Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
ZACH
In the morning, I woke up before Millie and called a car to take me to the airport. When it arrived, I texted the driver to give me one minute.
Slipping into her bedroom one last time, I bent down and kissed her forehead.
Her eyes opened. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes. The car is here.”
She propped herself up on one elbow. Beneath her beautiful brown eyes were dark circles. I knew she’d hardly slept. “Okay.”
“Take care of yourself, Millie MacAllister.” I straightened up, even though my body felt like caving in.
A tear slipped from the corner of one eye, and she nodded.
“Go after everything you want. You deserve it all,” I whispered, my voice caught somewhere in my throat.
“So do you,” she said. “Have a safe trip home.”
Home.
I thought about the word as I kissed her lips one last time, as I watched her eyes refill with tears, as I forced myself to walk away from her.
I thought about the word on the flight back to California, on the drive back to my apartment, as I walked through my front door.
I thought about the word as I went through the motions of my life—work, gym, sleep. As I ate meals for one while I hunted for episodes of Antiques Roadshow. As I fought the compulsion to pick up my phone and call her, just to hear her voice. As I stared at the empty corner of my apartment where a Christmas tree would have fit if I’d had the energy or motivation to go get one. But everything seemed empty without her.
Every day at work, I listened to my colleagues talk about plans for Christmas and New Year’s . . . family gatherings, fun vacations, letters to Santa, decorating the tree. Cards arrived in my mailbox from former Navy buddies showing off family photos—kids with gap-toothed grins, teenagers with acne and reluctant smiles, dogs wearing reindeer antlers. Surrounding me was so much togetherness, my life felt like solitary confinement in comparison.
I considered telling Mason I couldn’t come for Christmas after all, but he was so excited to see me again, I didn’t have the heart to let him down. I had no idea how I was going to get out of that Christmas Eve party, but I supposed I didn’t have to worry about it until I was there. A last-minute illness was probably the way to go.
Just to get out of the house, I went Christmas shopping, even though I could have just bought things online. I got Jackson a bottle of the scotch he liked, and I bought a box of chocolates for Gwyn. For Mason, I purchased some cool barware and a bottle of my favorite whiskey. I asked Catherine for help with a gift for Lori, and she suggested something warm and cozy for the winter. I thought maybe a Cole Security fleece, but Catherine said that was not what she meant, and she helped me choose a soft pink sweater instead.
I also went through the box of mementos I had from my grandfather, which I’d inherited after my mom died. There wasn’t a ton of stuff, but I thought Mason might appreciate having one of his ties, some old photographs, a couple letters he’d sent home during the war. I remembered how Millie had told me to write down the stories he’d told me, and I thought maybe that was something I could do for Mason as well. That night, I sat down at my laptop and began typing them up.
And always, always, I thought of her.
On December twenty-second, the day before I left for Michigan, I was picking up some clothes from the dry cleaner when I noticed a jewelry shop next door. Had it always been there? I wandered over to the window and looked at the pieces on display.
I saw it immediately—and it hit me like a fist to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me. It was a necklace almost exactly like the one Millie had admired the day we’d watched Antiques Roadshow in my New York City hotel room. It wasn’t identical, but it was damn close.
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d entered the store and asked a salesperson about it. Sure enough, it was a vintage piece, an Art Deco lavaliere in white gold with a diamond pendant.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The woman smiled. “The filigree is so pretty.”
I stared at it, imagining it on Millie’s neck, fastening the clasp as she held up her hair, seeing it on her and knowing I was the man who put it there. “I’ll take it,” I heard myself say. “Can you gift-wrap it?”
“Of course.” She laughed. “Don’t you want to know the price?”
“No,” I told her. “I don’t care about the price. I just want her to have it.”
“Your wife is a very lucky woman,” she said.