Chapter Twenty-Four
Julian typed THE END in his manuscript, and his hands fell away from the keyboard. The outline of those two words thinned until they were swallowed up in white, disappearing completely. All that was left in the absence of typing was the electronic hum of his computer, the low ringing in his ears that had been there for . . . however long it had been since it happened again. He jolted at the reminder of why he’d locked himself in this room in the first place, desperate to have his distraction back.
All he had now was silence.
A bunch of words on the screen. Clammy sweat on his skin. Still. Or again. He didn’t know.
Where was the almighty satisfaction that came from finishing a novel? It would sweep in any second now, surely. The triumph, the relief, the sense of satisfaction. He’d been chasing those things, needing them. Requiring something to be louder than the noise in his head. But there was nothing. There was nothing but his stiff joints and aching molars and bloodshot eyes, and that was fucking unacceptable.
He cleared his throat, but a hoarse sound came out instead. He dug his fingertips into his eye sockets. Jesus, it hurt to lift his arms, his joints sore from being locked up so tight. He probably hadn’t noticed, because none of it could compete with the spikes raking through his insides, and it was so much worse now that he’d stopped typing.
The light on his desk had gone out God knew when. The blinds were pulled down tight, but he could see around the edges that it was bright out. Birds were chirping, and dust motes danced in the slivers of light that he hadn’t managed to keep out.
Dread weighed down his shoulders so severely that they were beginning to protest the strain, and he knew why. He knew what he was dreading, but as soon as he acknowledged it, the final stage of numbness would wear off. So he fought to keep that final veil from lifting. Fought against the outline of her head and the sound of her voice with clenched teeth and every drop of willpower he had.
Julian’s hand shot out unexpectedly and sent the wireless keyboard flying across the room. He’d just finished a book. Wasn’t something supposed to happen now? Wasn’t there supposed to be more than an empty room and stale air and the cursor that was still blinking?
Wexler had done exactly what he was supposed to do. He’d braved the elements, he’d fought the enemy, solved the riddles left by his comrades from the past, and triumphed. Returned the artifact to its rightful owner. Now the hero stood in a valley, looking out, and there was no fulfillment. Only emptiness. Wexler was alone. He was alone, and he was . . .
Flawless. He didn’t have a single thing wrong with him. Apart from being briefly captured by his rival, he’d made no mistakes. Not one throughout the single book. He’d been rigorous and brave and uncompromising. And Julian found that he could not care less that Wexler had won. Of course this protagonist without a single bad characteristic won in the end. He hadn’t stumbled once. Hadn’t questioned himself or been doubted. Hadn’t recognized his own shortcomings and done anything to fix them. He’d just won. Wasn’t that the dream? Didn’t people want to read about someone they aspired to be? Julian did.
Normally.
But the ending left him totally empty.
Julian had been writing the man he wanted to be. A brave man. But there was no satisfaction in winning without the losses that came first. There was no bravery when victory was a given.
A hero with serious flaws and even weaknesses . . . could still be a hero. A person could only be brave if failing was a possibility.
And that night of the fire . . . did he fail? He’d always thought yes: Yes, I let myself get overwhelmed, I let the screws tighten until my exterior cracked. In reality, though, he was still here. He’d come back. The people he loved were safe. Time marched on, and he would do it all over again, even knowing the outcome. He’d run into the fire knowing the anxiety would crush him afterward, and maybe . . . maybe Wexler needed some of that. Fear. Fear of failing. Fear of weaknesses. Didn’t that only make being strong more rewarding?
The screen of his computer faded to black from inactivity, and Julian surged to his feet, noting the time on the clock. Seven forty in the morning. He would sleep until noon, shower until ten after twelve . . .
Why?
Why schedule himself so ruthlessly? It didn’t seem as necessary as it had before. Nothing seemed necessary, except for . . .
His focus drifted, and he found himself walking down the front steps of the house. He moved without conscious thought, knowing on some level he was moving toward the garden, but not being really sure why. Not until he stood in front of it.
The absolute . . . masterpiece of it.
The air was sucked straight out of his lungs.
She’d finished the garden.
