The scent of honeysuckle is overwhelming here. Last summer Pat and Sunny spread Gracie’s ashes and planted a row of honeysuckle in memory of her. The aroma tempts me to take a deep breath. To drink in the pleasure of being alive.
The southern humidity hangs like the fog as evening nears, but the breeze is steady enough to keep the riverbank pleasant. It gently tugs against the roots of my hair, inviting me to sleep.
I hear feet scuffling through the brush as someone scrambles onto the new swing. Of all the times we’ve come down here, I’ve never been able to get up on that thing. It’s so high over the water. I’m not much of a risk taker these days, so I park myself in the hammock instead.
“Geronimo!” It’s Sunny. Probably doing another flip. A few seconds go by. She coughs. “Your turn, Dad!”
Knowing I’d get a full view of my man in action, I finally turn and crack open an eyelid. I have to prop my head on my forearm to see over the macramé. He jumps onto the old, raised root and shoves his knees into the loop. It swings out over the water and at its highest point, Pat slips out and falls backward into the warm, brown water. I giggle quietly, loving his display of wide-open boyishness.
His head pops out of the water, and his eyes land on me. The smile he flashes is for me alone. Sure, he smiles all the time. But there is a certain one that’s just mine. My heart flips and I shake my head, knowing what he’s going to ask and knowing I’ve already lost. He mouths, “Come on.” With a glint in his eyes, he beckons me with his index finger. I’m pretty tired but how can I say no?
Sunny adopts his mission. “Yeah, come on Mom.” Her red hair fans out around her shoulders, floating like flames on the top of the water. Sunny’s beauty is magnified around Patrick; her eye sparkle and animation are truly a product of his love.
I can’t say no to them. I’ve never been able to say no to them.
Moving is hard these days, but I manage to swing my legs over the side of the hammock and limp to the water as my back muscles unravel.
“Geez. You’re walking like an old lady,” Sunny teases me.
I kick off my foam flip flops and shed my swimsuit cover. “Very funny.”
Pat’s gaze sweeps over my form. His eyes linger on some of his favorite spots. “You don’t look like an old lady.”
“More like a blimp.”
Pat splashes her in punishment. Sunny swims off to the swing again, laughing and gurgling on the water. He steps onto the riverbank and grabs my hand to help me in. The water is a lot warmer than I imagined, and now I’m anticipating the weightless feeling. His fingers interweave with mine, and his voice is an enticing scrape against my ears. “Swim with me.” He leads me out into the deeper section.
I follow him. Just like I always follow him.
We talk and splash around for a few minutes. Flirting and “being gross” as Sunny describes it. He laughs off her comments and pulls me closer. The warmth of his body is against my own, and the water flows around us. My belly bumps him back, and he laughs again. I’ll never get tired of hearing his laugh. Hearing it is a reminder of all we’ve suffered and won. I let the sound wash over me as I nestle my head onto his shoulder. I take a deep breath and audibly sigh on the exhale. There is no place I’d rather be.
Pat pauses, and his arm tightens around me. His hand drops to my swollen, bare belly. “You okay?”
“The babies arefine.” I reassure him at least twenty times a day.
“Let me know if—”
“I will!” I squeeze his bicep and meet his gaze. “I promise I’ll let you know if I need rest, sweet tea, a pedicure, or pickles. You will be the first to know.”
“Not true,” Sunny interrupts. “I’m the first to know. I’ve listened to her complaining for those things all summer.”
Now, we are all laughing.
Patrick slips his hands around my waist and drops his lips to my neck. I feel my breath hitch. Three years and he still takes my breath away. He sets his forehead against mine and whispers his love under the covering sound of the moving water.
His breath tickles my ear, but I lean into his words. His hands cup my face, and his lips cover mine.
My heart feels like it’s going to explode. There is no way to fight the uncommon love which knits our family together. It was destined from the beginning. All our paths a winding road, joining here. Pat once said trying to change things was as impossible as trying to change the course of the Mississippi. It couldn’t be done.
I yield myself fully to him, thankful for the river.
