“I wouldn't be able to trade places with you unless I popped seven hundred balloons.”
Fiona released another slightly hysterical giggle. Was she getting high?
“What a beautiful boat,” Marisol was saying as she walked ahead of Wendell down the gangplank toward the deck. Wendell's balance wavered and Fiona caught her breath in terror, afraid he'd pitch into the water below. He wrapped his palm around the handrail and steadied himself.
Marisol continued forward, oblivious. “Who does this belong to?”
“A friend. They said that we were welcome to come and sit for a time and . . . and enjoy the best view in the world.” When Wendell reached the deck, he stood stiffly, wringing his hands.
“It's wonderful. I've always loved Groomsport's harbor. So picturesque.”
A slight pause followed. “I'm sorry that it's a little windy,” Wendell stated.
“I enjoy a breeze.” The wind whipped Marisol's white hair out of its bun and flung it in front of her face like an opaque mask.
“Marisol,” Wendell stated abruptly.
“Yes?”
“I have something to ask you.”
She waited. When he didn't go on, she said, “Yes?”
He moved to lower to one knee but didn't get far before gripping the table for support. It took a full ten seconds for him to make his slow-mo descent. When he got there, he winced. “My kneecap,” he wheezed.
Marisol passed him a throw pillow.
He levered up partway to place the throw pillow below his kneecap, which cost another several seconds for a repeat slow-mo descent. Once he had his legs situated, he attempted to remove his hand from the table. He started to tilt and clamped the table once again. “Marisol.”
“Yes, Wendell?” She cleared a space in the hair mask to look through.
“I love you so much. You have added joy and companionship back into my life. You are the most giving . . . the sweetest person. I can't believe that God has brought you to me again. I don't deserve it, but He is good, and I'll forever be grateful. I wonder . . . That is to say . . .” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to know if you would consider doing me the great honor . . . the biggest honor of them all . . . of becoming my wife?”
Even the hair in her face couldn't obscure the brightness of her smile. “Yes. I'd love to marry you, darling.” Marisol reached down to help him up.
Then they were kissing, embracing, laughing.
Fiona grinned. Happiness for them welled buoyantly within her. Wendell and Marisol wholeheartedly treasured one another.
Fiona had once believed that Felix treasured her like that. He had not. In fact, she now understood that he wasn't capable of treasuring anyone that way. As a consequence, she was no longer capable of telling herself fairytales about love and calling them non-fiction.
“Did he give her the ring?” Remy whispered.
“Either he forgot about the ring, or it wasn't physically possible to extract it without him crashing to the deck.”
“Should we make ourselves known now? Or is it too early?”
“Too early. They're kissing.”
“Let's wait until they transition to talking. I don't want to interrupt.”
“Or scare Marisol so badly we send her into cardiac arrest.”
After a few minutes had passed, Wendell and Marisol stepped apart, hands still linked.
“Okay,” Fiona said. “I think this might be the time to make ourselves known.”
“Good. If I stay down here much longer, I'm afraid I'll pass out and no one will be able to find me in order to resuscitate.”