It was a riot of color, just like her. It was wild and joyful and without structure, but, standing back as he was, it made sense. Blooms filled spaces and locked together like joints. They reached for the sky in some spots, crawling on the ground in others, creating a pattern that he hadn’t been able to detect until now. When it was a finished work.
The journey hadn’t been pretty, but the result was fucking spectacular.
Like this garden, she was chaos. But she was good, and he’d known this. He’d reached for her with both hands and asked to keep her, mayhem and all—but he hadn’t accepted his own flaws yet. He’d recognized hers as beautiful while believing his were still hideous, and that’s where he’d gone wrong.
He hadn’t been fully right, fully ready for her. Not when he couldn’t accept his own imperfections . . . and realize those imperfections were what made victory worthwhile.
And she was the victory. Hallie.
Her name in his head tore away that final layer of numbness, and, as he’d known it would, the panic ripped through him like a knife. The sound of her voice begging him not to leave, the soft but persistent pull of her hands on his elbow. The letter. The words from her letter.
The kind of person who wants to be better and sees their own faults is someone I want to spend time with. They’ll complement mine if we want it bad enough.
Not really seeing the ground in front of him, he lurched toward the house. And then he started to run. Car keys. He just needed to get his car keys. Christ, he needed to see her now.
I’m sorry I lied to you. I hope I haven’t ruined everything, because while I thought I was in love with high school Julian, I didn’t know him. I know the man, though. And now I understand the difference between love and infatuation. I’ve felt both for you, fifteen years apart. Please forgive me. I’m trying to change.
They didn’t even talk about her letter.
She’d had a crush on him in high school? He wanted every detail. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to laugh about it with her in her magical little garden and make up for being a stupid teenager and not knowing her and loving her for fifteen years. Where the fuck had his head been for fifteen years?
His mind was wide open now, free of the imprisonment of minutes and hours. They were nothing if he didn’t spend them with her, that’s all he knew.
Natalie emerged from her bedroom as he ran by, eye mask pushed up on her forehead. “Julian. You’re out.”
“Where are my keys?” He pointed at the console table that ran between the living room and the kitchen. If he didn’t see a Hallie Smile immediately, he was going to split down the fucking middle. “They were right here.”
“Uh, they were there. Now they’re in my purse. I returned my rental, and I’ve been driving your car for weeks.”
“Weeks.” The clamp around his windpipe tightened. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been writing nonstop for two and a half weeks. You showered once or twice. Ate a sandwich every once in a while. Slept here and there. I stayed out of your way so I didn’t interrupt your”—air quotes—“‘process.’ But I’m not handing over the keys until you clean yourself up. I believe the scientific term for your condition is ‘nasty.’”
Julian had only half heard everything Natalie said after “two and a half weeks.” Two and a half weeks? No. Not again. Please tell me I didn’t do this again. There were foggy memories of leaving the office, falling numbly into bed, watching through the grit in his eyes as his hands prepared food, words appearing on the screen. It was a blur, but he couldn’t possibly have been away from Hallie that long.
He wouldn’t survive it.
You have barely survived it.
His body was in horrible pain from being in a sitting position too long, but the cavern in his chest was the worst pain of all. And it stretched wider and wider now, as he realized all the important conversations that were never had. The forgiveness he’d never given. The time he’d wasted on a book that had been on the wrong trajectory since the beginning. When he could have been with her.
“Take a shower before you go see her.”
“I can’t. Two and a half weeks.”
Natalie yawned, reaching into her room for her purse and dropping it outside the door. “Yeah—and you might want to catch her before she leaves for the home and garden show with the redhead. They are just friends, but, you know, I still don’t think he’s deleting his wedding playlist anytime soon.”
His intestines just sort of melted into his socks. This was peak misery. How he felt didn’t mean jack shit right now, though. He’d walked out on Hallie while she was crying, too bogged down in his own self-disgust that he’d neglected to take care of her. To reassure her that he wasn’t upset over the secret she’d been keeping. He was grateful for it. Those letters were the first step in the journey to where he was now. To seeing the world differently. Seeing himself differently.
“How is she?” He rifled through his sister’s purse for the car keys. Fuck the shower. “I didn’t mean to leave her so long. She must hate me.”
