Page 141 of Book and Ladder
I pace the lawn until I could recreate the details of this house with my eyes shut—the ivy climbing the porch rail, the shutters, the green paint along the eaves. Just like I memorized the interior woodwork and dusty shelves when the realtor let me inside earlier this week.
I check my phone again. Every minute feels longer than the last.
Daisy never answered my email. Maybe she’s not coming after all.
“What was I thinking?” I mutter, turning and striding across the yard again.
I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I’m well aware.
Did I go about this all wrong?
If I’m going to start over, this is where it starts—waiting for her for once.
I sink onto the concrete steps, hatching a plan B in case she never shows.
I clasp my hands to still the buzzing in my fingers. My head jerks up at every sound—a car passing, a bird chirping, a neighbor’s door closing.
Each time, hope rises. A helium balloon, floating up into possibilities, only to deflate when it’s not her.
I rehearse what I’ll say, my words feeling stilted and inadequate.
“Thanks for coming.”Too formal.
“Daisy. You look beautiful.”I haven’t earned the right to say that. Have I? No. Not yet.
“I’ve been working on something …”Too arrogant. This wasn’t just me—it took a village.
I pull out my phone, glance both ways. No message. No sign of her.
It’s twelve twenty.
Should I call her? No—wait. Give it time.
I close my eyes, steadying my heartbeat—a staccato drum line, the urgentrat-tat-tatpunctuating every ticking minute.
I pocket my cell.
She waited for hours—lost her dreams. First Vanderbilt, then the shop. I can wait. I’ll wait as long as she needs me to—wait for her to arrive here, or to catch up with me. And when she does, I’ll still be waiting—only and always for her.
A siren wails. My stomach drops, imagining the worst.
If something’s happened to her—if I lose this chance—I’ll never forgive myself.
Habit kicks in—I scan the neighborhood, eyes narrowing for any sign of a catastrophe.
A police car approaches from down the street. And then I see her, driving behind the patrol—escorted to me.
The two cars approach the curb. Daisy parks. Chuck gives me a two-finger salute, grins at Daisy, then pulls away.
My eyes meet hers. She’s a vision—brown hair loose over her shoulders, caution flickering across her expression.
But she’s here.
I freeze. One false move could send her running.
She came.
I almost mouth the words to her,You came.
