And Clara—choose someone who looks at all of you and does not behave as if loving you is charity.
You deserve a man who thinks he is the fortunate one.
Samuel
Clara could not continue breathing normally.
Thomas sat completely still beside her.
After a long time, she whispered:
“He knew.”
Thomas’s voice was rough.
“He knew you.”
Clara pressed the letter against her chest.
“All this time…”
Thomas stood.
“I should go.”
She looked up.
“Why?”
“Because that letter belongs to you and him.”
Clara stared at the man who had just spent two months standing beside a ghost without once demanding that ghost leave.
“No.”
Thomas frowned.
She stood.
“Don't go.”
“Clara—”
She put Samuel’s letter on the table.
Then stepped into Thomas’s arms.
He held her carefully.
She cried against his chest.
“I thought loving you meant losing something.”
Thomas said nothing.
Clara continued.
“I thought if I became happy again, it would make what Samuel and I had smaller.”
“It won't.”
“I know.”
Now she did.
She looked up.
Thomas’s eyes were wet.
“Why are you crying?”
“I read a dead man telling me not to be stupid enough to mishandle the woman he loved.”
Clara laughed through tears.
“You didn't mishandle me.”
“Not yet.”
She touched his beard.
“Thomas.”
“Yes?”
“Ask me.”
He froze.
“Ask you what?”
“You know.”
“It's January.”
“I changed my mind.”
His breathing changed.
“Clara.”
“Ask.”
Thomas looked around the half-repaired ranch house as if expecting instructions to appear on the walls.
Then he dropped to one knee.
Clara laughed.
“You don't have a ring.”
“I wasn't prepared.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because I don't want you hiding behind a ring.”
Thomas looked up at her.
No poetry.
No letter.
No revision.
Only the man.
“Clara Whitmore, I love you.”
“I loved you before I knew your face.”
“I loved you after I knew it.”
“I loved you before I crossed your bridge.”
“I love you more every time you argue with me.”
She laughed softly.
Thomas continued.
“I cannot promise not to frighten you by being late.”
“You should.”
“I would be lying.”
“Fair.”
“I cannot promise you won't miss Samuel.”
“I hope you always remember him.”
His eyes held hers.
“But if you'll have me, I would like every ordinary day you're willing to give me.”
“Bad coffee.”
“Broken fences.”
“Arguments.”
“Letters.”
“Pie.”
“Especially pie.”
Clara smiled through tears.
Thomas asked: