Page 95 of In a Word, Yes

“Thank you. I’m still unlearning old patterns. But also, I’m learning new things!”

“Like what?”

We resume walking, and two people appear in my mind’s eye. Two imperfect people who have nevertheless managed to stay married for several decades. Who, despite their differences, navigated a tragedy that should have totaled them. Who exude warmth and friendship in each other’s company.

Thanks to my parents, I do know what a healthy marriage looks like.

And I know that if I’m honest, what I want is nothing short of what they have.

Caring is costly. My little brother’s baby face floats before me, followed by the familiar ache.

Love will always be messy, but it should never, ever be mean.

“Like.. .” I swallow. “Like that any time I let fear hold me back, I allow Devin to hold me hostage.”

The path turns dusty, the trees closer together, and I have to pick my way over rocks and roots. Through a curtain of limbs to my left, I glimpse teal water.

“Is that it? The lake?”

He squints. “Looks too dinky, but let’s go check it out.”

Whatever this body of water is, it’s clearly an impostor. We stand along the bank of the shallow pond, shoulders touching.

“More of a wannabe lake,” I say. “But still, it’s pretty.”

He cups his chin. “I hoped I was bringing you to someplace a little more impressive than this.”

Our voices feel like an affront to the utter silence. Like we’re bellowing inside a sanctuary. Gentle popping sounds—fish surfacing—echo through the stillness.

I could stand here all day by this shabby pool of water with this man.

I almost don’t notice the moment Wyatt laces his fingers through mine, it feels so right. And then—electricity. I look up into eyes that hold autumn and tranquility and an unspoken message that needs no translation.

“You good?” he says huskily. “Want to keep going?”

A swoop in my belly. “I—”

Wyatt cocks his head in the direction of the trail.

I smile. “I’m great. Let’s go find the real lake.”

Our fingers slide apart, as once again we pick up the trail. But the invisible connection between us is undeniable.

A bald eagle, fast diving through the distant sky, alerts me that we’re coming up on the lake. I point. And bounce. “Did you see? Did you see?” My feet pick up speed of their own accord.

Wyatt laughs. “Hey, slow down, girl.”

“C’mon, let’s go, old man.”

And then, because it’s what I do, I trip on a thick root sticking out of the ground and barely recover my balance in time to avoid the dreaded face-plant.

“Don’t mind me,” I say. “It’s a whole thing...”

“What? What’s a whole thing?”

“Clumsiness. I’m still learning how to operate my limbs.”

He studies me intently.