“Hate you? No.” Natalie’s tone of voice turned Julian around. “Julian, I don’t know what happened between you two, but she’s taking the blame. If she hates anyone, she hates herself.”
No. No, no, no.
A pounding started in the dead center of his forehead, his stomach pitching, nausea picking up speed like a rogue wave. Driving to her house and apologizing wasn’t enough. No, she needed more. A lot more. The most unique, loving woman on the planet had been writing him love letters, and he needed to show her what they’d meant to him. What she meant to him.
Everything.
Would she want him when he had the ability to go silent for weeks?
“The last time this happened, I . . . couldn’t be there when my family needed me. Now I’ve done the same thing to her. She’s been hurting for weeks, and I’ve been lost in my own head. Brought down by this fucking weakness. I was just . . .” He searched for the right explanation. “I woke up alone, and she was gone. I thought she was hurt. Or worse. And then I couldn’t calm myself down . . .”
“Julian.” He found Natalie looking at him with a thoughtful frown. “This has only happened to you twice,” she said slowly. “Once when I was in danger. And again, when you thought something might have happened to Hallie.”
All he could think about now was getting to her. Holding her. “I don’t follow.”
Natalie didn’t speak right away, her eyes turning slightly damp. “You’re a protector. A solver of problems. Always have been, since we were kids. If your supposed weakness is caring too much about the people you love, to the point of panic, then that is a strength, not a weakness. It’s just one that needs to be managed correctly.”
His sister’s words finally broke through. Was she right?
Did the worst of his panic stem from people he loved being in danger?
“When I check out like this, I leave everyone to pick up the pieces alone. I couldn’t help with damage control after the fire. I’ve left Hallie for two and a half weeks. My God—”
“I don’t have a way to solve that part, Julian. But there is a way to cope with it. I know there is.” She tilted her head slightly, her expression sympathetic and understanding. “Maybe it’s time to stop trying to do that on your own.”
“Yeah.” His voice was raw. “Okay. I know you’re right.” As soon as he didn’t feel like dying for being away from his girl so long, he’d make the calls. He’d schedule the necessary appointments to get healthier. For himself. For everyone. But right now? None of that was happening without Hallie being healed first. “Natalie, please. I need your help.”
* * *
Hallie sat in her backyard, leaning up against the fence, surrounded by dozing dogs. She had a sketchpad in her lap, a pencil still rolling back and forth where it had fallen from her fingers. She’d finished it. The idea for the library garden was complete—and it was glorious. A plan that didn’t necessarily look like one. A Hallie-style buffet of sunflowers and dogwood and native wildflowers. Shaded benches and water babbling over stones and a swing hanging from the oak tree. It was a plan Rebecca would have been proud of.
Hallie was proud of it, too.
Weird how the worst scenarios coming true could pull everything into perspective. She’d been thriving on distractions and disorder so that she wouldn’t have to decide who to be. But the truth was, she’d already been the exact right person. She just needed to stop waving and shouting and listen. Feel. Center herself now in the stillness and sunshine. She was a survivor. A friend. Someone who brought the color in unconventional ways, but tried her best. She had a broken heart in more ways than one, but she was still standing, and that made her strong. She was stronger than she ever knew possible.
A car horn blared from the front yard.
Hallie’s nose wrinkled. Who was that? Owen had stood her up via text this morning, claiming a work emergency—and anyway, it was late afternoon now and they’d missed the whole home and garden show.
The horn went off again, and the dogs all got up at once, howling at the sky and trotting in circles. “Okay, guys.” Hallie used the fence to stand on legs that were half-asleep from sitting too long. “No need to get worked up.”
Hallie padded through the house on bare feet, moving aside a curtain in the front window to determine who was causing the ruckus.
Lavinia?
Her best friend spied her peeking through the curtains and rolled down the passenger-side window. “Get in, loser.”
Sketchpad still in hand, Hallie unlocked the front door of her house and went down the path, accompanied by three very harried canines. “What is happening here?”
“Get in the car.”
“But . . . What? Why? Is something wrong?”
