When she encounters a young man drowning himself in books, tucked into the corner at the Woodward County Library, kind-hearted Regan grows curious to know why he's there every day, and more important, she wants to know if he needs help. Not libraria...
Song: "The Book of Love" by Peter Gabriel. (This song was used in the series finale of Scrubs and I just loved it. It sounds sad, but it's a very sweet endearing song.)
* * * * *
Harry and I were sat in a modern conference room at a massive glossy table and seated in plush leather chairs. He was about to close the sale on his old house and I was there for moral support.
His realtor, Cindy, addressed him. "Harry, do you have any further questions?"
"No, I'm all set," he answered calmly. I squeezed his hand.
Another realtor was there, representing the couple buying the house. He addressed Harry as well, asking him before we began, "Mr. Styles, I understand you're the only signer today and that your wife's name isn't on the deed." He nodded towards me and a tiny jolt of joy surged through me at being acknowledged as Harry's wife. Cindy stepped in quietly and murmured to the other realtor, reminding him of the situation with Harry's late wife so Harry wouldn't have to go over the details in such a formal setting. "Ah, yes, I apologize. So, let's begin."
The other couple's names were Brian and Anna. They were just about to get married and as of today, they would be the new owners of Harry's little house in Rosedale Park. They knew nothing of Harry or his history, except his name which was soon be signed on many dotted lines. They didn't know that Harry and I hadn't shared that house and they didn't know why it wasn't my name on the mortgage. They didn't know that we had only gotten married three days prior. They didn't need to know the heartache and lost hope that once resided there. All they needed to know was that their new house represented their future, their hopes and their dreams.
Harry had visited the house one last time, on his own at his request. I could see no better way for him to say good-bye. He didn't need me there. He had me to come home to. And when he did come home, he was somber but not hopeless. His parents had helped to comfort him and they encouraged him. The following day, they left.
In just a few hours' time, the house and its history were behind us. Harry no doubt stored away the best memories in his heart while we both looked forward to creating memories in our new house, if you could even call it new. Regardless of its age, it represented a new future for us as well.
We had gotten married on Valentine's Day, as planned. Everyone who was important to us was able to attend, with the exception of his sister Gemma who couldn't make the trip across the Atlantic on such short notice. She promised she would visit within the year and we would celebrate with her then. Otherwise, our families and friends were present to witness the promises made between Harry and myself to be faithful to one another, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. I think we both felt a twinge of reality in that last part of the vows, knowing that death sometimes does interrupt the vows made at the altar. But neither of us let those words cause fear in our hearts any longer. It was our day for hope and celebration.
We only managed to pull it off in such a short time because, as the old saying goes, many hands make light work. Everyone helped with something, from the church to the cake to the dress to the food at our very informal reception in my loft. We had actually gone out to dinner after the wedding, all twenty of us, and then returned to the loft for more informal celebrating. Instead of a mad rush to plan and subsequent headaches one might expect from planning a wedding in two weeks' time, it all fell together peacefully, another sign to us that we had made the right decision.
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