Chapter Twenty-Nine

Amy sat on her bed and looked at the check. She hadn’t told her family that she was rich again. After Marley had left, she’d just taken the check to her room and gone back to her pie making. After all, people wanting pie didn’t care. They just wanted pie.

Still, this changed things.

She could get a phone, laptop, and a tablet. She could spend her $84.38.

And a car. She would ask Terrance to take her to a dealership first thing in the morning. She wouldn’t even haggle. She could probably call Mr. Dayton, who owned the Volvo dealership, and ask him to meet her tonight. She’d known him all his life. Terrance had taken his daughter to the prom, and he was in Rotary with Daddy.

A Fallon sure wouldn’t wait around all night to buy a Volvo. Maybe she’d start acting rich, flying in accountants and not having to show up at a particular time at the airport. She wasn’t as rich as they were—not by a lot—but rich enough.

Of course, she didn’t have a phone to call Mr. Dayton. But even if she borrowed someone else’s in the house or went down the hill to use The Peach Stand’s landline, she could imagine what Mr. Dayton would say.

“Amy, does your daddy know you’re calling me with the Falcons playing?” Mr. Dayton always thought his friends’ adult children were about ten years younger than they were. “Where do you need to go so bad that you can’t wait until morning?” Besides, no one here was going to take her anywhere while the Falcons were on.

Face it, getting a Volvo just didn’t mean that much to everyone.

But most important, this money gave her options.

She would put away most of it to open her new organizing business when she could legally do that. It would be nice not to have to start out the way she had the first time, with only a phone, a second hand computer, and a file box in the back seat of her car—though she could have done it.

Meanwhile, she wouldn’t have to take any job she could get to support herself. This money would give her the opportunity to volunteer her time to do something meaningful. Maybe something for the homeless or abused children. Those were things that she had always deemed worthy in her head, but they had never hit her heart as they had lately. Those things could make for a good day’s work.

But, ever practical, Amy knew none of that could even begin to take shape before she’d gone to the bank, the Volvo dealership, and the Apple store. There was research to be done and decisions to be made before she could even know whom to reach out to. She’d need a brand new bullet journal for all that. Maybe while she was making her plans and getting it on paper, she’d stay here and bake peach pies. One thing for sure: she would never again sit around idle living someone else’s life while she was waiting to start her own.

Everybody works. Those people down there in the den watching football knew it.

Maybe she’d go downstairs and join them for the game. Terrance had made tacos, and Mimi had made those little baked ham and cheese sandwiches with the mustard, butter, and poppy seed sauce.

Or maybe she’d stay up here and watch the Sound play the Hurricanes. She never had found out if Emile had been suspended.

Not for the first time since Marley had left, her parting words came back to haunt Amy. I appreciate that you meant well, but should you have made that decision for me?

There was a light tap on the door.

“Yes?”

Mimi opened the door. “You’re popular today.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have another visitor. He’s waiting in the same place as the woman. He didn’t want any iced tea.”

He?

Amy went to the window and looked out. There it was—the county fair ride car.

“You don’t seem surprised that he’s here.”

Amy shook her head. “I don’t know if I am or not. With all that has happened lately, I don’t know if I’d be surprised if I went down to find the devil swinging from the dining room chandelier.”

Mimi chuckled. “Is he the devil?”

“No. No. He’s not the devil—just sometimes misguided. Though he does his own misguiding.”

“The misguided can be redirected.”

“I don’t know if I have the energy for that.”

“Do you have the energy not to?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Amy said.

“Learning not to love takes a lot more energy than loving.”

“What makes you think I’m in love?”

Mimi took her head. “A heart that’s never had love in it can’t be broken. And you seem pretty brokenhearted to me. I don’t know for sure why your heart is broken, but it’s not over Cameron Snow, the loss of your money, or that you don’t have Apple Pie Order anymore. You’ve been sad about those things, but they haven’t broken your heart.”

“Maybe it was just about lost possibilities.” After all, they had been going to consider.

“Then maybe you’d better go down there and see if there’s any possibility in the parlor.”

