Thirty-Two Years Ago

Thirty-Two Years Ago

"Think of it as starting over again," Liam said.

"Starting what over again?" she asked.

They were out at Windbreak. He had purchased the house over a year ago, but this was Cory's first time seeing it. The two of them standing in his empty living room, taking it in together. Liam getting to see it through Cory's eyes.

"This is the way for you to get it back," he said. "California. Everything that was taken from you."

"Nothing was taken from me."

"We'll grow old here."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. "You're deranged."

"I'm not saying we will be here every day…"

"Oh, you're not?"

He ignored her tone. "I'm just saying, in our way, we will."

She gave him a look, not insulting either of them by saying it. All of it. She had been married for a little over a year. And Liam had a little girl whom he loved. He didn't want to do anything, to risk anything, that meant he'd be apart from Nora.

In so many concrete ways, he and Cory had never been further from living in this house together. And still, being there with her, it was the first time Windbreak felt real.

She walked into the center of the room, pointed to the bay window that looked out over the yard and the ocean and the rest of everything.

"If this were my house? That's where the bookshelves would go," she said. "I'd build in large, white bookshelves, wrap them right around that window, sit there all day."

He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest. He'd been waiting for this moment. He tried not to smile.

"They're already on their way," he said.

She turned back and looked at him. "You're lying."

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Custom-made white bookshelves, like you showed me in the photograph."

"The photograph?"

"Of your graduate school apartment. The bookshelves you had at the firehouse. The ones you said you loved."

She didn't say anything, but he could see the tears forming in her eyes.

"These are a bit nicer than those, but same idea."

She walked toward him, quickly, deliberately. She moved straight into his arms.

"Well, before you get too excited, I did blow the whole furniture budget on the bookshelves," he said. "So hope you don't mind sleeping on the floor tonight."

She started laughing. He could feel her smile against his shoulder, mixing in with her tears. Happy tears, but tears all the same.

"You're infuriating when you're proud of yourself."

"I know," he said.

She was still in his arms, her cheek against his neck. He rubbed her back and tried not to cry himself. Was it seeing her this happy? How he loved to make her happy. But there was also the other piece—the sadness that lived between them now, that he couldn't control, not anymore. The not knowing exactly when they'd be alone like this next.

He paused, breathing her in. "They do say that sleeping on the floor is good for your back, at least."

"Who are they?"

"The guys who sold me the bookshelves."