“No. Well, yes. But hopefully not much longer.” Lavinia snapped her fingers and pointed at the passenger seat. “Get in this bloody Prius, Hallie Welch. I’m a terrible secret keeper, and I’ve got about five minutes before it just bursts out of me.”
Hallie herded the dogs back toward the house, sputtering, “At least let me put on some shoes and lock the door!”
“You’re pushing it!” Lavinia shouted, honking the horn.
Less than a minute later, Hallie was diving into the car in her flip-flops, still holding her sketchpad. She’d forgotten her phone and was pretty sure she’d locked herself out of the house, but at least the honking had ceased.
“What is going on?” She scrutinized Lavinia, but the donut maker remained stubbornly tight-lipped. Literally. She was pressing her lips together so tightly, they were turning white. And that’s when Hallie noticed the necklaces.
Lavinia usually wore a simple chain with a small onyx pendant. Today, there were so many layers of jewelry around Lavinia’s neck, Hallie couldn’t even figure out how many necklaces she was wearing. Silvers and golds and chunky wooden costume pieces.
“Why are you—”
Lavinia cut her off with a middle finger, shaking her head.
All right. She was a hostage. Going sixty miles an hour in a Prius, possibly being mocked for her taste in jewelry, and there was nothing she could do about it, apparently. Hallie leaned back in the seat, fingers wrapped around her sketchbook, staring out through the windshield and trying to determine where Lavinia was taking her. It only took about three minutes for their destination to become obvious.
Hallie lurched forward, very nearly reaching for the steering wheel to prevent Lavinia from turning down the well-manicured road that led to Vos Vineyard. “Oh God. No. Lavinia.” For a beat, she seriously contemplated throwing open the passenger door and casting herself out of the moving vehicle. “I know you think you’re helping, but he doesn’t want to see me.”
“Almost there,” Lavinia gasped. “Almost there. Don’t look at me. I can do this.”
“You’re scaring me.”
The brakes screeched, and Lavinia shut off the car, making a shooing motion at Hallie. “Get out. Go. I’m right behind you.”
“I’m not getting out . . .”
Hallie’s protest died on her lips when three people climbed out of the Jeep beside them . . . laden with necklaces. Like, dozens upon dozens of mismatched ones. Hallie looked down at her own collection, displayed in the V of her white T-shirt, and felt a tug in her rib cage. For the last few days, she’d tried to whittle down her selection to one necklace, but she could never manage it. She liked them all. They represented different parts of her personality and experiences. The pearls were an ode to her romantic side, the gold cross a reminder that she’d been a good granddaughter—the best one she could manage. The pink choker with the bright, pretty flowers once represented the part of her that liked to avoid unwanted conversations, but now it was a reminder to stop using flowers as a distraction and have the tough talks. Especially with herself.
Although, she missed talking to Julian most of all.
The necklaces blurred together, thanks to the moisture in her eyes, and when she looked up and out the windshield again, it took a moment for the figure in front of the Prius to come into focus.
Natalie. Covered in necklaces.
“Seriously, what is going on?”
Lavinia got out of the Prius and lit a cigarette. “She’s in the mood to be stubborn. You get one side, I’ll take the other.”
Natalie nodded and put on her sunglasses. “Let’s do this.”
Hallie watched in horror as both women converged on the passenger side, clearly intending to drag her out of the car. She was so stunned and confused that she didn’t manage to lock the door in time, and truly, she didn’t stand a chance. Each woman reached for an arm and pulled Hallie from the vehicle despite her protests, the sketchbook dangling from her right hand uselessly. “Please!” Hallie dug in her heels. “I don’t know what this is, but . . .”
But what?
She wanted to avoid confronting her mistakes in person? She wanted to hide in her house for another two and a half weeks eating cereal?
No. If she’d learned anything from her time with Julian‚ it was that growing meant getting through the hard stuff, and coming out stronger on the other side. The sketchpad was proof she could confront her fears and tackle things she never thought herself capable of. So she could do this, too.
Whatever “this” was.
Hallie stopped struggling and walked between Natalie and Lavinia like a normal woman without avoidance issues. Obviously her friends had staged some kind of Hallie-themed cheer-up session, and they were welcome to try. Julian probably wouldn’t even be there.