“Maybe I should.” Or not, but there was no getting around it. He’d driven seven hours. Or possibly less. The county fair ride car was fast. “All right.” She patted her hair and headed toward the door.

“Amy?” Mimi said. “Don’t you want to freshen up? Maybe take a shower? You smell like peaches.”

She looked at herself in the mirror. For sure, she’d looked better. There were peach stains on her shirt. Thirty-six Halloween carnival pies would do that to a person.

“There are worse ways to smell. I come from peaches.”

Mimi nodded. “And never forget the peaches are always here for you.”

 “I forgot that for a little while. I won’t again.”

When Amy entered the parlor, Emile stood up. “I like your house. It is a home.” His face was bruised, his lip split, and his left eye was swollen almost shut.

“Looks like you’ve had a little scuffle.” She sat in the wing chair.

He let himself down on the couch. “Yes. But not in the game. It was later—”

She considered letting him tell the story. It might have been entertaining. But she put a hand up. “I know what happened, Emile. I saw the game. And the aftermath.”

“Oui?” He smiled. His swollen lip did nothing to detract from the beauty of that mouth. “You watched anyway?”

“Ever arrogant, aren’t you? Yes. I watched. Are you suspended? Is that why you aren’t at Bridgestone Area right now?”

He shrugged and moved his head back and forth like he did when he meant, could be yes, could be no. “Non. Not suspended—though there were those who thought it should be so. Mostly those who do not understand hockey. Still, I am hurt.” He gestured to his face. “It’s time for Case to play a game. So it was decided I would not go to the arena. There will be some other controversy tonight—perhaps from football. But for tonight and me—how do you say it? Out of the eye, out of the brain.”

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Yes. I was glad. I was able to come to south Georgia today instead of tomorrow. I would have been here before, but I didn’t think you’d come here. I looked everywhere. Then when I thought you must be here, I couldn’t work out how to find you. Googling peaches and south Georgia made me think I would have to go to many peach farms. Then I remembered your phone. The contacts were there. I found the number of your family business—The Peach Stand. After that, it was easy.”

She did not point out if he had added her last name with peaches and south Georgia in the Google search that would have been easy, as well.

“So, why are you here, Emile?”

“Because you are not out of sight, out of mind. I have come to take you back.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Non. I didn’t think it would be. And it may not be possible. But I must tell you, though I didn’t see it at first, I should not have called Cameron Snow. You told me what you wanted, and I did what I thought you wanted. That was not for me to decide. I hope you can believe me.”

“You treated me like a child. I have to be my own person and make my own decisions. I’m never going to say that was all right.”

“I wanted to be your hero.”

If she had not put her hand to her heart, it might have melted out of her chest. “Can you be a different kind of hero? The kind who respects a person’s right to make her own decisions? Because, Emile, I let Cameron take over my life. That’s on me, but I can’t do it again.”

“Yes.” He said it quickly and matter-of-factly—a little too much so.

She wanted to believe him, wanted to so much. And a part of her did—or maybe it was more like she believed a part of him believed it—his head. She wasn’t sure it went all the way to his heart.

His face clouded over. “I hope I can be that kind of hero. Open Hearts and Arms doesn’t want me for a hero anymore.”

“What?” Despite it all, Amy was incensed on his behalf. “How dare they? That means so much to you.”

“Non. It’s okay.” He put a hand up. “They are right. You can’t have someone speak out against abuse who had a brawl on national television. They did what they had to do. But I am not a monster. Or a savage.”

“I never thought you were. And it makes me angry with that organization if they made you feel that way.”

“Non. It was something I think I feared, but I don’t anymore. I had a nice talk with Open Hearts and Arms. They have facilities in some cities where children can go to be safe. I think I would like to see that done in Nashville. Better than magazine ads and television commercials, don’t you think?”

“Much better.” Amy swallowed her tears. In another time and another place, she might have told him right then she would go with him. He was a good man, but he’d been a good man all along and he’d still overruled her wishes.

