We talked more about his job and I couldn’t help being impressed with his dedication to the military and to his men. If I was looking for a man both honorable and decent, then he was staring me in the face. I knew it then and I know it even more now.
“What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever accomplished?” he asked me.
The answer was easy. “Walking sixty miles in three days with the Susan G. Komen Walk to cure breast cancer.”
Paul’s gaze left mine and his beautiful blue eyes filled with sadness. “Any particular reason you chose to do that?”
I nodded. “My aunt Teresa was my godmother. She died of cancer when I was twenty and she was forty-two. She left behind two teenaged sons. It felt like a gaping hole in our family after her death and I wanted to do whatever I could to get rid of that horrible disease.”
“Sixty miles.”
“And I did it, despite the summer heat and the blisters, and afterward I felt like I could conquer the world.” It’d been an incredible emotional high.
“Breast cancer killed my mother. I was a sophomore in college.”
“Paul,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” I reached across the table and placed my hand over his.
“My dad fell apart after we buried Mom. He quit his job and bounced around from city to city and job to job and then he left the country. He’s living in Australia now. Unfortunately, we don’t have much contact anymore. From what I understand, he’s remarried.”
So cancer had strongly impacted his life, too.
“I’d never had a strong relationship with my father but I was close to Mom. She was the glue that held my world together. After she was gone, I’d hoped Dad and I could help each other through our grief, but he wasn’t interested. I joined the military and that has been my family ever since.”
“You’re an only child?” I asked.
“I had a sister who died of crib death when she was three months old. What about your family?”
“One brother, Todd; he’s younger,” I said. “He lives in Spokane close to my parents. My dad was one of six children and my mother has three living sisters, so there are cousins galore.” I mentioned how the whole family got together before Christmas every year for baking cookies and making candy, as well as the big Easter celebration Mom and Dad always hosted.
“I’m talking way too much.” Paul made it so easy. He was a good listener; his laugh came quick and often.
“No, please, I’m really enjoying this.”
I continued telling him about my brother and parents. He seemed hungry for details of my rich family life. “Hearing all this reminds me why I’m fighting for our country and our freedom. I wish my own family was more like yours.”
As if he regretted mentioning it, Paul changed the subject and suggested we have dinner. We found a Mexican restaurant he’d heard about close to CenturyLink Field, although I doubted either of us was hungry. We lingered over the cheese enchiladas and talked nearly nonstop until it was almost seven o’clock. I don’t ever recall feeling that kind of instant connection for any other man like I did that first night with Paul.
When we left the restaurant, Paul walked me to my car but didn’t kiss me, although I wouldn’t have minded if he had. In fact, I was disappointed that he didn’t.
“Can I call you?” he asked.
“Yes, sure,” I said and shrugged as if it was no big thing when in reality it was. He waited until I was in my car and had driven away before he left the area. I know because I kept glancing at him in my rearview mirror.
My condo was relatively close. My head was spinning as I came into my unit and turned on the lights. I’d always felt at home and comfortable in my own place, but after meeting Paul it seemed cold and empty. Even that early into our relationship I wanted him with me.
Although he’d asked if he could call and I’d given him my cell number, I had to wonder if he actually would. His life was with the army. He would only be at Fort Lewis another few weeks. Surely he had the same reservations I did.
One thing was sure. I refused to revert back to my junior high days when I was left hoping with all my heart that some boy liked me nearly as much as I liked him. I turned on the television, just for the noise, when my cell rang.
It was Paul.
“I bet you didn’t count on me calling quite this soon,” he said and seemed a little embarrassed. “I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed being with you.”
“I enjoyed it, too.” And that was no exaggeration.
“Are you feeling the same way I am?” he asked.
“I don’t know. What are you feeling?” I slumped down onto my sofa and held my cell close to my ear.
“I’m not sure if I can put it into words. That we were supposed to meet today?” He made it a question, as if hesitant.
This didn’t sound like a line he used with other woman. “Fate?” I teased.
“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t believe in fate or luck or any of that. I don’t hold to signs of the zodiac any more than I do to the advice of fortune cookies. This is different. Way different.”
“How do you mean?” I asked, although deep down I already knew. I understood his hesitation. We were meant to meet that day. And while it might sound dramatic and a bit theatrical, Paul Rose was my destiny and I was his.
We talked every day after that, sometime two and three times. My friends knew that something had changed with me, although I didn’t mention meeting Paul. Not to anyone; at least not right away. I kept that to myself for a long time. It wasn’t a secret I intentionally withheld from those closest to me. If asked I couldn’t have explained why I didn’t want to share that I’d finally found the man I could and would love for the rest of my life.
The weeks at Fort Lewis passed so quickly it seemed like they evaporated. The days flew by with such speed that I needed to hold my breath in order to keep up. We were together at every opportunity. I loved Paul’s dry sense of humor. His wit often caught me by surprise, and his wisdom, too. He often spoke of the men in his charge. He felt responsible for each one and carried the weight of his duty well.
