The Last Night in London by Karen White (reading list .TXT) 📕

“The bigger the hair, the closer to God,” Cassie said as she put her arm around his waist, nodding like she was serious.

“I approve of this young gentleman, Maddie. Colin’s a pretty cool guy if you can get past that accent.” Sam winked, and I suddenly felt sorry for his daughter, Suzy, and all the dating years she’d suffer through with Sam as her dad. “Hey, if y’all want to talk, I can go get a fire started in the living room,” Sam offered.

“No, thanks. This won’t take long. I’ve got to go get dressed so I can help Knoxie into Grandma’s wedding gown.”

“Okay, then. We’ll leave you two out here for a little privacy.” They moved inside, Aunt Cassie reappearing a short time later with a large plaid blanket. She handed it to me with only a wink before disappearing again.

I sat down on the swing and Colin joined me. After a moment of consideration, I pulled the blanket over both of us.

He looked up into the threatening sky. “I think it might—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. Nothing good has ever come out of a snow in Georgia. Except a spike in the birth rate.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I think your aunt and uncle are smashing. I even like Walton, what little I’ve seen of it. Although I did wonder about that monument on the town green. I recognized the soldier on a horse but not the other.”

I started to explain how our Statue of Liberty had been assembled from scrap all those years ago by well-meaning citizens of Walton, but stopped myself. “It’s a Southern thing. Just go with it.”

He took hold of one of the chains on the swing. “I like this, too. I’m going to get one for my parents, I think. I can’t imagine a house in summer without one.”

“It might be against the law for any Southern porch not to have a swing.”

He raised his eyebrow, and I wanted to kiss him so badly I grabbed the beer from his hand and took a swig just so I’d have something else to do with my lips. “Why are you here, Colin?”

He pushed the swing with both feet, the chains creaking as it moved back and forth. “Because you didn’t say good-bye.”

“I told Arabella to tell you. That counts.”

“No. It doesn’t.” I felt him looking at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I brought something for you. From Precious.”

That made me look at him, and I wished I hadn’t. I’d wanted to forget him, to pretend that he was an insignificant part of my past. That I didn’t have any feelings for him. Lying to myself had always been one of my best talents.

“What is it?”

“A book of poetry. Wordsworth. She told me she wanted you to have it. I left it with your father at the diner.”

I felt a little squeeze of my heart as I thought about Precious giving me the book that Graham had given her. “Thank you. Although it would have been cheaper to airmail it.”

He gave me a half smile, the familiar expression that haunted my dreams more often than I cared to think about, and I had to avert my eyes. “She also said that I needed to remind you about something after she was gone. In case you forgot.”

“In case I forgot what?”

He glanced down, studied the plaid pattern in the blanket. “Reinvention.” He lifted his head, met my gaze. “How life is all about reinvention. If you don’t like how your story’s being written, rewrite the ending.”

I nodded, hearing her voice in my head, her Southern accent fooling even me.

“And . . .” He stopped, laughed.

“And what?”

“And that you’re a formidable woman. As was she.”

I wanted to laugh and cry, remembering Precious in all her incarnations. She was, indeed, a formidable woman. She could almost make me believe that she’d thought I was, too.

His face became serious again. “We found Graham’s grave. The name on the marker was John Nash. Rather fitting, I thought.”

“It is,” I agreed, wondering if David had been behind that.

“We moved both Nana and Graham to the family plot at the local churchyard and buried them next to each other. We had the name Precious Dubose inscribed on her headstone, and buried Graham with the unopened letters. I thought you’d like to know.”

I nodded, blinking back tears, comforted in the knowledge that they’d finally found their way back to each other. And that I’d played a part in it, albeit a very small one. “I love that. Was it your father’s idea to bury them together?”

He shook his head. “No, it was mine. And now my mother and Arabella think I’m a true romantic.”

I found myself studying his beer bottle intently so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “As if flying across an ocean to deliver a book of poetry wasn’t enough to convince anyone.”

He gave me that half smile again, and I wanted to tell him to stop, that every time he did it my heart stuttered and swelled and rose into my throat so that I couldn’t breathe.

“I guess I’m going to have to tell our kin in Memphis that Precious died in nineteen forty and is buried in England. I suppose this makes us cousins.” The idea was so absurd it made me want to laugh. “So, why are you here?” I repeated.

“Because I wanted to give you another chance to say good-bye properly.” He paused. “And because I love you.”

My heart did that thing again where it got stuck in my throat and I couldn’t speak. We swung in silence; I watched our breath rise up to the haint blue–painted porch ceiling. “I need to go help my sister.” I slid off the swing.

Colin took my hand. “What are we going to do, Maddie?”

He’d said “Maddie” again. I wondered if he realized it. I didn’t turn around. “There’s nothing we can do, Colin. Nothing at all.” I dropped the blanket, hurried