“And now.” He reached for a large shopping bag at his feet. “Someone wise told me that to try to fix things with you, I must first figure out what I want. Then I must make a grand gesture. I tried to make him tell me what this grand gesture should be. He said I had to figure that out myself, or it wouldn’t be grand.”

“He does sound wise.”

“He is. If I listen to him, maybe someday I will be wise, too?” And God help her, he smiled that smile.

“Stranger things have happened.”

He opened the bag. “About the wants. The reason I said it might not be possible for you to go with me is we might not want the same. I wanted to ask what you wanted and say that’s what I wanted, too, but Packi said that was the talk of a lunatic.” He pulled out the little purple bullet journal that she’d bought to keep up with his schedule and waved it in the air. “I found this. It was about me. So I thought I could write in it. Was that okay?”

“Of course.” She could hardly wait for this.

He opened the book and held it up. “I tried to make my pages like yours, but you are better at it.”

Sure enough, he’d written at the top: “Things Emile Wants,” with a list of bullet points after. In the margins he’d drawn rough pictures of wolves, hockey pucks, houses, trophies, hearts, dogs, and the number 30. And was that supposed to be a baby? Her breath caught in her throat. It was clear this was a model for how he wanted their lives to be—together, some time in the future. It was easy to imagine and play along. It didn’t mean it was happening.

“All right. First, the things that I always knew I wanted that I have gotten: to play hockey, win trophies, be the excellent wolf.”

He was so serious, so sincere, but she had to laugh.

He looked pleased. “So, it’s good so far?”

“Very good. Though I’m glad you don’t have on that list that you want to be an artist.”

“Non. Just an artist of the net. I do that. I want a house.” He gestured around him. “A house such as this, a home with a fence and a garage for the Bugatti. The helmet must be protected.”

How had he known how much she wanted a house? Or had he? “You wouldn’t miss Star View Towers?”

“Non. That was never more than a stopping-off place. Not a good place for dogs and children. They sent a memo to say if you allow children to trick or treat, tell them and they will put a paper pumpkin on the door. And only children who live in the building are allowed. I want a home where the pumpkin is not paper and all children may trick or treat. I like Halloween. I want children to share it with.” He held up the book and pointed to the baby he’d drawn. “Well, a baby at first. Then see what happens.”

She nodded. Everything she’d ever wanted.

“Now, for part of the grand gesture.” He pulled a large parcel out of the bag. “For you, for the home.”

She unwrapped first the brown paper and then the tissue. “It’s my quilt! It’s Stir Crazy!” The one she’d walked away from in Piece by Piece.

“This makes you happy?”

She wouldn’t have thought so. She would have thought she would associate that quilt with a bad day and with homes and dreams that were never going to come true. But when she’d seen the quilt, she’d known it was hers. And it was.

“Very happy.” Now she could look for the all the hidden spoons, even if she never spooned under it as Noel had suggested.

His face went serious. “I thought it was very possible that we would want the same things with the house, and the dog, and the baby. Fence for the dog. But you must be warned of something.”

“What is it?” Surely he wasn’t going to threaten her.

“I want to play hockey. I have to play hockey as long as my body and skills hold out.”

This wasn’t news. “You’re doing that.”

He nodded. “But it could mean leaving the house and the fence behind. We would take the baby. And the dog. The Sound could be sold to Massachusetts. Or I could be traded and have to move on a day’s notice. With hockey, there is no assurance of how long you will be in a place.”

She’d moved for Cameron without a question, though that was no recommendation. Still, this was all hypothetical. “Are there houses and fences in Massachusetts?” she asked slowly.

He smiled. “I have heard that’s true. This is the hockey grand gesture.” He pulled a jersey out of the bag and held it up. “For you. I would not want you to cut it up. See?” He pointed to a dark stain. “Blood—like the sweaters Noel and Sharon wear.”

Amy’s stomach lurched, and not in a good way. But maybe this—the blood—was just all part of it.

“The blood came from my fight with Snow—when I beat him up,” he said proudly.

