Page 66 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)
Wesley
T he beginning of November has finally found its way to Clover-Hills. Blake shivers and rubs her hands together after she places the last cardboard box inside the back of my truck.
She’s moving in with me, officially. Both her and Elain, since her mother is still recovering in rehab.
Elain was more than inviting to the idea, seemingly excited that she’d get her own room with the extra space in my house.
We decided, soon after everything that’s happened, that we weren’t going anywhere.
And it’s much easier to just share the same bed versus going back and forth every night.
Surprisingly, it was Blake who brought the idea up first. I had been dying to bring it up for quite some time but didn’t want to push her.
Her only stipulation is that we’d add another room for Vivienne for when she wants to stay the night.
I didn’t question that one. Better that she has her own room than kicks me out of my bed.
To say we celebrated in more ways than one would be an understatement.
The first snow day is supposed to hit the end of this week, so we decided to move everything rather quickly. Thankfully, it’s not a very far move. And she’s not bringing much, just personal belongings. Most will stay to use for the health center she’s creating with her mom.
“I’ll go turn off the lights,” I tell her.
“Hop in the truck where it’s warm.” She doesn’t protest, more than willing to get back into the truck.
Later this week, we’re going to go look at a new car for her at a dealership out of town.
I haven’t told her yet that I’ll be looking for a new truck, too.
With heated seats, since that seems to be the only thing she complains about when it comes to my dad’s old truck.
I’ll still be keeping it, but there’s nothing wrong with change. Not anymore.
As I get inside, I head to the kitchen to switch off the overhead lights above the island, but my eyes snag on what looks like a piece of paper that’s tucked halfway under one of the cupboards.
I bend down to pick it up, feeling the dust and grime that coats it dusting my fingertips.
When I see that it’s an old photograph, I wipe it on the front of my jeans. I pause as I finally look at it.
It’s Ethel, the woman who lived next door to me before she passed.
And…and an older man standing next to her, with his arm slung over her in a warm embrace.
Their hands are on full display, showcasing the matching wedding bands the two bear.
Of course, I knew she was married. She told me stories of her husband who passed nearly a decade ago, but I never saw any pictures.
But that man…I recognize that man. The same one who sat next to me at the bar just a few months ago.
The same one who told me about his wife.
I never asked her name, I didn't think to.
But now – now I know.
It was Ethel.
Tears prickle the back of my eyes as I realize why I truly saw myself in the older woman who lived next door.
Why I looked at her and saw myself sitting in that rocker chair on the porch.
She wasn’t lonely. She had shared a home with someone.
She had someone to call home, and she was content with the life she shared with him.
She found her person and loved him until the very end.
All because he let her go once and never made that mistake again.
A honk sounds from outside, signaling Blake’s irritation at my dallying. But I only smile and holler that I’m coming, knowing exactly how this story ends. How our story ends.