Sailing West

Epilogue, Part 3

I was sixty-one when I lost Spencer to an aggressive form of brain cancer. We had three weeks to say goodbye once the diagnosis was made.

Three weeks.

After he passed, I spent the next year locked inside our home in Newport. Going through years of art and notes and the trappings of forty years of love.

When Spencer died, they buried a little piece of me with him. And every day since, more and more pieces of my heart were slipping underground.

Forty years hadn't been nearly enough time with him. We were supposed to stay together, wrapped in each other's arms, until the Earth fell out of orbit. Spencer had his own kind of gravity, and his absence in my life was as good as the moon falling out of the sky or the oceans running dry.

Leona stayed with me for a week after his funeral. Holding my hand as I fell apart. She still checked in on me every month, but I remained unchanged.

A year after his death, when the bite of grief wasn't as sharp, our daughter Amelia finally convinced me to attend one of her infamous dinner parties at Castle Hill Inn.

Her smile was just as infectious as her father's.

"Mom," she'd said to me one lonely day in June. "Dad made me promise I wouldn't let you slip away. We need you to come back. We want to see you smile again. I can't lose you, too. Not now. Not like this. Please, mom."

I pushed back a section of my daughter's hair, just like Spencer used to do. Amelia was a woman grown, with children of her own, and I knew I was burdening her and her brother with my everlasting grief.

"I'll always be right here," I told her. "Don't you worry."

"Then come up to a party. Please."

I'd do anything to make my baby girl smile. "Okay, darling."

But, when I showed up at Castle Hill Inn on the date and time Amelia had given me, I found the restaurant empty.

The lights down low.

All the tables and chairs had been pushed back against the wall. It was quiet and eerie inside. I clutched my purse to my chest, wondering if in my haze I'd misread the date.

I turned to leave, when I felt it—a warm pulse of heat. A sensation that started in my chest and raced down the back of my legs.

No.

It couldn't be.

Suddenly, music floating through the dining room joined by footsteps across the polished floors.

A song I hadn't heard in four decades.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. Woody and fresh. I knew who was standing behind me without having to turn around.

"Stella," said a deep voice.

My own was breathy and light. "West."

West Tenney. Oh, what was he doing here? Had Amelia known? Had she set this up?

Or, was I just imagining things? Dreaming the same dream?

"It's good to see you again."

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't move, my feet were rooted to the floor.

"I'm so sorry about—"

I cut West off. "Don't say his name."

I couldn't bear to hear my husband's name on his lips. Not now. West was sorry—of course he was sorry. Everyone was sorry. Spencer should be here.

But he wasn't.

I let out a long sigh. Amelia wanted me to come back to her. To stop living like this, wishing he was still here, but it was so hard.

"I just miss him."

"We all miss him."

My voice wobbled with unshed tears. "Not like I do."

"Of course," West replied.

I still hadn't turned around, unable to look at this man. Unable to face him. If I turned around, and West Tenney was really there, then I'd know this wasn't a dream.

"You know," West said. "A long time ago, you used to like when I told you stories."

I almost laughed, save for the tears burning in my throat.

"Do you want to hear one?"

Memories of West in a pink boa floated through my mind. "As long as it's funny."

"Once upon a time there was this boy, a helpless fool, who spilled chocolate milk all over a beautiful waitress."

I cut him off again. "I said it had to be a funny story. That story is anything but funny."

"Okay, no stories then."

We were quiet.

"Stella, would you at least look at me?"

I opened my eyes, and turned around.

And there he was. West Tenney. It wasn't a dream. He was really here—standing inside Castle Hill Inn—just as beautiful as I remembered. Maple syrup eyes crinkled in a smile.

"How about a dance?"

"A dance?"

"Would you care to dance the cha-cha with me? For old times sake?"

I swallowed. Struggling to find my voice.

"Only if you say please."

His lopsided grin took me back forty years. Transporting me to the first time I laid eyes on West Tenney. Dressed in his white uniform, dancing with his niece out on the lawn.

And for a moment, when our eyes met, we were just kids again. Both scared and in the wrong place at the wrong time.

West extended his hand. "Please, Stella."

My fingers curled into his and I let West Tenney lead me around the empty dining room of Castle Hill Inn for a second time. As much as I loved dancing with West, every time I closed my eyes all I could see was Spencer's face. His penetrating green eyes and the sweet smell of him. Would I ever stop missing him?

When the music ended, I leaned my forehead against the hollow of his neck, and West circled me in his strong arms. His woody scent wrapped around me as I leaked tears onto his shirt.

"Has my dancing gotten so bad that it's making you cry?" West asked.

I shook my head.

"I know," West said. "It's okay, Stella."

West's cheek was resting on my head. His long fingers tracing lines down my back.

"All these years, I wished I could trade places with Spencer. And, I still do. I'd trade places with him in a second if it would bring him back and make you happy again."

I let out a sob.

West took my hands in his once more. "How about another dance?"

"No, but I think I'm ready to hear that story, now. The sad one about the girl and the stupid boy and the oysters."

The End.