Mary reachedacross the table and took my hands in hers, giving it a gentlesqueeze. “No, dear, I don’t think you will. So, I suggest you makepeace with whatever happened to you and move on. You have a life,Dianna. A life worth living. Your father, in those last months,that wasn’t living. He was a ghost.” She waited for me to answerand, when I failed, she squeezed my hand again. “Ya hear me?”
I nodded, theonly answer I could afford because keeping the tears at bay wasalmost impossible. Aunt Mary scooted her chair over to mine andwrapped her arms around me. I laid my head against her shoulder andlet go of the thin wall that held my emotions down.
“There,there,” she said with a soft coo and smoothed my hair. “Let it out,m’love. It’ll help you heal.”
John enteredthe room then. “Jesus!” he squawked, “What’s the matter? Whathappened?” He came over to my side and crouched down so he couldlook at my tear-stained face against Mary’s shoulder. “Dianna, areyou okay?”
I broke freeof my aunt’s embrace and leaned back in my chair, wiping my face.“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I assured them both. “Just take me home.”
Hesitant, heoffered his hand for me to take and I slowly slipped mine into it.I felt his body relax and fill with delight at the gesture. I’msure, to him, it seemed I was giving in, softening to his eagernessto make amends. But, really, I just wanted to go home and wallow inthe privacy of my bedroom. I needed to truly mourn the loss ofHenry and my family aboard The Devil’s Heart, so I could move onand try to create a life for the child I held inside me.
Absentmindedly, I brushed my other hand over my belly and foughtback more tears. But Mary caught it and I watched as the cogs ofher brain clicked into place as she finally realized the truesource of my sorrow. Our eyes caught one another, and I gave aquick, discreet shake of my head to tell her not to say anything infront of John.
He walked meto the door and bent down to grab my shoes, placing them at myfeet. All the while, I couldn’t tear my gaze from Aunt Mary as shestood next to the table and tried to contain her emotions. One armwrapped tightly around her torso,her other reached up and placed a hand over her trembling mouth andher eyes glossed over with tears of joy or pity… I wasn’t reallysure. John opened the door for me and gave Mary a wave after sayingthank you for supper. When his backed turned, she mouthed the words‘I’m sorry’ to me and I just nodded.
I know. Me,too.
***
I awoke thenext morning, groggy and dry-mouthed from crying all night. After John and Ireturned the night before, I headed up to my room with the lastbox, worried about the way it felt almost empty in my arms. I saton my bed and lifted the cardboard lid, not surprised to find onlya few random documents, most of which were just certificates of authentication for artifacts I knew were downstairs. I shovedthe box aside and cried myself to sleep.
That was it.That was the last of… everything. But, the more I thought about it,the more I realized that I’d been wasting my time. My mother hadspent years collecting those things, secretly looking for a wayback to the past. Years later, my father had gone through it alland driven himself mad with the lack of answers it produced. Whydid I think I could magically see something they didn’t? But thatwasn’t the only question that crossed my mind as I descended thestairs to the smell of coffee brewing.
Why, so manyyears after my mother’s death, did my dad suddenly get the idea tolook? And what exactly was he searching for? Did he know mymother’s time-traveling secret allthose years, or did he suddenly figure it out?
I pouredmyself a cup of coffee and turned to the dining room to see John,tool belt around his waist, outside cutting lumber on a table sawthrough the giant hole in my house covered with clear poly. Hestraightened and turned to find me standing there and I raised mycup. He smiled and set down his stuff before coming inside.
“Goodmorning,” he greeted and came into the kitchen.
“Morning,” Ireplied and handed him a cup of coffee.
He graciouslyaccepted it and nervously looked away, driving his attention to themilk jug. “Did you, uh, sleep well? After…”
I sighed andcringed inwardly. He’d heard me crying the night before. “Yeah,sorry,” I said and scooped up a muffin, “I’m okay if that’s what you’re thinking. I just…there’s a lot going on that I have to deal with emotionally.”
John set hiscoffee down on the island and stepped closer, forcing me to tear mygaze from my cup and look at his glistening blue eyes. In them, Isaw sympathy, a bit of regret, and an eagerness for redemption. Iknew John truly felt sorry for cheating on me, and he’s more thanproved his willingness to make amends. I could easily give up mymission of returning to the past and stay here, with John. Build alife. Raise the baby as ours. I had a house and an establishedbusiness to take over. We hadeverything needed to live a happy, comfortable life here inNewfoundland.
But would Itruly be happy?
I continued tostare at the man before me, so open and ready for me to accept himback, and I knew I could be content. Someday. But would that beenough for me? I smiled and slid my hand across the island top andcovered his hand with mine.
“I know you’resorry, John,” I told him. “And I forgive you. I really do.” Hevisibly relaxed, as if a great weight had been extracted from hisbody. “But, what about your job? What about–” I motioned to myself,“all of this? I’ve got some… stuff going on. Demons I’d have to putto rest. I’m not even sure I can do that, I’m not sure what I canoffer you.”
He took ourembracing hands and held them to his chest as he moved closer tome, the familiar feeling of his