That assumption popped like a tire rolling over glass when she heard his voice ahead.
He was . . . shouting?
“Anywhere you want,” boomed his deep voice, just as they rounded the corner of the welcome center. There was Julian. In jeans and a T-shirt. Messier than she’d ever seen him. Standing in the back of a flatbed truck that appeared to be transporting an entire nursery worth of flowers and shrubs and various wooden trellises.
A large crowd of people had congregated around the truck, and Hallie immediately recognized several faces. Lorna was there. Owen. Several of her clients. August, the SEAL turned vintner. Jerome. The waitstaff from Othello. Mrs. Cross, who owned the coffee shop across the street from Corked. Mrs. Vos. Two giant groups of tourists holding half-empty disposable wineglasses. Julian was handing down random pallets of flowers and potted shrubbery to the assembled mass, his hands almost black with soil.
He wore dozens of necklaces around his neck.
“Find a place for them. Anywhere in the vineyard. And plant them.”
“Anywhere?” Jerome asked, skeptically.
“Yes.” Hallie watched in disbelief as Julian swiped a filthy hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “No rules. Anywhere it feels right.”
What was this?
Hallie was still piecing it all together, but her legs were rapidly turning into cake batter. Was this a dream? Or had Julian organized a planting party at his family vineyard . . . in her honor? What else could the necklaces symbolize? Why else would he be instructing people to use the signature Hallie Welch method of having no method at all?
Julian’s head turned sharply to the right, meeting Hallie’s gaze.
They could hear the thump of her heart on Jupiter.
Looking into his eyes again, even from this distance, was so powerful that she almost turned and ran for the car. But then Julian was jumping down from the back of the truck and striding toward her, not debonaire and determined as he’d been the night of August’s wine tasting. No, this was a haunted version of Julian that was hanging on by a thread.
“Hallie,” he rasped, stopping a few feet away. Natalie and Lavinia let her go suddenly, which was not a good thing, because apparently they’d been propping her up in the face of this reunion. Hallie’s knees buckled, and Julian shot forward, catching her in his arms before she could hit the dirt. “Okay, I’ve got you,” he said gruffly, eyes racing over her face. “It’s okay. My legs want to give out, too, from seeing you again.”
She allowed him to steady her, but she couldn’t find the breath to say a word.
People were fanning out into the vineyard with bright, beautiful flowers in their hands, preparing to plant them at random—at Julian’s behest—and that meant something. It meant such a wonderful something that she couldn’t articulate it out loud just yet. But maybe . . . had he found it in his heart to forgive her?
“Hallie . . .” Julian’s big hands closed around her arms, fingers flexing. Head bowed forward, he released an unsteady breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Surprise jerked her chin up a notch.
What? Had she heard him correctly?
“You’re sorry?”
“I know that’s not enough after disappearing for seventeen days, but it’s just a start—”
“You have no reason to be sorry,” she blurted, still reeling in her disbelief that he was taking responsibility for anything that went wrong. “I’m sorry, Julian. I lied by omission. I let you believe you were writing back to someone else when I had every opportunity to be truthful. I pushed you into feeling a way you never wanted to feel again because I couldn’t help making a mess, like always, and I won’t let you claim responsibility for any of it.”
She tried to pull away from Julian, but he gathered her close, instead, bringing their foreheads together. “Hallie, listen to me. You don’t make messes. You follow your heart, and your heart is so beautiful, I can’t believe it was mine.” He seemed to brace himself. “Put me out of my misery and tell me it’s still mine. Please.”
She forgot how to speak. All she could do was stare. Was she dreaming this?
“It’s all right, I can wait,” he said, swallowing audibly. “I have so much I want to tell you. I finished my book and it’s terrible.”
Hallie was already shaking her head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“No, it’s one hundred percent true. But I needed to finish the first horrible draft in order to know how to fix it. No one gets anything worthwhile right on the first try. That’s why we evolve. That’s why we change. I never would have learned that without you. Without those letters.” He paused, visibly searching for the right words. “Bumpier journeys lead to better destinations. You. Me. We’re the best destination of all.”
Hallie’s eyes started to burn, heart in a slingshot. “How can you feel that way about me after I made you panic like that?”
