CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Did you guys like the show?” Amelia was standing arm in arm with her grandfather backstage. “And what about the painting?”
“The painting is incredible, William. Thank you.” Molly gave him a hug, then pulled Amelia into her arms. “And you, my love, were amazing.”
“You really were, sweetheart.” Harry hugged his daughter tight. “I’ve never been so proud in all my life.”
“Thanks.” After everyone else congratulated her, she said, “There’s a big cast party at the Bonnie Castle Resort. Can you guys come?”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Drake said.
Molly squeezed Harry’s hand. “I’m sure your father would like some help getting the painting safely home. Why don’t the rest of us go on ahead and leave you two to come to the party once you’re done?”
Harry was grateful that she not only understood just how big a deal it was for his father to have done the painting, to say nothing of unveiling it in such a public way, but also that after so many years of spending this night with his father in far less happy circumstances, Harry and William needed some time alone.
“Thank you.” He gently touched her cheek. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten it’s still your birthday. I promise I haven’t.”
She kissed him, then left with her arm around Amelia, their heads bent together as they talked and laughed.
“How about we take your painting back to the cottage?” Harry said to his father.
Together, they loaded the large frame into the back of Harry’s car. The worth of any of William Sullivan’s paintings was staggering, with several having been valued into the millions. But his first new painting in thirty years? A painting no one had thought would ever come to be?
The dollar figure would be astronomical. If art collectors knew it had been sitting backstage in a high school auditorium for two hours, they would lose their minds.
But for Harry, the value of his father’s painting had nothing at all to do with money.
The two men drove the handful of blocks to the cottage in silence. “Why don’t you get Aldwin?” Harry suggested. “We don’t want him to jump on the painting. I don’t think I’ll have any problem carrying it into the cottage on my own.”
“Don’t worry, Aldwin,” William said when he greeted the rambunctious dog at the front door. “I won’t leave you out of the next one.”
The next painting?
Though his father had already done the world’s most unexpected thing by creating the painting in Harry’s hands, he still found it hard to believe that William had truly turned a corner.
Until he and Molly decided where to hang the painting, Harry realized there was only one place he could be sure it would be safe from Aldwin’s big paws and curious muzzle: on top of the dresser in the guest bedroom. The bedroom where Harry had spent only one night, because he’d spent all the rest with Molly.
Though Harry propped the painting in front of the mirror, he still saw himself staring back. And amazingly, though it should have been less accurate than real life, instead it somehow seemed more true.
His father had managed to capture the full range of Harry’s feelings in the moment Amelia had taken the picture in the kitchen. Pride, happiness, hope—but also some confusion and frustration. Beside Harry, Amelia was pure light. As for how his father had portrayed Molly, with her arm slung over their daughter’s shoulder and a smile on her face?
Just as she had always been, Molly was pure love.
“I never thought you’d paint again, Dad.”
Harry had heard his father walk into the room, mostly because Aldwin came skidding in behind him. They’d never had this talk before, but just as he and Molly had laid everything out on the table with each other, now it was time to do the same with his father. Even if it had always felt easier not to talk openly about this, the truth was that none of them had benefited from that. Not at all.
After a few moments of silence, his father replied, “I didn’t think I would either.”
“It’s Amelia, isn’t it? She broke the cu—”
Harry had been about to say curse. But their mother’s death—and their father’s long decades of grief—hadn’t come about because of some evil witch’s spell. Lynn Sullivan had never been able to cope with her life, even before she became a wife and mother. Unfortunately, rather than seek a therapist’s or doctor’s help, she’d decided that it was easier to leave them all behind.
“The first time I set eyes on Amelia,” his father said, “and knew that she was my granddaughter, something sparked to life inside of me. Something I hadn’t felt since your mother was still alive. But that isn’t the full reason why I suddenly had to paint again.” William paused. “You are.”
“Me?”
“Yes, and Molly too.”
“But you only just met her tonight.”
“I knew about her, though. Back when you were dating in college. I knew she was special to you. I knew you were in love with her. We all knew that.” Suddenly, William looked bleak. “And I also know that I’m the reason you didn’t stay together.”
