Page 134 of In the Shadows
She looked at him.
"Fill it with things that matter," he said. "Programs. Kids. Old people arguing about parking meters. The building doesn't have to mean what he intended."
"Is that what you believe?"
"It's what I'm learning."
She turned back to the water. A heron was fishing near the far shore, patient and still.
"Patricia wants to call it the Daniel Bennett Community Center."
"Your father would hate that."
"He would." A small smile. "He said naming buildings after yourself was the architectural equivalent of talking about yourself in third person."
"Sounds like him."
"You never met him."
"No. But I know his daughter."
Her eyes went bright. She didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
They sat together as the sky darkened, the first fireflies blinking in the grass along the shore. The inlet turned silver, then pewter, then black. Somewhere across the water, an owl called.
She reached over and took his hand. Her fingers were cold. He warmed them between his palms.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too."
"Good." She stood and pulled him up with her. "Now come inside. I'm making dinner, and you're helping."
"You can't cook."
"I'm learning." She was already walking up the slope toward the cottage, the lights warm in the windows. "That's what people do here. They learn things. They build crooked docks and arrange dahlias and burn pasta and try again the next day."
He followed her up the hill, the new boards solid beneath his feet.
The dock held.
Epilogue
The ring had been in Ronan's pocket for three days.
He'd bought it in Ocala, at a small jewelry shop that had been in business since 1962. Nothing flashy. A simple band with a single diamond, the kind of ring that looked like it belonged on the hand of a woman who measured her worth in work done, not stones acquired.
Lila was on the dock, her feet dangling over the water. The sun was going down behind the cottage, turning the inlet to copper and gold. She'd kicked off her shoes somewhere in the grass, and her hair was loose around her shoulders.
She looked up when she heard him coming.
"Council meeting ran late. Patricia wanted to debate the farmers’ market permit for an hour."
"Who won?"
"The farmers." She patted the dock beside her. "Sit with me. I need to decompress."
He sat. The boards were warm from the afternoon sun, solid beneath him. His dock. His view. His life now, somehow, against all odds.
