Carry Her Heart (15 page)

As my lips pressed to Ned’s, I wondered how I could have ever believed I loved anyone else.

Love
.

Neither of us had said the word, but I was pretty sure that’s what this feeling was.

I’d complained about not feeling a spark with Anthony but realized as I watched Ned open his gifts, I’d felt it for Ned, and, when I allowed it to burn, it had settled into a warm glow.

It was no raging fire. I didn’t meet him and instantly know that this was the man I was destined to spend my life with. I’d gotten over my initial worry about taking our relationship beyond friendship. I knew that no matter what, Ned would be in my life. Since I settled that, I’d had no questions or qualms about us as a couple.

Instead, falling in love with Ned had been so easy, it had happened without any fuss or fanfare. That didn’t make the love less. In fact, I thought it made for a stronger, more stable love.

I’d never been the one to tell someone I loved him easily, and never first, but I had no fear or anxiety about saying the words to Ned. As our kiss slowed, I said, “I love you, you know.”

He nodded and grinned. “Of course you do. I mean what’s not to love?” We both laughed and he pulled me close. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I do,” I admitted. “But you only love me
two
. I love you
one
.”

He caught my play on the word
too
and rolled his eyes. “Goof.”

He gave me a teapot that matched the teacup he’d replaced. It was a lovely, thoughtful gift. But the best gift I received for Christmas was Ned’s love.

Dear Amanda,

It’s Christmas again. I’m sitting by the front window, waiting for Ned to get done clearing snow. Erie took the term
white Christmas
to heart this year. We both cleared our sidewalks and Mrs. W.’s, but a car got stuck in a drive down the block and he went to help.

I’ve spent holidays with Ned before, but this was our first Christmas together as a couple. I told him I loved him.

Sometimes in books people agonize over saying those words, or hearing them, but with Ned, it was natural. Easy, even. I could give him that piece of my heart and know that he’d protect it.

I added another charm to your bracelet this year. A graduation cap. I know you’ve got a few months to go, and at your age, that feels like forever, but it’s the blink of an eye.

I suspect that the end of May will be busy for you. It will be poignant for me. You’ll be in my thoughts.

I wonder what your plans are after you graduate. College? A job?

I hope whatever path you take, you’re happy.

As someone who’s living in the glow of a new love, I can tell you that happy matters.

The pages in this journal are almost full. When I finish them all, I’ll tuck it up in Talia Piper Eliason’s antique wedding chest . . . your chest. It will be there, along with the letters from Amanda’s Pantry, all the books I wrote for you, and your bracelet.

When this journal is full and I’ve told your story here, I need you to know that you’ll still always be on my mind.

More than that, you’ll always be in my heart.

It’s just now, instead of you being there alone, Ned is there as well.

Merry Christmas.

All My Love,

Piper

Chapter Thirteen

“Deep breath, Pip,” Ned commanded as he stood next to my dad at the bottom of my staircase.

I needed the reminder. I’d been bubbling over with excitement all day.

March was one of those in-between months. Not quite winter, not quite spring.

In between. That’s how I’d felt all day. Not quite excited, not quite nervous. I swung between the two emotions like a pendulum, neither one thing nor the other for long. Ned was right; breathing seemed to be something optional.

I took a second and forced myself to inhale. I exhaled as I stepped off the last step.

Coop and my mom followed me down the stairs.

I told myself to capture this moment so that I could savor it once it passed. I was surrounded by the people I loved and about to go to an event that celebrated a project I was passionate about. It was a moment that deserved to be preserved.

My mother moved next to my father, as if they were drawn to one another by some invisible force. Coop and Ned took up positions on either side of me. Friends I couldn’t do without—friends I knew I’d never
have
to do without.

The dogs even seemed to sense my bubbling emotions. They danced around at the foot of the steps, pulling me from my moment.

“Down,” I warned them. Even they went into my save-the-moment snapshot.

