“Macy,” he said. I could tell he was shocked by my running, by the very fact that I was standing there in front of him, gasping for air. “What—”
“I’m sorry.” I put my hand up, palm facing him, and took another deep breath. “But there’s been a change.”
He blinked at me. “A change,” he repeated.
I nodded. “In the rules.”
It took him a second: he had no idea what I was talking about. Then, slowly, his face relaxed. “Ah,” he said. “The rules.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t notified,” he pointed out.
“Well, it was pretty recent,” I said.
“As in . . .”
“As in, effective right now.”
Wes ran a hand through his hair and I saw the heart and hand slip into view, then disappear again. I had so much to tell him, I didn’t even know where to start. Or maybe I did.
“Macy,” he said softly, looking at me closely. “You don’t have to—”
I shook my head. “The change,” I said. “Ask me about the change.”
He leaned back on his heels, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Okay,” he said, after a second. “What’s the change?”
“It’s been decided,” I told him, taking another breath, “that there’s another step to winning the game. And that is that in order for me to really win, I have to answer the question you passed on, that night in the truck. Only then is it final.”
“The question I passed on,” he repeated.
I nodded. “That’s the rule.”
I knew, in the silence that followed, that anything could happen here. It might be too late: again, I might have missed my chance. But I would at least know I tried, that I took my heart and extended my hand, whatever the outcome.
“Okay,” he said. He took a breath. “What would you do, if you could do anything?”
I took a step toward him, closing the space between us. “This,” I said. And then I kissed him.
Kissed him. There, in the middle of the street, as the world went on around us. Behind me, I knew Jason was still waiting for an explanation, my sister was still lecturing, and that angel still had her eyes skyward, waiting to fly. As for me, I was just trying to get it right, whatever that meant. But now I finally felt I was on my way. Everyone had a forever, but given a choice, this would be mine. The one that began in this moment, with Wes, in a kiss that took my breath away, then gave it back—leaving me astounded, amazed, and most of all, alive.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Macy. Wake up.”
I rolled over, pulling my pillow over my face. “No,” I said, my voice muffled. “Another hour.”
“No way.” I felt fingers flicking my bare feet. “Hurry up. I’ll be outside.”
Still half asleep, I heard him leave the room, then, a second later, the screen door slammed shut behind him. For a second I just lay there, so tempted to let sleep pull me in and under, back to dreaming. But then I pushed the pillow off my face and sat up in bed, looking out the window beside me. The sky was clear and blue, the waves crashing close in. Another nice day.
I got up, then pulled on my shorts and jog bra and my T-SHIRT, rolling the elastic off my wrist and using it to tie my hair up in a ponytail. I was still yawning as I crossed my bedroom and stepped out into the main part of the house, where my sister was sitting at the table, flipping through a magazine.
“You know what I’ve been thinking,” she said, not even looking up, as if we’d been talking and were just picking up where we’d left off, “is that we could really use a chiminea here.”
“A what?” I said, bending down to grab my shoes off the floor.
“A chiminea.” She turned a page of her magazine, propping her chin in her hands. “It’s an outside chimney, very primal, really makes a statement. What do you think?”
I just smiled, sliding the screen door open. “Sounds great,” I said. “Just great.”
I stepped out onto the porch, taking in the day’s first breath of cool, salty air. My mother, who was sitting in her Adirondack chair, coffee mug on the table beside her, turned around and looked at me.
“Good morning,” she said, as I bent down and kissed her cheek. “Such dedication.”
“Not me,” I told her. “I wanted to sleep in.”
She smiled, then picked up her coffee mug, taking the folder from underneath it and spreading it out on her legs. “Have fun,” she said.
“You, too.”
I stretched my arms over my head as I started down the stairs to the beach, squinting in the already bright sun. Now that the house was done, we spent most weekends here. At the beginning, it had been hard to walk through the door, and I’d cried a lot the first few times, missing my dad. But it was easier now. Even with all the new fabrics and floorings, everything he loved about the beach house—the moose, the fishing poles by the door, his beloved grill—was still there, which made it feel like he was, too.
There were other changes as well. My mother did come down on the weekends, but she always brought some work and her laptop, and her cell phone still rang constantly, although we were training her to let the voicemail pick up once in a while. As for me, I was running again, but now I didn’t pay attention to times or distance, instead focusing on how it felt just to be in motion, knowing it wasn’t about the finish line but how I got there that mattered.
And my mother and I were talking more, although it hadn’t been easy at first. The trips to the beach had helped. While we sometimes had Wes with us, or Kristy, I’d come to appreciate the rides we took alone as well. During the long stretches of quiet two-lane highway, with the sun setting in the distance, it was somehow easier to say things aloud, and regardless of what was said, we just kept moving toward that horizon.