His orders took him to Germany, but we both knew he would eventually land in Afghanistan. After he left the area, we kept in touch in every way imaginable. We talked on the phone, emailed, Skyped, wrote letters. I lived for word from him.
In November, Paul managed to get leave and flew to Seattle for the holidays. By now my parents had heard all about him. Paul and I drove to Spokane to spend Thanksgiving with my family.
“This is the one, isn’t it?” my mother said, the moment the two of us were alone in the family kitchen.
I didn’t even need to think. “Oh, yes.”
“I like him already.”
“So do I,” my father said, coming into the kitchen. Paul was in the other room, chatting with my brother, Todd. Soon my aunts and uncles would arrive and the house would be filled to an overflowing capacity. Mom planned on twenty-five for Thanksgiving dinner. “If you don’t marry this man then all I can say is that you aren’t nearly half as smart as I give you credit for.”
“I’ll wait for him to do the asking,” I said. By then I knew I loved Paul and I knew he loved me, but his future, and consequently our relationship, remained unpredictable.
“If Paul did ask you to marry him, what would you say?”
“Yes.” I didn’t even need to think about my response.
“What about your position with the bank?” my father pressed.
My dad and I had often discussed my career. Dad was quick to give me advice and I always welcomed his input. He knew how hard I worked; the long hours I put in and how important my job at the bank was for me. The long-term goal was to be named manager, and if I proved myself in that position, to go on to upper management.
Again I didn’t hesitate. “If Paul asked me to marry him—and that meant I had to move as a result—I’d give it all up in a heartbeat.”
My father hugged me then and I could see how happy he was
for me.
Thanksgiving dinner was crazy, with several of my aunts and uncles attending. The cousins who gathered around the table ranged in age from eight to thirty. I loved watching Paul with my family and was amazed at how quickly he caught on to everyone’s names.
After dinner, Paul, my brother, and several others went outside to play football. Dad went with them. Apparently the televised games that day had inspired them to have a competition of their own. After the dishes were all finished, I went outside to watch with Todd’s wife, Mary Lou.
Paul played quarterback and stepped back to shoot the football to my cousin Billy when my brother broke through the defensive line and tackled him. Even from the sidelines I heard Paul go down. He hit hard, with Todd landing on top of him.
I gasped and covered my mouth with my gloved hand, and then before I could stop myself I raced onto the field. Todd stood over Paul and had extended his hand in order to help him up.
I shoved Todd out of the way and fell to my knees next to Paul on the ground. He’d had the wind knocked out of him and had raised his knees and was kicking the ground.
“Paul, Paul, what can I do?”
He shook his head, indicating there was nothing. It would pass in a few minutes. At that moment, I was ready to slam my brother to the ground. By then the two teams had surrounded Paul, too. After a few tortuous moments, he sat up and looked around at the concerned faces.
“I’ll live. It takes more than a hard tackle to knock me out of a game.”
“You’re sidelined, young man,” Dad insisted. “I’m placing you on the injured reserved list.”
“Yes, sir.”
Todd helped him to his feet, and with my arm around Paul’s waist I led him off the field.
“I’m fine, Jo Marie,” he insisted. “Quit looking at me as if you expect me to keel over any minute.”
I didn’t want him to know how frightened I’d been seeing him injured. Pressing my head against his shoulder, I clung tightly to him. After a few minutes, he was back in the game. Until that moment, I don’t believe I’d ever realized what it was like to watch someone you love suffer. It wasn’t anything I wanted to think about, especially in light of the fact that Paul had chosen the military as his career.
The football game ended and everyone headed back into the house for pumpkin and pecan pie. Mom and my aunts dished up while my cousins and I served. Paul asked for a slice of each. My dad and Todd did, too. They’d worked off those extra calories for sure.
After the second set of dishes was finished, the day wound to an end. It was after ten before everyone had left the house. My brother remained, along with his family. His two children were fast asleep and Mary Lou sat in Todd’s lap, her head on his shoulder. After seeing most everyone off, my parents remained in the kitchen, talking. I figured that after all the noise and company, they sought a few minutes of peace with just the two of them.
I still hadn’t quite forgiven my brother for hurting Paul. If I’d been a ref, I would have called unnecessary roughness and penalized him fifty yards. As it was, my brother was lucky I was speaking to him.
“This is one of the best Thanksgivings I can ever remember,” Paul said, sitting down on the sofa next to me.
“Despite getting hurt?”
Paul grinned and looped his arm around my shoulder. “You have a wonderful family.”
I had to agree, although I glared at my brother, sitting on the other side of the room.
“Hey, sis, if Paul’s forgiven me, then you should, too.”
“Maybe.”
Paul kissed the top of my head.
Mom and Dad came into the living room and my father looked at Paul. “Now?” he asked.
Not knowing what this was about, I sat up and noticed Paul’s eye contact with my dad.
“Your father and I had a long talk this morning,” Paul said.
I’d been busy in the kitchen helping my mother stuff the turkey and hadn’t noticed.
“And then your father talked to me,” Mom added.
“About?”
“About,” Paul answered, “you and me.”
I held my breath, anticipation building. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what this was about. I’ve never been a woman who cries easily. Some of my friends can weep over the silliest, most nonsensical things. Not me. Yet in that moment, tears flooded my eyes.
“Jo Marie,” Paul whispered, “would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I couldn’t speak if my life depended on it. My throat completely closed up on me so that all I could manage to do was nod, which I did with enough gusto to dislocate my neck. Paul’s beautiful blue eyes held mine. His image blurred because of the tears flowing down my cheeks. “Oh, Paul, yes, yes, yes,” I croaked out in a whisper. Swiping the moisture from my cheeks, I noticed both my mother and father had tears in their eyes, too.
Then Paul kissed me and we clung to each other. Earlier he’d said this had been one of the best Thanksgivings of his life. For me, it was the happiest day I could ever remember. He slipped the diamond ring on my finger and we kissed again.
“When’s the wedding?” Mom asked, after she blew her nose.
I looked at Paul and he looked at me, the reality of the question coming as a shock.
“Soon,” he suggested.
I’d waited nearly my entire adult life for this man, and now that I had an engagement ring on my finger, I wanted to be his wife—and the sooner the better.
I’m one of the most fortunate women I know. I held out for the man of my dreams and I was soon going to marry him.
Now that you’ve met Jo Marie, here’s a peek at THE INN AT ROSE HARBOR, Debbie’s new novel, on sale August 14, 2012. After facing great loss and heartache, Jo Marie is ready for the next chapter in her life. Read on for more.…
Chapter 1
Last night I dreamed of Paul. He’s never far from my thoughts—not a day passes when he isn’t with me, but he hasn’t been in my dreams until now. It’s ironic, I suppose, that he should leave me then, because before I close my eyes I fantasize about what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around me. As I drift off to sleep, I pretend that my head is resting on his shoulder. Unfortunately, I will never have the chance to be with my husband again, at least not in this lifetime.
Until last night, if I did happen to dream of Paul, those dreams were long forgotten by the time I woke. This dream, however, stayed with me, lingering in my mind, filling me with equal parts sadness and joy.
When I first learned that Paul had been killed, the grief had been all-consuming and I didn’t think I would be able to go on. Yet life continues to move forward and so have I, dragging from one day into the next until I found I could breathe normally again.
I’m in my new home now, the bed-and-breakfast I bought less than a month ago on the Kitsap Peninsula in a cozy town on the water called Cedar Cove. I decided to name it Rose Harbor Inn. “Rose” for Paul Rose, my husband of less than a year; the man I will always love and for whom I will grieve for whatever remains of my own life. “Harbor” for the place I have set my anchor as the storms of loss batter me.
How melodramatic that sounds, and yet there’s no other way to say it. Although I am alive, functioning normally, at times I feel half dead. How Paul would hate hearing me say that, but it’s true. I died with Paul last April on some mountainside in a country half a world away as he fought for our national security.
Life as I knew it was over in the space of a single heartbeat. My future as I dreamed it would be was stolen from me.
All the advice given to those who grieve said I should wait a year before making any major decisions. My friends told me I would regret quitting my job, leaving my Seattle home, and moving to a strange town.
What they didn’t understand was that I found no comfort in familiarity, no joy in routine. Because I valued their opinion, I gave it six months. In that time, nothing helped, nothing changed. More and more I felt the urge to get away, to start life a
new, certain that then and only then would I find peace; and this horrendous ache inside me ease.
I started my search for a new life on the Internet, looking in a number of areas, all across the United States. The surprise was finding exactly what I wanted in my own backyard.
The town of Cedar Cove sits on the other side of Puget Sound from Seattle. It’s a navy town, situated directly across from the Bremerton Shipyard. The minute I found a property listing for this charming bed-and-breakfast that was up for sale, my heart started to beat at an accelerated rate. Me, own a bed-and-breakfast? I hadn’t thought to take over a business, but instinctively I realized I would need something to fill my time. As a bonus, a confirmation, I’d always enjoyed having guests.
With its wraparound porch and incredible view of the Cove, the house was breathtaking. In another life, I could imagine Paul and me sitting on the porch after dinner, sipping hot coffee and discussing our day, our dreams. Surely the photograph posted on the Internet had been taken by a professional who’d cleverly masked its flaws. Nothing, it seemed, could be this perfect.
Not so. The moment I pulled into the driveway with the real estate agent, I was embraced by the inn’s appeal. Oh, yes, with its bright natural light and large windows that overlooked the cove, this B&B felt like home already. It was the perfect place for starting my new life.
Although I dutifully let Jody McNeal, the agent, show me around, not a single question remained in my mind. I was meant to own this bed-and-breakfast; it was as if it had sat on the market all these months waiting for me. It had eight guest rooms spread across the two upper floors and on the bottom floor, and a large, modern kitchen was situated next to a spacious dining room. Originally built in the early 1900s, the house looked out on a stunning panorama of the water and marina. Cedar Cove was laid out along Harbor Street, which wound through the town with small shops on both sides of the street. I felt the town’s appeal even before I had the opportunity to explore its neighborhoods.