Second Honeymoon

Chapter 45

WE STOOD IN the middle of the room, halfway between the bed and the oversize fireplace, with its cherrywood mantel. Max and John Jr. were side by side, staring at me. In that very instant I could remember each of them as babies cradled in Susan’s arms.

I drew a deep breath and exhaled.

“When your mom died I stopped talking about her to you guys,” I began. “I told myself it would just make you miss her more. But that was a mistake. If anything, I was the one scared of missing her more. What I realize now is that even with her gone she’s still your mother, and she always will be. Nothing can ever change that. So for me not to talk about her, to not share with you boys the stories and memories I have of our relationship, is to deprive you of something very important. And I don’t want to do that, not anymore. That’s why we’re here.”

Max looked at me, puzzled. I knew this was a lot for a ten-year-old, but he wouldn’t always be ten. “I don’t get it, Dad,” he said.

John Jr. gave him a push on the shoulder. “He’s saying he stayed here with Mom.”

I smiled, the memories now rushing over me. “Fifteen years ago, with a foot of snow falling outside, your mother and I sat before that fireplace and drank a bottle of Champagne,” I said. “Then I did the smartest thing I’d ever done in my life. I proposed to her.”

“Really? Right here in this room?” asked Max.

“Yep, really,” I said. “In fact, I can prove it.” I stepped over to the closet, next to a chest of drawers, and opened the door. “Come here, guys.”

They walked over and looked. There were only a handful of empty hangers. “It’s empty,” said John Jr.

“That’s what you think.” I scooped up Max, lifting him above my shoulders. “Do you see the very last plank there in the ceiling?” I asked. “Push on it.”

Max stretched his arm toward the last plank, along the back wall of the closet. “Hey, wow,” he said as it gave way to the push of his small fingers.

“Now reach all the way to your left,” I said.

He felt around for a moment. “There’s nothing there,” he said, giving up too quickly. “What am I looking for?”

“Keep searching,” I said. “It’s small, but I’m sure it’s still there.”

The words were barely out of my mouth before he hit paydirt.

“Got it!” he practically shouted, so excited.

I lowered Max to the floor. He turned, opening his palm. The layer of dust notwithstanding, it was exactly as I’d left it fifteen years ago. The cork from the bottle of Champagne that Susan and I shared that night.

John Jr. leaned in to take a closer look. He didn’t say a word.

“Can you guys read it?” I asked.

Max placed the cork between his thumb and forefinger, spinning it slightly until he could see the date. JANUARY 14, 1998, I’d written in black felt-tip marker. Followed by SHE SAID YES!

Then Max saw what Susan had written. “Is that Mom’s handwriting?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Hi, kids!” he read aloud. His jaw dropped; he couldn’t believe it.

“It was her idea that one day we’d bring our children back here,” I said. “She thought it would be cool to show you this.”

I looked over at John Jr., who still hadn’t said a word. Now he couldn’t. He was too busy pretending it wasn’t a tear that had just fallen from his right eye. He wiped it away so fast that only I saw it, not his little brother.

Without a word, I reached out and gave him a hug. I squeezed hard. He squeezed back even harder. That was a first.

“So, like, what do we do with this, Dad?” asked Max. “Can we keep it?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Sure,” I said. “You guys hold on to it, okay?”

“Or maybe we can put it back,” said John Jr. softly. “You know, where it’s always been.”

I turned to Max, who wasn’t so sure. He was biting his lower lip.

“Your brother might have a good idea, buddy,” I said. “There’s something comforting about knowing the cork will always be here. It’s like a great memory you can keep forever.”

I watched as Max’s face suddenly lit up. Now it was my turn to cry.

“Yeah,” he said. “Kind of like Mom, right?”