Epilogue
Abby
Two Years Later
Something I always thought would make me love Lanai even more than I already did was being able to see the sun rise over the water instead of setting. The morning sun had just begun illuminating our bedroom.
I was awake, just sort of slipping in and out of wakefulness, enjoying the feel of the sun on my naked body and the sound of Nate's playing infiltrating the rest of the house from the living room.
The wall facing the water in our bedroom wasn't a wall at all. It was all glass, with a sliding door that opened onto a balcony. He had asked for it just for me, knowing how I felt about mornings. We had gone back and forth about the design of the house for months before agreeing on something that was small enough for me to be comfortable in, and grand enough for Nate to feel like he was giving me a gift by having it built.
I had been a little sad about leaving my beachside hut near the Four Seasons, but this place was nice, too. We had designed it from the ground up, and Nate had called it my present for our one year anniversary when we had moved in. I had wanted something small and cozy for two people to live in that didn't feel cold and empty. He had drawn inspiration from a beachfront villa he and his parents would stay in when they would come to Hawai'i when he was a child.
The compromise had been a scaled down villa on the eastern coast of the island overlooking the beach. It was secluded, but not isolated. We had our privacy, but the city was less than twenty minutes away when we really wanted to go.
I stretched in the sunlight like a lizard basking on a rock. Nate often played in the morning. His inspiration hit at the strangest times, but I loved when the sun was just creeping up the horizon and his playing infiltrated my fading dreams. I could hear his voice, too; he was singing. He composed and wrote more than he sang, so it was always a treat when he did.
It was time to get up. I wasn't even tired anymore; I was just being lazy. I had graduated a while back, and the summer peak season had just come to an end. I was enjoying my days off after a busy season. I climbed out of bed and walked to our split closet. I pulled on a pair of panties and grabbed one of his worn old t-shirts to go downstairs in.
I walked down the stairs, following the music. The closer I got, the clearer I heard the song. I recognized it. It was the one he had written for me his first summer here. He tended to play a lot of the old stuff he had written with Remus, too.
He had distanced himself from the band since he had ventured out on his own solo career, but since he had writing credits on so many of the band's songs, people were constantly finding out about Nate through the band anyway.
If the balcony upstairs was for me, the recording studio basement was for him. I had felt he needed it to make up for the fact that we lived so far from Los Angeles where the people he collaborated with lived. Having a studio at home meant he didn't always have to leave when he needed to record. The times he did have to travel for shows were bad enough, especially when I couldn't join him.
His beautiful grand piano was in the living room. I walked into the room seeing him, but stopped. It was starting to get light outside, but the room was illuminated with soft yellow light from candles on the mantle and coffee table. A sea of blood red rose petals covered the floor between me and Nate at the piano. The scene was soft and romantic, but we’d already celebrated two years a couple weeks ago. I didn’t know what this was for.
"Nate?" I called carefully, walking into the room, feeling petals beneath my feet. The playing stopped, and he looked over his shoulder at me. He didn't have a shirt on. He was on the bench in just a pair of pajama pants. He smiled seeing me and waved me over.
"Morning, babe," he said, grinning.
"Hey," I said smiling, walking up to the bench. I sat next to him with my back to the piano so I could face him. He kissed me sweetly. "What happened in here?" I asked.
"Do you like it?"
"It's beautiful, but I don't know what we're celebrating."
"Do I need a reason to do something nice for you?" he asked, smiling.
"This is for me?"
"Everything I do is for you, Abby," he said.
It had been two years of hearing him say things like that to me, and they still never failed to fill me up with insane pleasure. He was a songwriter; he knew how to say things to make them sound the sweetest, but that wasn't even where it stopped. I believed him when he said things to me because he was generous with his words, his heart, his body, his money. He gave me everything.
"I love it," I said. "Thank you."
"I love doing things for you; don't mention it. I should be the one thanking you," he said.
"Me? What for?" I asked.
"For all the delicious food you make me, for coming with me on tour, for being my biggest supporter," he said making a list.
"I do those things because I love you, Nate. You don't have to thank me."
"I wouldn't be able to do anything without you, Abby," he said.
"Oh, come on. What were you doing before we met?"
"Nothing," he said seriously. "Nothing good. I wasn't making music, I was high all the time; I was a junkie."
I sighed. I remembered. The more distance we gained from the time, the more dire it seemed in my remembrance of it. We were both here on the other side of it, in love and stronger than ever, but when we had met, this man that he was today was somewhere obscured behind the pain of a broken dream, a failed marriage, and addiction. It was hard to think sometimes that he was the same person.
His left arm was covered in beautiful, dark tattoos instead of track scars now. He was inspired and healthy, and through it all, he was still the creative, beautiful soul I'd been drawn to when we met.
"All that happened in the past. You aren't that person anymore. You got better, and you took your career back."
"I didn't do shit, Abby. You're the one who got me here."
"I just didn't let you ignore me," I said, smiling.
"You treated me like I was someone worth saving," he said. "I wouldn't be alive if you hadn’t driven me crazy the first summer I got here." I smiled, remembering how upset he would get when I'd wake him up in the morning.
"Yes, you would, Nate," I said. "I'm not the one who beat your addiction — you are."
"If you weren't there, I wouldn't have been able to do it. You were it, Abby. You still are. I'm alive because of you, and you deserve every last one of the years I have left on this earth." I felt my eyes well up.
"You don't owe me anything, Nate. Here and now with you is enough." He shook his head.
"I don't want here and now Abby; I want every day." I watched him stand and round the bench. "Abby," he said quietly. He took one of my hands and sunk down on one knee. My heart started pounding as I realized what was happening.
"Every good thing in my life I can trace back to you. I had nothing when we met, and you gave me everything. I didn't know what unconditional love felt like before I met you and when I think of the future, you're the only thing I know I can't live without. I have a life because of you, and I don't want to live life without you."
I wanted to say something, but I couldn't, my throat was closed, and tears were pouring down my face. I saw him reach into his pajama pants pocket and pull out a ring.
"Abby Terrell, I love you, and I don't want to live a life without you in it. Marry me?"
I nodded because I couldn't speak. He slid the ring on my finger and stood up. I looked at it. It was a beautiful pink stone in a rose-gold band.
"I thought..."
"You thought I'd never ask you?"
"I thought you didn't want to do it again," I said.
"I didn't want to do it again with the wrong person," he said. "You're the right person, Abby. You're the only person. Do you want to be my wife?"
"Yes," I said, looking up at him. "Of course. I just want to make you happy."
"You already do, babe," he said. I smiled. He made me happy, too. Happy, excited, passionate...full. He was my missing piece to paradise. Now I had everything.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams