Chapters 10
Summer arrived with its usual thick,
oppressive heat,
driving everyone toward the water for relief.
Daniel and Sarah had rented a small,
rustic cabin by a lake in the upstate mountains,
and they invited Margaret and me to join them for the weekend.
The cabin was entirely unpretentious,
made of rough-hewn logs,
with a screen porch that overlooked the shimmering,
glassy surface of the water.
We spent the days swimming,
fishing off the old wooden dock,
and reading paperback novels in mismatched lawn chairs.
There was no cell service,
no strict itinerary,
and absolutely no pressure to be anything other than ourselves.
On Saturday evening,
the sun began to set,
painting the sky in brilliant strokes of orange,
pink,
and deep violet.
Margaret and I were sitting on the screen porch,
drinking iced tea,
listening to the crickets begin their nightly symphony.
Down by the water,
at the very edge of the dock,
Daniel and Sarah were sitting side by side,
their silhouettes outlined against the glowing horizon.
They were talking quietly,
their voices floating up to us in soft,
indistinguishable murmurs over the gentle lapping of the waves.
Suddenly,
Daniel stood up,
brushing the dirt from the knees of his shorts.
He turned to Sarah,
reaching into his pocket,
and slowly dropped down onto one knee.
Margaret gasped softly next to me,
her hand instinctively flying to her mouth,
her eyes widening in the dim light.
I reached out,
taking my wife's hand,
squeezing it gently as we watched the scene unfold in absolute silence.
There were no hidden photographers,
no extravagant floral arches,
no audience of two hundred people waiting for a performance.
It was just a man,
a woman,
and a quiet promise made by the edge of a lonely lake.
Sarah jumped up,
her hands covering her face,
her loud,
joyous laugh carrying across the water like a beautiful song.
She threw her arms around his neck,
nearly knocking him backward onto the wooden planks,
kissing him with an enthusiasm that needed no translation.
Daniel stood up,
holding her tightly,
spinning her around in the fading light.
Margaret was crying,
silent tears of pure,
unadulterated joy streaming down her cheeks.
"He did it,"
she whispered,
leaning her head against my shoulder.
"He really did it,"
I agreed,
feeling a tightness in my throat,
a profound sense of relief washing through my veins.
They walked back up the hill toward the cabin,
hand in hand,
their faces glowing with the kind of happiness that cannot be bought or staged.
When they reached the porch,
Sarah held up her left hand,
showing off a simple,
modest gold band with a single,
small stone.
"We are getting married!"
she announced,
her voice breaking with emotion.
We hugged them both,
the porch filled with laughter,
May you like
tears,
and the overwhelming warmth of a family finally made whole.
