Thought I Knew You(74)

I asked Sarah to keep an eye on the kids while Drew and I walked hand in hand in the surf. I leaned my head on his shoulder, sighing happily.

“I want this forever,” Drew said, pulling me to him, our hips bumping as we walked. “The girls, you, vacations, us being a family.”

I nodded sleepily, a tad drunk on the bottle of wine we polished off back at the blanket. He stopped and turned me to face him. His face was so serious, an expression I’d rarely seen.

“I mean it, Claire. I want…” He looked toward the black void of the water. “I want to marry you. Someday.”

I hesitated. I didn’t know what to say, except the truth. “I want that, too, Drew. But how? Greg won’t be declared deceased for another five years. The only way I could get married again would be to divorce him.” I took his hand and kissed his palm. “Can I divorce Greg if I don’t know where he is? I have no idea how that works. And to be honest, I’m not sure I could do it. I have to think about it.”

He pulled me into a hug and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll be patient, Claire. I will. Think about it, okay?”

I nodded and promised that I would. We stayed like that for a while, breathing together. We walked back toward the blanket in comfortable silence, lost in our own, surely similar, thoughts.

As we approached, Sarah waved. “I thought you guys sailed away,” she whispered.

The girls were each sleeping soundly. Drew carried Hannah, I carried Leah, and we made our way back to the house. After we tucked them in, Drew retired to bed, while Sarah and I sat out on the patio, talking and catching up.

“I’ve never seen you so relaxed. So happy,” Sarah observed.

“Oh, love, you should try it sometime. It really is the best drug.” I laughed.



“I guess so! You’re not the Claire I know, worried or anxious. You’re fun now,” she joked.

“Hey, I’m fun. Remember San Diego?” I pouted.

“I do. I still talk to Owen sometimes. And Will asks about you all the time.”

“Really? He was gawgeous!” I giggled. Will held a special place in my heart, my first and only foray into living single.

She nodded. “Yes, but you should see yourself now. You come alive when Drew’s around.” She swirled her wine glass. “I’m jealous.”

I looked up in surprise. Sarah, the self-proclaimed perpetual bachelorette, was jealous of me?

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Make fun of me. Go ahead. But you make me think about my life. I’m not getting younger. I won’t always have a date on Friday and Saturday nights. Right now, I make no more than three phone calls, and I’ve got a man to hang out with, and later, to keep me warm. I don’t want to go through life alone. So what happens when all my ‘Guy Fridays’ find wives?”

“So you want this? Marriage, kids, the works?”

She shrugged. “You make it look so easy.”





“With the right person, it’s a lot easier,” I agreed. I didn’t say the whole truth—that making a life together with the wrong person was like pushing a boulder up a hill. While making a life with the right person was like having a wheelbarrow instead of a boulder, taking turns pushing each other on the inclines. That was the thing I could not say out loud. Had life with Greg been akin to pushing a boulder? Was it possible to marry the wrong person when that marriage had produced two of the most beautiful children ever? Or what if there was no right and wrong person, just different people? If I could go back, would I have made a different choice? No, of course not. I would trade my happiness for Leah and Hannah. If I could reverse the events of the last two years, would I, and thus take away Drew? But then, Leah and Hannah would have their daddy. I couldn’t think about it; it made my head and my heart hurt. No clean answer existed. Instead of saying all that, I replied, “Nothing is ever easy, Sarah. If you wait for easy, you’ll die alone.”



When we finally trudged, half-drunk and very tired, to our respective rooms, I crept into bed, careful not to wake Drew. He stirred beside me, and his arm encircled my waist. I kissed his forehead. Silently, effortlessly, he slid my body under his, his hands in my hair, his mouth on my neck. I was instantly ready and clung to him, desperate from the alcohol and heavy conversation. Quickly, wordlessly, we made love. He tasted of sand and sweat, wine and butter. We pulled, scratched, rough and coarse, a confirmation of reality, erasing my inner hypothetical questions.

Afterward, I lightly stroked his back. We fell asleep, his arm curled around me, pulling me into the curve of his body, without ever saying a word.