“Honey?” Sam loomed over her. “We should probably get back inside.”
Liv’s eyes grew hot with tears. She folded her arms. Twigs and soil blew around the dark backyard, stinging her cheek. Through the patio doors, the house was lit with warm, yellow light. Liv didn’t move.
“Liv,” Sam tried again.
“Leave me alone.” Liv waved him away, afraid she was really going to start crying. Her skin turned to gooseflesh. She was shaking.
Sam stood perfectly still, his expression neutral; inviting explanation.
“It was our tree.” Her gaze zigzagged from limb to limb, trying to find a place to land. The limbs heaved in the wind, a tumble of shadows far above her head. “Eliot and I planted this tree. And he—he—he was dying too.”
Once Sam had gotten her inside and wrapped in a cardigan, Liv told him everything: the attorney’s email, Eliot’s diagnosis.
“I didn’t know,” Liv said, angry and heartbroken and ashamed. “He didn’t tell me.”
“It’s okay, love,” Sam kept saying, stroking her arm. “It’s all okay.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if…”
“It’s okay, Liv. Whatever you decide, it’s okay.” Sam kept offering reassurances, but all Liv could hear was the wind blowing against the newspaper Sam had taped up over the broken window.
After a long phone call to a local arborist, Sam deemed it safe enough for them to stay the night. “But first thing tomorrow,” he warned gently, and Liv nodded.
She woke before dawn. Sam found her sitting on the back patio. The backyard looked like a war zone. Leaves and splinters of wood covered the overgrown flower beds. The earth was wounded.
Sam draped a wool blanket over her shoulders and sat down beside her. Liv turned to him. “It’s not like I’m still in love with him or anything. But I can’t just erase him. He’s still a part of me. Of us. Of all this,” she said, indicating the house, and everything inside it.
Sam nodded, his large hands clasped in front of him. “I love you, Liv. But I’m still grieving the end of my marriage, too. I don’t require you to be over Eliot in order to be with me.”
“God,” Liv mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter. “You’re so mature.”
Sam’s smile was wry. “Is that code for boring?”
“No.” Liv let out a small laugh. “No, it’s code for… wonderful.”
Sam put his arm around her, and she snuggled closer. The cold morning air smelled like sawdust. Clean and woodsy. It smelled like Sam.
They really should spend more time out here. Reclaim the backyard. Liv pointed at the fallen tree limb. “Maybe, we could make a table out of the wood. Something long and solid that’ll weather a few storms. For dinner parties…”
Sam’s face lightened. “And birthdays.”
Liv pictured Ben and Dottie in caps and gowns. Bright-eyed young adults with hopes and dreams of their own. Her throat tightened with emotion, then relaxed. “Graduations.”
“And anniversaries.” Sam’s eyes had a question in them. If she wanted it.
She did. “Yes,” Liv answered. “And anniversaries.”
There was only one star left above them, brilliant as a diamond in the soft, gray sky.
EPILOGUE: IN LOVE AT HOME
TWO YEARS LATER
Not many brides spend the morning of their wedding at a cemetery. But Liv Goldenhorn was no ordinary bride.
The gravestone had weathered over the past few years, and it looked better for it. A brand-new gravestone was depressing. Now it had some character, some authority. Eliot was finally aging well.
Ben put a jar of dill pickles and a copy of the New York Times sports section on his dad’s grave. He updated Eliot on his various interests and accomplishments: an A on a recent science quiz about the solar system, how the Yankees were doing, the worm farm Sam had built in the backyard, equally gross and cool. He’d grown eight inches in the three years since his father’s death, losing the baby fat, no longer a little boy. “There was a meteor shower last week. Mom let me stay up really late to watch it.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. His newly enlarging Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I wish you’d been there.”
Sam put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go for a walk and give your mom some time.” He produced a paper bag from the tote slung over his shoulder. “Are you guys hungry?”
Dottie eyed the bag. “If it’s lunch, then I’m not hungry. If it’s a treat, then I am.”
Liv and Sam traded an amused look. “Lucky for you, Miss Sweet Tooth,” Sam said, “it’s apple fritters.”
As the trio disappeared over a small hill, Liv stared at the etched words and dates on the gravestone, rereading them for the thousandth time. Even after all these years, it still seemed somewhat unbelievable that he was gone. “Well, E. I’m getting married today.” Saying it out loud invoked an untamed moment of laughter. She sank to her knees, settling into the grass, breathing the warm June air. “You’d like him, I think. Oh, let’s face it: you’d probably be a jealous prick about the whole thing. But he’s good for me. Good for Ben. He loves us. We love him.”
She pulled a blade of grass from the ground, examining its soft white end. It was peaceful here. Soothing. She leaned back against the sun-warmed grave, feeling incredibly close to her ex-husband.
A few minutes passed before she spoke again. “I don’t have any bad feelings, E. About us, I mean. Oh, there’s things I wish we’d done differently. Ways I could’ve been a better wife. Probably should’ve worked less. Probably could’ve initiated sex more. But I’ve learned from it all. I’ve become a better person. I’ll be a better wife this time. Don’t roll your eyes at me, you bastard,” she added, using the headstone to help get to her feet. “I will. I know I will.”
In the near distance, Sam rounded the corner. Dottie was on his shoulders, Ben dashing ahead. Their chatter and laughter a warm, happy sound. “This isn’t goodbye,
