Author: Kristan Higgins

I fumble for the remote and hit Rewind.

“What’s the matter?” Matt asks.

“Shh!” I hiss. I rewind too far, then fast forward. There. There it is again. Then Jimmy and I are kissing…

I rewind again, more slowly this time, and watch again.

Ethan, who gave that beautiful, funny, touching speech, raises his glass, and toasts us. And for one second, just before the camera cuts over to us, I see it.

His job was done. He’d made the toast, and all the attention was back on Jimmy and me, and for one second, the mask dropped, and there it was. The love. The loneliness of watching the one you love choose someone else.

And I see something else, too. As Jimmy looks up at his brother, his face has a momentary flash of apology. Of guilt. And then gratitude.

Ethan loved me. And Jimmy knew it.

Check the toast.

Oh, my God. My body breaks into gooseflesh.

“Lucy?” Matt says.

“Um…” I breathe, still not looking away from the screen, “Matt, you need to go.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning forward.

“I’m…I’m in love with him,” I say, jerking my chin toward the screen.

“Jimmy?”

“Ethan,” I say. My breath rattles in my throat. “I have to go. So you need to leave. I’m really sorry. I can’t…it’s just…I need to go.”

“You—you don’t want to go out with me?” Matt asks slowly.

“Um…I’m sorry. No. I really have to go now.” I leap off the couch, grab his coat from the closet and shove it into his hands. “Okay. Bye. Really sorry.” I jerk open the door and usher him out.

“Well. I don’t know what to say.” Matt frowns, stepping slowly into the hall and turning to face me. “This is quite a surprise. I thought—”

“Sorry. Bye,” I say, closing the door in his face.

Once more, I stand in front of the TV and watch Ethan’s face fall. It only lasts maybe a second and a half, but it says everything.

Three things are clear. One, Jimmy wasn’t perfect. He knew how Ethan felt, and it didn’t stop him.

And, two, Jimmy had loved me with all his heart.

And three…oh, number three. Ethan loved me, too. He still does. Or he did, before I ground it out of him.

Fat Mikey is crouched on the kitchen counter, eating the remains of the crappy chicken. “I have to go,” I call to him. Check the toast. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely open my closet, but I manage, shove my feet in some shoes and race out the door. I pound upstairs, but God, it takes so long, my feet feel like they’re made of lead. I explode onto the fifth floor and run down the hall to Ethan’s, bang on his door. “Eth! Ethan, open up!” I yell. “Ethan, it’s me!”

And my God, I love him, too. The idea of living without him suddenly seems breathtakingly stupid and absolutely unbearable. Ethan Mirabelli is, simply put, the best person I know. The only one I want.

Oh, dang it, the party, the Mirabellis’ anniversary party. Down the stairs I run, swinging around each landing, jumping the last few steps. Then I burst into the foyer and onto the street. The air is sharp and cold, and my breath fogs the air.

Without another thought, I run across the street, into Ellington Park.

Toward the cemetery.

It’s time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

THERE ARE A LOT OF WAYS TO LOSE someone.

As I run down the path, my mind is in the past, on Ethan’s steady friendship, the comfort of his company in those dark days…months…years after Jimmy died, when all my other friends felt I should really have moved on by now. When we started sleeping together, his irreverence toward the two of us…it was the only way I could handle being with him. Even when I pulled away and started to look for someone else, he let me. Ethan has always done…and been…exactly what I needed at the time. And he asked for nothing in return.

I can’t lose him.

My feet pound on the gravel in a steady beat. I remember when I told him a couple of months ago that I wanted to get married, have kids, that look on his face…he thought, for one second there, that I’d meant him. Instead I told him we needed to break up…ah, damn it. Damn me, for being so cruel and blind. In the hospital, when he was bleeding and bruised, I did it again. And then just two days ago, he told me everything, and all I did was cling to my image of St. Jimmy.

There’s the cemetery, the stone pillars that flank the entrance offering a perpetual and somehow sinister welcome. Almost against my will, I slow to a walk, my breath coming in gasps. My hands are blocks of ice.

The trees are bare, the branches jagged black fingers scraping the November sky. Thin clouds hide the moon, but it’s there somewhere, offering a feeble, diffuse light that makes the headstones seem to glow.

I’m surprised at how familiar the cemetery is to me. Over there, under the big beech tree with the wide spread of branches, lies my uncle Pete, who rolled out of his coffin twenty-six years ago. Not far away, right in the middle of one of these rows, is Uncle Larry, Rose’s husband. My mother’s parents…I can see their headstone from here.

Instead of racing, my heart seems to slow as I approach Jimmy’s grave. Despite having been to it only once, I know exactly where it is. My knees are weak, but they haven’t buckled. My steps grow slower, my eyes skimming over the other names without really seeing them. I’m only here for one tonight.

There it is.

I stop.

Giacomo “Jimmy” Mirabelli, age 27.

Beloved husband, son and brother.

And you were, Jimmy. You were beloved. By all of us, but maybe especially by Ethan. Ethan, who forgave you.

My legs are shaking badly, but I force myself to take a step. And another. Another. Then I crouch down and put my hand on the cold granite of Jimmy’s headstone.

“Hi, honey,” I whisper, and my eyes flood with hot tears. For a few minutes, I just let them slip down my cold cheeks. The wind rustles the branches as I stare at my husband’s grave.