“If your beasts mess up that dress . . . well, no dog bones for a month,” Coop threated them.

“Week,” she corrected, then sighed as Bruce and Princess realized she was talking to them and sat down in front of her.

Coop leaned down and petted them both. “Fine. You’d still get bones, but I’d be very disappointed in you.”

“Sucker,” Ned said to Coop, then turned to me. “How does she handle a class of eighth graders?”

“I’m very scary,” Coop said at the same time I said, “They love her, so they listen.”

My version was more truthful than hers.

I glanced at the clock, wanting to be sure I’d be on time.

Ned noticed and said, “You’ve got plenty of time.”

“You’ve done a lot of talks before, honey,” Mom said. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so worked up.”

“This is different, Mom. This isn’t about me or my books. It’s about the kids who worked so hard on these stories. It’s about the stories they shared. I’m so thrilled to be a part of the project.”

After that letter from Jo Larson, I went to the school board with Coop at my side. She’d helped me teacher-up my proposal. With her help and the school board’s backing, we’d put together a book of stories written by school district students.

I always get excited when a new release arrives at my door, but this time
excited
seemed an inadequate description. I trembled the first time I held a copy of
Raise Your Hands: Stories from Today’s Classrooms
.

Not only had Jo and other school district students contributed to it, the cover art was done by an amazing student artist. One of the English classes had proofed the book and one of the computer classes formatted it.

The district was charging for both print and e-book versions, and all the funds were going to support the libraries.

My school—well, technically, not
my
school, but the school across the street—had agreed to host the
release
party. I was going to speak and introduce the project. Afterward, there was a book signing. All the students who’d participated were invited to take part.

I walked across the street with my small entourage.

“I’m going to go try to corral the beasts,” Coop said. “Because I’m so tough,” she added.

I wasn’t sure if she was trying to remind us or herself. But if reminding us was her goal, I’m pretty sure the chorus of laughter that followed her told her we weren’t buying her
toughness
.

“I’m going to get a seat,” Dad said as he kissed my cheek outside the auditorium door. “I need you to know how very, very proud we are of you, Piper. You’ve always made us very proud.”

I felt myself begin to tear up, but Mom scolded him, “Don’t you dare make her cry.”

Dad grinned and hurried into the auditorium.

Mom turned to me. “And don’t listen to your dad and tear up. You’ll mess up your makeup.” Then she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “But he’s right; we are proud.”

Hey, Miss Pips
rang out as we walked to the stage entrance. Mom headed toward the opposite wing and Ned held my hand and waited on our side of the stage. “I don’t want to risk your mother’s wrath and make you tear up again, but for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, too. And I want to talk to you about something later.”

“What?” Vague comments like that were not normally Ned’s MO.

“I was thinking . . . that maybe it’s time to think about selling my place. I—”

He was nervous, I realized. Whether he was nervous I would say no, or simply nervous about the suggestion, I wasn’t sure, but I was absolutely positive about my answer.

I interrupted him. “Yes. You haven’t spent a night at your place since before Christmas. You live with me in all but name. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Well, that’s part of it. But more than selling my place . . .” He took a deep breath. “I was thinking we should get married,” he blurted out in a very uncharacteristic way. “I know, I’m doing this all wrong. I should have done a fancy meal, had a ring and got down on one knee, but Pip, I love you and as we walked across the street, your hand in mine, I knew that I didn’t want to live another day—hell, not another minute—without you. I want it all. Marriage, a home, kids—”

My heart sank.

I hadn’t told him about Amanda. And I’d never told him that in addition to never really loving Anthony the way I should, the idea of having children had been a problem.

When we were just neighbors, I hadn’t owed him an explanation. Even when I realized we were good friends I didn’t owe it to him. But now, I did. I’d owed him the explanation since Christmas and probably even before that. And I knew it.

Telling him had flitted around the edges of my mind, but I’d swatted the thought away each time it came within reach. Not that I thought he’d judge me.