“I got that. Thank you.” She took the jersey and folded the stain to the inside.

“The next part might be hard for you,” he said. “You remember how we had agreed to consider? Before I almost ruined things—at least I hope it was almost.”

“And you are asking me to consider. It’s safe to say, I will consider.”

He vehemently shook his head. “Non. No considering. It must be being.”

Must. The word tore through her like sandpaper on silk. Must was not a good word, not under these circumstances.

Emile went on. “I do not want you to consider, to wait and see. No waiting. No just living together with only promises of considering and good sex. I want you to be my wife. I want it now. I want promises of forever. I want to make you promises of forever. I want to begin our lives together, with the house, the baby, the dog. I want you to sit in the WAG suite in my bloody sweater now and also later when you are so pregnant that you are glad it is a goalie sweater.”

It all sounded so heartfelt, so romantic, that she was surprised she didn’t fall at his feet and weep yes in every language she knew, which come to think of it, was two.

But she couldn’t. Must. He’d said must. And want. And stated vehemently how it had to be. He would never leave her to make own decisions. And she could never live that way again—even if he meant well.

She took a deep breath and prepared to say the words that would break her heart—and maybe his.

“But!” He held up a finger and gave her a radiant smile. “That is what I want.” He held up the bullet journal. “See? It says ‘Things Emile Wants.’ I can write anything I please on this page. But these are the ‘Things Emile Demands.’” And he turned the page. Except for the heading at the top, the page was empty.

If it works on paper, it will work in implementation.

He came to kneel before her and took her hands. “I stated what I would like. But, Amy, I demand nothing. Consider if you like. Think of what I want and of what you want. I’m right here, waiting for you to make your own decisions about how you live your life.”

She put her hand over his heart. “You really do understand, don’t you? You understand here.”

“Oui.” His eyes wore all the truth that had ever been in any universe. “Amy, I will never disregard your decisions again. That is a promise I make.”

Must didn’t matter anymore. Neither did that they had only been together for a brief time. Nothing mattered except the truth and the love in his eyes.

“Then, yes. No considering. No waiting to see. Just yes.” Then she stopped and slowly translated in her mind the next words she would speak. “Je serai votre femme.”

“Amy! You have been learning French?” The look on his face was all she’d hoped for.

“A little. Did I get it right?”

“So, so right—that is, if you meant to say you would be my wife.”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

And then he gifted her with the most beautiful smile she had yet to see on that beautiful mouth. “And soon? As soon as you can get together the fluffy dress and the cake? It must be a fluffy dress.”

That was a must she could live with. “Yes. Soon.” And she would have the money now to pay for the fluffiest dress in fluffy land. She’d tell him that soon, but in this moment, it didn’t matter.

“Dieu merci!” He kissed one of her palms and then the other. “Je t’aime, Amy.”

“And I love you.”

“Now.” He reached for the bag again. “We come to the last part of the grand gesture. I wasn’t sure we would reach this part.”

Amy wasn’t surprised when he pulled a ring box from the bag.

“Close your eyes.” He slipped the ring on her finger. “Now open.”

The weight on her hand should have prepared her for what she encountered when she first caught sight of the ring she would wear for the rest of her life.

But, then, even a federal government emergency preparedness agency couldn’t have done anything to abate the shock from the sight that greeted her.

The ring left her gasping for breath, and not just from the weight. It covered her finger all the way to the knuckle and wrapped around the sides. Clearly Emile had taken his taste in car embellishment when he’d gone shopping for rings. She’d seen chandeliers with less going on.

“Pretty, oui?” He was so pleased with himself.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Perhaps there was a place for batteries so it could be used as a hazard light in case of car trouble. But a smile warmed her from inside out. Such would be life with this man.

He paused, admiring the giant ring on her hand. “It’s real,” he said. Maybe he wanted to make sure she knew he hadn’t gotten it at Pottery Barn.

“And so are we.”

When they sealed their commitment with a kiss, it wasn’t a French kiss, or much more than a peck. But that was all right. His mouth would be healed soon, and they had forever.