“Dad—”
“No, listen. Please. This is something I should have owned up to, and apologized for, a long time ago. I can never undo the damage I did to your life all those years ago—how every time I fell apart, I knew you would be there to put me back together, even if I tore your life to shreds as well as my own. But I hope you will accept this gift, at least. Not just the painting, but the fact that I’m taking care of myself for once. Not leaning on you, or your brothers or sister either. The anniversary of your mother’s death will always be a difficult day, but I’ve made a promise to myself that I will make it through to tomorrow without self-pity or alcohol. From here on out, I want to celebrate the present, and the future, instead of continuing to mourn the past.” His father paused, his expression raw with guilt, with anguish. “But just because I’m making these proclamations doesn’t mean I expect you to forgive me. Not when I stole fifteen years from you and Molly. From Amelia. From everyone.”
Harry didn’t think. He simply put his arms around his dad. It wasn’t rare for William to break down sobbing on this day every year…but this time his breakdown had nothing to do with losing his wife.
“Tonight,” Harry said, “you and Amelia proved to all of us that we don’t have to do this anymore. We don’t have to keep blaming ourselves, or anyone else, for what happened in the past. We don’t have to feel guilty anymore. We don’t have to keep hurting ourselves or each other. You’re absolutely right: It’s time to let go of the past, and celebrate the present, and the future.” He smiled at his father. “I love you, Dad. That’s all that matters, both then and now.”
“I love you too, son. More than I’ve ever been able to show. Although I swear to you that I’m going to get better at it. I promise you that.”
Both men wiped away tears, then turned back to the painting. “Your work is brilliant, Dad. Once news gets out that you’re painting again—which it must be already, given how many phone cameras were flashing during its grand unveiling—you’re going to be inundated with requests from galleries.”
“Actually, I’ve already chosen a gallery for a show of new work. If I can manage to create enough work to justify a show, that is.”
“I remember how much you loved working in your studio when I was little. I have a feeling you’re going to love it even more now and be even more prolific while you’re at it.” Earlier that year, his father had taken the huge step of allowing his previously unseen work to be shown at a festival in Summer Lake. But creating and showing new work was his father’s fresh start—and Harry was one hundred percent confident that William Sullivan was going to prove to the world that he was an even better painter the second time around. “Where’s the gallery located?”
“Here.”
“In Alexandria Bay?” Harry couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Yes. I’m going to open my own gallery. Both for my work—and to support local artists.” His father was clearly relishing the fact that Harry couldn’t keep his mouth from falling open at the news. “I want to focus on my family from here on out, rather than hiding away from all of you the way I have for so long. And since Amelia will be going to college in a few years, I want to spend as much time with her as I can before she leaves home. Moving here makes perfect sense. Especially as I’m sure your brothers and sister will want to have plenty of time with her too. We can still go to the lake for weekends in the summer, but if Alexandria Bay is going to be the hub for most of our family get-togethers, I don’t want to miss any of them.” His father paused, looking slightly uncertain. “How does that sound to you?”
“It sounds great, Dad.” Harry grinned at his father, his heart lighter than he could ever remember. “Really, really great.”
* * *
Molly was having a wonderful time at Amelia’s after-party. Despite how star struck the other school parents had been when they’d first seen Harry’s family, as soon as they all started chatting, it was easy to see that they were just normal people. Apart from Alec’s billions, and Suzanne’s genius, and Drake’s artistic talent, Molly thought with a smile.
Still, the evening wouldn’t feel completely perfect until Harry and his father arrived to celebrate with them. Suzanne had explained to Molly how William had decided to start working on the painting the previous Sunday night, at which point Amelia had confirmed that she and her grandfather had been in cahoots over it as a special birthday surprise ever since.
Molly couldn’t quite wrap her head around owning one of William Sullivan’s paintings. It was like having Mick Jagger write a song for her. Or Frank Lloyd Wright building her a house to live in.
“Miss me?” Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
She turned to wrap her arms around Harry’s neck and press her lips to his. “Not now that you’re here.”
“Amelia looks happy.”
She followed his gaze to the dance floor, where their daughter was tearing it up with Suzanne. Roman was standing at the edge of the space watching over them, making it perfectly clear with nothing more than his large, intimidating presence that any boys thinking of hitting on Amelia—or Suzanne—should walk away instead.
“She sure does.” Molly reached up to put her hand on Harry’s jaw, studying his face for a few moments. “And so do you.”