“I’m here, Jimmy,” I say, my face scrunching. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Memories flood my heart—Jimmy’s amazing eyes, his huge laugh, the strength of his arms. He was my world, and my future. He was the love of my life. My old life.

“Guess what?” I whisper. “I checked the toast, Jimmy. I saw his face. And yours, too, honey. I know everything.”

I smooth my hand over the cold granite of his gravestone, trace the “J” of his name. Far away, an owl calls, and the fallen leaves rustle in the breeze.

It’s so hard to say goodbye to someone you love, even if he’s already gone. Even if he left you first. For so long, I’ve been Jimmy’s widow. Maybe being widowed again wasn’t the thing I so feared. Maybe it was being more than a widow. Maybe it was this exact moment.

“I’ll always love you, Jimmy,” I whisper. “But I need to leave you now.”

Those words burn like a brand pressed to my heart. I bow my head and let the wave of sorrow wash over me…and recede. And after a minute, the pain in my heart fades, too.

I press a kiss to my fingers and hold them against his name. I’ll come back, I know I will, but it will be different. Tonight is the goodbye that has been so long in coming. I whisper one more thing, the last thing I need to say to my dead husband.

“Thank you, Jimmy. I loved every minute of my life with you.”

Then I stand up and wipe my eyes. I take a breath of the cold, clean, salty air, and another.

It’s time to go now, to a new life. To Ethan, the man who has loved me with absolute selflessness for all this time. Who loved me enough to watch me marry someone else, who stood at my side through the darkest moments of my life, who has been waiting for me for so long. The man I’ve loved for years, though I’ve never admitted it till now.

I take one more look at Jimmy’s grave. My breath catches.

At the base of the headstone, something glints in the faint light of the hidden moon.

A dime.

With a shaky laugh, I pick it up and kiss it. Despite the cold November night, the dime is warm, and I know, somehow, that this is the last one I’ll ever find. “Thank you, Jimmy,” I whisper. The pebble in my throat is gone. At last, it’s gone.

Then I tuck the dime in my pocket and start running, my legs strong now, the air pure and cold. Five rows, six, nine. There’s my father’s grave, but tonight, I can’t stop. “Wish me luck, Daddy!” I call. Good luck, Princess, I imagine him saying.

And then I’m out of the cemetery, onto the town green, onto Main Street where Ethan was hit. I’m flying now, my feet hardly seeming to touch the ground as they carry me farther away from Jimmy, from my past, and closer to the one I hope will be my future, and I run faster still.

GIANNI’S IS MOBBED. Clearly the Mirabellis’ anniversary party has mushroomed into a huge event. Every table is occupied, and more people stand near the bar, drinks in hands, laughing, talking as Tony Bennett’s mellow voice drifts out from the speakers. Waiters buzz around with trays of food, bottles of wine, baskets of bread. There’s my mom at a table with Corinne and Chris. Mom holds Emma and tilts her head up to say something to Captain Bob, who stands there, clearly waiting to be asked to join them.

I don’t see Ethan anywhere. I’m still panting from the run, adrenaline zinging through my joints.

“Hi, Wucy!”

I look down “Nicky! Hi, sweetie,” I say. “Where’s your daddy?”

“Guess what?”

“Can I guess later? I need your daddy.”

“I can burp whenever I want to,” my nephew informs me, then demonstrates his new talent.

“Is Daddy here?” I ask a little more loudly.

“Lucy? What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.” It’s Parker, emerging from the ladies’ room.

“Is Ethan here? I need to…I have to see him.” I stand on tiptoe to see the far side of the restaurant, but I can’t find Ethan.

“Why?” she says, her eyes narrowing.

“Is he here? Please, Parker.”

Something in her expression softens. “Is everything okay?” she asks, putting her hand on my arm. I nod. “He’s in the kitchen. Gianni hired some bozo to cook tonight, and he didn’t show, so Ethan took over.”

“Really?” I say. To the best of my knowledge, Ethan has never cooked for his folks…for me, sure. Yet another sign I’d so willfully ignored these many years.

Wishing I’d come in through the kitchen door—sure would’ve made life easier—I twist my way through the sea of tables, waving, saying hi, trying not to look like a desperate animal. It is, after all, the Mirabellis’ anniversary dinner.

“Yo, Luce,” says Stevie. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Hi, Stevie,” I say distantly, not stopping. I’m almost to the kitchen, then nearly get run over by a waiter. As I lurch out of the way, I bump into Marie.

“Oh, hello, sweetheart!” she exclaims. “You came after all! Did you hear the news?” My mother-in-law puts a plump hand on my arm.

“Hi, Marie, I just need to find Ethan and—”

“He’s taking over the restaurant! Isn’t it wonderful? He’s in the kitchen now, and he told Gianni he wants to buy the restaurant!”

My mouth falls open. “Ethan wants to work here?”

“Yes!”

“Are you serious?” I ask. “What about Atlanta? You said—”

“He wants to be near the little guy,” Gianni says, joining us. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Gianni,” I say. “So Ethan’s staying? I—”

“Told me he doesn’t want a partner, either—he wants to own it outright, the little bastard,” Gianni growls, though he seems rather proud, too. “Already he’s telling me it won’t be the same. Says he’ll change it from the name on down, if you can believe it.”