Chapter 20
Despite the strong wind, the helicopter sets down easily on Farallon Island. We open the door to two tuxedos, waiting with outstretched arms to help us out of the chopper and along the irregular ground. We duck and run, Lana’s bare feet nimble on the uneven surface, her heels in her hand, a true laugh spilling from her lips as she grips my arm tightly and climbs over the small hill of rocks before us, the slick surface of my dress shoes making the journey treacherous. Just what I need. I can picture the headline: COUPLE STUMBLES TO UNTIMELY DEATH JUST MOMENTS BEFORE PROPOSAL. Not that there has ever been a timely death.
It is all worth it when her head clears the rocks and I hear the catch in her voice. Her eyes had found the table set on a flat rock, white linen, candles, and champagne present. The height elevates us on a ledge with nothing but rock and ocean and sunset on all sides, the jagged skyline of San Francisco twenty-seven miles to the east. The suit to our right holds out a floor-length coat that I help her into before shrugging into my own, the buffering wind giving the evening a chill. Sitting, we accept flutes of champagne as the setting sun paints a landscape of beauty on all sides. It is perfect. Just as I imagined, the small island a private sanctuary for this moment.
“You went all out.” She meets my eyes over the table. Direct. Nothing else between us right now.
“All out would have coordinated whales. Their union wouldn’t agree to demands, but I’m hoping we see some tonight.” I nod to the waves. “I was told this is the spot to see them breach.”
A moment of silence falls over us as she wraps her coat tighter and glances out at the water. I wish for a whale, for nature to prove its support of our union with one dramatic show of grace. In my right pocket, folded and unfolded a hundred times, my speech. I don’t need the paper; I know the words. Had recited them perfectly while shaving. Tried a different take, a different tone, while driving to the office. Have changed the format ten times, the wording twenty. The weight of the paper has been comforting all day, yet suddenly seems wrong. I throw away the plan and reach for her hand. “You know I love you.”
Her eyes move to our hands. “I know.”
No. I need to see her eyes. To have that connection, to read her. The Layana I know doesn’t hide. I don’t understand it, yet forges onward. “You know that I will do anything for you. To make you happy.”
She looks back up. Finally. “I know.”
Standing, I move next to her chair and kneel, pulling out the box that holds our future. “I love you with every piece of my heart. Will spend my life making you smile. Please do me the honor of spending the rest of your life as my wife.” I crack open the box, the top opening easily, the darkening sky making the blue diamond no less impressive. I hold it out, realizing—before my arm finishes the action, my eyes glued on her—all of the things wrong with this situation.
The flush of her face.
Panic in her eyes.
A bite of her cheek.
Regret in her stare.
Wetness on the edge of her mascara.
She closes her eyes tightly and a lone dark tear drips down its side. I stare at that tear, and feel every piece of my carefully constructed world break.
〰️〰️〰️〰️
She doesn’t give me a reason. Doesn’t do anything but cry as I stare, examining every line of her as she covers her face. Eventually, there is a stiff shake of her head and I close the lid, putting the ring box back into my pocket, a place that has already grown cold in the last few minutes, the scrape of my knuckles against the cashmere of my coat a sickening texture. Something is wrong. Something has happened and broken the perfection of us.
I need to find out what has happened. We are fixable. Nothing will change that.
I will wait until the day I die for her. For me, there isn’t, and will never be, anyone else.