“Hallie.” His filthy fingers sank into her hair, his eyes imploring her to understand. “I panicked like that because I love you.” He didn’t even pause long enough to let those incredible words sink in. “For so long, I thought I needed this strict control to keep the anxiety at bay, and maybe in a way, I do need structure. I’m going to find out. But that true panic only happens when someone I love is threatened. I realize that now. When I woke up and couldn’t find you . . . all I could think was the worst. Hallie.” He cradled her face in adoring hands. “If something happened to you, it would end me. But that fear is only an indication that my heart belongs to you, all right? It’s right here. Please just take it.”
Her breath left her in a great rush. But not all of it. She held on to just enough to whisper the words that had been etched on her soul in different handwriting and for different reasons over the course of fifteen years. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “One bumpy ride, reporting for duty, if you’re sure. If you’re—”
“If I’m sure?” Foreheads pressed together, they breathed hard against each other’s mouths for long moments. “All time is not created equal. I know that now. Time with you is the most substantial of all. I’ll probably never be able to stop counting the minutes that we’re apart, but the ones when we’re together, I’m leaving room for anything. Whatever happens. Gopher holes, rainstorms . . .”
“Robberies, drunken love letters . . .”
“Drunken? The first one?” She confirmed with a nod, and he laughed. “It did have a noticeably different tone.” His hands dropped from her hair, capturing her wrists and bringing them up to encircle his neck. Bodies meeting and molding together, they moved left to right in a slow dance to the sound of their heartbeats. “Promise you’ll keep writing me letters.”
Was she floating? “I’ll write them for as long as you want.”
He looked her in the eye. “That’s going to be pretty damn long, Hallie Welch.” His mouth slanted over hers and coaxed her into a dizzying kiss. “I’m going to write you back, too. One for every day I missed out on for fifteen years.”
This was what swooning felt like. “That’s a lot of letters,” she managed.
His grin spread against her mouth. “We’ve got time.”
* * *
Later that night, after all of the flowers had been planted, the laughter fading into the starlit, fragrant Napa night, Hallie and Julian stood in front of the closed library, side by side.
She handed him her sketchbook and he looked it over with serious professor eyes.
“I don’t know where to start,” she admitted.
And he seemed to know exactly what she meant. Because he nodded once and returned to his car in that brisk, determined way of his. He opened the back door, the top half of his body disappearing into the vehicle. The muscles of his back flexed and her fingers stretched in response, missing the texture of his skin—but all thoughts of debauchery fled when she spotted the object Julian was hauling out of the car. It had been covered in a blanket before, and she’d assumed it was more supplies he’d purchased at the nursery. But no.
It was her grandmother’s table.
The one that had sat outside of Corked since the fifties.
It was right there, thrown over Julian’s shoulder, as he carried it across the street. The world seemed to tilt beneath Hallie, on all sides, her throat squeezing so tight it was a wonder she was still breathing. She said his name but no words came out. All she could do was run her fingers over the intricate swirls, the chipped white paint. Julian was already back at the car, taking the wrought-iron chairs from the trunk. He carried one in each hand and set them down beside the table, looking at her, chest rising and falling.
“Lorna needs triple the amount of outdoor seating now. We went ahead and ordered new tables. Chairs. None of them matched this one, though. Nothing could ever match it.” He leaned over and rested his lips on the crown of her head. “Maybe it’s time to give it a new home.”
“I knew my plans were missing something.” Through her tears, she smiled down at the familiar dips and plumes of the wrought-iron pattern. “It needed that piece of her. You brought me the heart.”
His arms encircled her, wrapping her in warmth. “I’d have brought you mine, but I already gave you the whole damn thing, Hallie.”
After the day he’d planned at the winery, she’d assumed her own heart was fully healed. But there must have been one missing component, because a final stitch threaded into place now and it beat like a lion’s. Who could have anything less than a fiercely functioning heart when there was someone in the world who would do this for her?
Julian held out his hand, and they walked into the library courtyard together.
And they stayed late into the evening getting messy in the dirt, planting flowers and smiling at each other in the moonlight. Because their journey was only getting started.
THE END