Page 215 of Share with Me

Chapter Sixty-Six

At exactly noon, Ivan had been sitting for five minutes on the steps of the gazebo on the grassy grounds of St. Simon’s Lighthouse, waiting for Brinley to show up. She was late and he was beginning to worry though Matt had given him until half past one o’clock for lunch. Tourists milled about, oblivious to the pitter-patter in his chest, the twinge in his left wrist, and and the quiet tumbling of the antique store find in his pocket.

He flexed his left hand, stretching and retracting his fingers. The pain in his wrist had decreased, but slowly. He thanked God for his health insurance from his new job at the thrift shop. He could be working there a while.

Twice this week he’d gone to duke it out with Vittorio the occupational therapist. He was glad to have his reluctant patient back even though he had complained that a whole month of self-therapy didn’t cut it. He made sure that Ivan knew it by making his wrist work harder than usual.

Ironically, Ivan had welcomed the new regimen. Motivated to get well, to be able to return to functional life, to be two-handed again, he pushed himself harder and harder through the exercises all week. Every day. Several times a day. To the point that his left hand was now able to—

“Hi.”

Ivan had no idea how long she had been standing there.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Brinley sat down next to Ivan on the steps.

It was the same question he had asked her at the after-party that December evening.

Has it been that long?

“Scales,” Ivan said. “I was thinking of being able to play scales now. Thank God.”

“See, God is healing you.”

“Yes.”

“And slides?” Brinley looked into his eyes.

He had caught her staring at him like that a few times back when they were together.

It seemed she liked to search his eyes. Not sure what she was seeing now. It was a partly cloudy day with no sun in his eyes.

“Portamento? I need more time to work on that, but I’m getting there.” Ivan wrapped his arms around Brinley. He didn’t care that there were people around them, walking about, taking pictures at the water’s edge and around the St. Simon’s Lighthouse in front of them. He was comfortable here with Brinley.

Too comfortable to move.

“Once my fingers can curl and slide, then we can work on the rest of it.” Ivan wasn’t going to tell her now, but his carrot on a stick was thatAir on the G String. Bach would be pleased that his little number was therapeutic.

But what Ivan did want to tell her today would take a whole lot of courage. He prayed quickly for God to infuse him with the right words to say.

“I’m happy that you’re working your way back to the violin.” Brinley sat closer.

“With God’s help, I’m going to try my best and see where it goes. If I can play the violin again, I’ll do it. If not, then God’s will be done.”

“Yun had said that God’s will is best for us.”

“She was right.” Ivan breathed evenly. “I’ve stopped complaining. It was a bad testimony to show my OT, you, people at church, and the world.”

“Yeah. When the bottom falls out, the Christian freaks out.”

“That was me, but not anymore.” He mustered up his courage.Here goes. “I love you, Brinley Brooks. Will you marry me?”

The pause was too long. Then he heard a sigh.

“No.”

This is bad.“Why not?”

“You’re exasperating,” Brinley said.

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