“My father and I had a good talk. A great talk.”
“Want to slip away with me for a bit to tell me about it?”
“I definitely want to slip away with you, and I’ll tell you everything soon, I promise. But first, I’d like to give you your birthday present.”
Taking her hand, he led her out of the crowded room and onto the wharf. It was a warm night, and with the moon shining on the water and the stars twinkling in the dark sky above, Molly felt so wonderfully happy. She didn’t need Harry’s birthday gift to complete her night. All she needed was Harry, holding her hand and looking at her with such love in his eyes.
“All week,” he began, “I tried to figure out what to get you for your birthday. But nothing I thought of was good enough. And nothing I could have bought for you would have meant enough.”
“This has already been the most wonderful day. Between Amelia’s new birth certificate, your family making peace with me, our daughter’s great performance, your father surprising us with the painting, and the peace I can see in your eyes after your talk with him—I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
“Not even this?” He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
A love letter.
Just like the ones George C. Boldt had sent to his wife.
Molly’s hands trembled as she opened the envelope and slid out the paper inside.
Dear Molly,
The moment I met you, I knew you were my one true love.
For the long years that we were apart, there was never a single day when I didn’t think of you. When I didn’t long for you. When I didn’t want to find you and beg you to give me a second chance.
All the while, you were raising our daughter, helping her grow into an incredible young woman. One brave enough to come and find her father, because you taught her how to be strong. How to take risks. How to be vulnerable against all odds—and hope that love will prevail in the end. No matter what.
Now it’s my turn to be brave like Amelia, like you. I want to share every last piece of my heart with you, no matter how difficult, no matter how much safer it would feel not to take these risks. To bottle up everything I feel the way I always have before.
But if there’s anyone I can risk my heart with, it’s you, Molly.
It’s always been you.
For so long, I used my family as an excuse to stay stuck where I was. But they were never the real reason I pulled back, never the reason I shut you out, never the reason I didn’t ask you for help.
The truth is that I was scared. Scared to face my own feelings. My own grief. My own losses. As long as I focused on my family, as long as I spent all my time helping them, I never had to focus on myself.
Until you got close. So close that I knew you would want me to share my true feelings with you.
So I pushed you away. Before you could see what was really going on. Before you realized what a total mess I was.
I couldn’t let you see any of that, because then I would have had to see it myself. Would have had to admit that some days—most days—my sorrow over losing my mother, and my father too, even though he was still alive, felt like it was going to crush me.
Somewhere in there, I started to believe my own lies: That I was the guy who always held it together no matter what. That I’d made peace with my mother’s death. That I could single-handedly shoulder my father’s grief. That I didn’t need help taking care of my family.
But I’m not that guy, Molly.
I never was.
You knew that all along, didn’t you? Knew and loved the real me, through it all.
You are the most beautiful, strong, brilliant, passionate, loving woman I’ve ever known. I’ll never stop being thankful that somehow, some way, you fell in love with me—a man who gets it wrong nearly as often as he gets it right.
Before, I would have tried to pretend I wasn’t a mess. But I don’t have to pretend anymore. I know that you will always love me anyway.
Exactly the way I will always love you.
Yours forever,
Harry
By the time Molly got to the end of the letter, tears were streaming down her face. She looked up, wanting to tell Harry that she was his forever too—
When she realized he had gone down on one knee.
“Turn the letter over, Molly.” His deep voice rippled over her, through her. “There’s more.”
P.S. Will you marry me?
P.P.S. I already asked Amelia for your hand. She said yes.
P.P.P.S. I hope you will too.
Molly sank to her knees on the planks of the wharf, put her hands on his face, and kissed him with all the love she possessed.
“Dear Harry,” she began, her voice shaky, but her heart sure. “You weren’t the only one who fell in love the moment we met…and who never stopped loving, even after so many years apart. And you’re not the only one who was scared to be vulnerable, who used their family as an excuse not to leap, or risk, or trust. But my heart always knew best. Always knew that loving you was the best thing I could ever do. Your strength, your gentleness. Your brains, your brawn. Your laughter, your tears. Your hope, your grief. I love every single thing that makes you who you are. I’m yours forever too.”
She kissed him again, then smiled before saying one more thing.
“P.S. Yes.”