  Leaning over to brush a kiss against my hair, he murmurs, “I’ve always been a fast mover, but I’ve also always known what I want. And what I want more than anything is you.”

  “You have me,” I tell him, raising a hand to cup his face. “And we can definitely take a look at those couples’ apartments.”

  He kisses me, and I know he’s very pleased with my response.

  I’m pleased with it too.

  It’s been decades since I’ve lived with another person, but I want to live with Dave. I want to be around him as much and for as long as I possibly can.

  Plus, it will quickly get tedious trying to move back and forth between our places. I’ve always been practical, in addition to all my other characteristics.

  We sit together, his arm around me, for a half hour or so. I find myself gazing at a branch of a nearby tree. It’s thick and cracked with age, bent with awkward humps and dips, but there’s something mesmerizing about it.

  “Look at that,” I say, after a while.

  “The branch?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about it?”

  “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  I’m not looking at his face at the moment, but it sounds like he’s arching his eyebrows in that skeptical way he has. “Beautiful isn’t the first word I’d use.”

  “It is beautiful. Look at those few leaves that are still hanging onto it. Look how gorgeous and red they are against the bark.” There are about five, and they’re clinging resiliently, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

  “The last few holdouts of the fall, I guess.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Yes, that’s exactly it. I wish I could take a picture.”

  Dave, being Dave, pulls out his phone from his jacket pocket and snaps several photos of the branch and the five red leaves.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, stretching up so I can press a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

  “Anytime, sweetheart. Just say the word.”

  When we get back to my residence, I tell Dave that he needs to get some rest. With a whimsical smile, he says he’ll take a nap if I take one with him.

  I have absolutely no objection to this suggestion.

  So we both get comfortable and lay down on my bed. He scoots over so he can spoon me from behind, and I feel safe and warm and loved.

  He falls asleep within five minutes, and then he rolls back over in his sleep. I turn to watch him.

  He doesn’t snore, but he breathes heavily in his sleep. The sound is quite evident in the otherwise quiet room.

  I wonder for a moment if it will get annoying. I’ll be moving in with him, after all, so I’ll be sleeping with him all the time. What will I think about hearing that breathing every night, all night? Will I get annoyed and have to wear earplugs? For so many years, I’ve been used to sleeping in perfect silence.

  I watch and listen to him for a long time, and I finally conclude that it’s really the wrong question. Dave is so much more than the sound of his breathing while he sleeps. The sound is connected to an entire man, an intelligence, a sense of humor, a strong spirit, a kind heart, a human soul.

  A man I love.

  So I eventually fall asleep, listening to him breathe.

  I wake up when he gets up to go to the bathroom. When he returns to the bed, I get up to go to the bathroom too.

  He’s waiting for me. He rolls over as soon as I get back into bed. He’s smiling when kisses me, and I wrap both of my arms around him.

  He kisses me and caresses me for a long time, and I do the same to him. It doesn’t feel like we need to do anything else.

  He’s only two days out from his episode. He certainly doesn’t need any strain right now. And I don’t feel like anything that’s not soft and tender. His hands on me, his lips on me, are more softly tender than anything I’ve ever experienced.

  I never would have dreamed he could be this way, back when we both worked at the college and argued all the time.

  There’s a lot you don’t know when you’re young. There’s a lot you don’t know until you really love someone.

  “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips against mine, his hand caressing one of my thighs.

  “Hmm?” I’ve got both of my hands tangled in his hair, my fingertips running over his scalp.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “I never dreamed I would have something like you waiting for me, this late in my life.”

  “I know. I feel the same way. It’s like a miracle.”

  He lifts his head to look into my eyes. “Sometimes I wish I would have found you sooner, so we could have longer together.”

  “Me too. But then I decide I wouldn’t have been ready for you then.”

  He thinks about this for a minute, in that way he has, and he nods. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly right.”

  We end up lying together for most of the afternoon, sometimes dozing and sometimes touching, loving each other.

  He might die tomorrow. Or a year from now. Or twenty years from now. It’s impossible to know.

  I might die tomorrow too.

  It’s not something we can know, and I’m not going to let it keep me from living what’s left of my life with him.

  After a while, I start to think that, for most of my life, I’ve been single, independent, and self-sufficient, and I’ve enjoyed being that person.

  But that doesn’t mean I have to be that same person for the entirety of my life. I can change and still be me.

  People do it all the time.

  I’ve always thought that being single is an essential part of who I am—like being a dog lover and a nature lover and a walker and a reader.

  But maybe it doesn’t have to be.

  Right now, I’m starting to think it could even be possible that I marry this man one day.

  He may not ask me, but he’s an old-fashioned guy, and I think he probably will.

  I’ll probably say yes, if he does.

  I don’t know how long we’ll be together, how many more autumns we’ll see, but I know the time will be beautiful. And I can hope that it will be long.

  I’m a human being, after all, and hope is what we do.

  author’s acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Ruthie and Mary Ann, for proposing the idea for this book. I never would have written it otherwise.

  about the author

  Noelle Adams handwrote her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she reads any book she can get her hands on and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel. She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances.

  credits

  Author: Noelle Adams

  Copyeditor: Annamarie Bellegante

  Cover Photography: Jan Rios

  Cover Model: Barbara Homrighaus

  Photography Art Direction: Samantha Novak

  Cover Design: Monika MacFarlane

  Proofreader: Beaumont Hardy Editing

  Interior Design: Williams Writing, Editing & Design

  Brain Mill Press would like to acknowledge the support of the following Patrons:

  Rhyll Biest

  Katherine Bodsworth

  Lea Franczak

  Barry and Barbara Homrighaus

  Kelly Lauer

  Susan Lee

  Sherri Marx

  Aisling Murphy

  Audra North

  Molly O’Keefe

  Virginia Parker

  Cherri Porter

  Erin Rathjen

  Robin Drouin Tuch

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  Noelle Adams, Late Fall