I trusted Ned completely. I knew he’d support me and that decision I made so many years ago, but this wasn’t a story to tell tonight.

He looked concerned and I realized that I’d hesitated too long.

“Pip, I thought you’d feel the same way,” Ned said softly.

“I do,” I assured him. “I may be a writer, but I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you. How much I love the life we’re building. And yes, we should move in together. As for the rest—”

“Marriage and kids?” he asked.

I nodded. “We need to talk about that. About . . .”

“About?” he pressed.

“Later? Could we talk about this later? It will be a longer conversation than we can have right now.”

He looked hurt.

Knowing that I’d been the one to put the pained look in his eyes hurt me as well. For the first time I’d hurt, or maybe disappointed, the man I loved. I kissed him, hoping to wipe away the feeling. “I love you, Ned. More than you can ever know. Can you wait until later for the rest?”

He sighed. “Pip, I’ll wait as long as you need me to. I should never have brought this up tonight. So we’ll table the discussion until later. Just know I love you. That will never change.”

I did know that. And I realized just how amazing that was . . . to know that someone loved you so completely. Once upon a time, I’d worried about a spark, but what we had wasn’t a spark, nor was it a blaze—something that would burn out as fast as it began. No, this was a well-tended fire that would burn steadily and warmly for the rest of my life.

My kids found us in our corner of the wing, and it was no longer quiet. Jo came up to me and squealed as she hugged me, and some of my excitement came roaring back.

Ned loved me and I loved him.

We’d work this out.

I was surrounded by the kids as the program started. The principal of the school was first at the microphone and welcomed everyone to the event. He introduced my mom, in her capacity as superintendent. She walked onto the stage from the opposite backstage wing and smiled at me.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight. I’m here in two capacities. First, as superintendent it’s my honor to be here and introduce the participants in this unique and wonderful project. But I’m also here as a mother. I’m so proud to introduce my daughter, Piper George, who not only spent months spearheading this project, but has also spent her entire adult life donating her time and talents in so many ways that benefit the community.” Mom continued her short speech, talking about the project and the students who were involved. She finished by saying, “. . . So on behalf of the entire school district, I want to thank and congratulate Piper George. I’m going to turn the microphone over to her before I start blubbering up here and totally embarrass myself.”

She waved to me and said, “Piper.”

Ned squeezed my hand, then released it as I walked out onto the stage. I wiped at my eyes and kissed my mom as I reached her and the mic. She walked off the stage and I said, “Geesh, thanks, Mom, for worrying about blubbering and making a spectacle of yourself.” I overexaggerated as I wiped my eyes, trying to make the very necessary act funny.

“And I’m honored to be here speaking on behalf of everyone who was involved with
Raise Your Hands: Stories from Today’s Classrooms
. But before I talk a bit about this very special project, I’d like to introduce the writers who were able to be with us tonight.”

As I read their names, one by one the kids filed on to the stage and took one of the seats behind me. “And finally, the girl who inspired the project, Jo Larson. Jo’s the only writer who’s not currently a school district student. She’s a freshman at Gannon University this year, but she took time away from her classes to not only write for the book, but also help with the project.”

All the kids who’d written for the book stood as the audience applauded, and soon the entire auditorium was standing and applauding.

Jo’s cheeks turned a brilliant red as she walked to the end of the seats. Soon the auditorium was quiet again and I turned back to the mic.

“I’ve been writing for years, and I can tell you that each current project is my favorite. If it’s not, I’m doing something wrong. As I finish a book, I move on to the next one, which then becomes my new favorite.

“But
Raise Your Hands: Stories from Today’s Classrooms
is a book that will forever have a firm place in my heart, not only because the stories are all amazing and give such a raw, honest look at today’s classrooms, but because of the students had the opportunity to work. No, not students . . . writers. All of them opened themselves up and wrote from the heart. Their stories are ones that every educator should read. They’re stories that every parent of a school-age student should read. Well, let’s face it: I think everyone at every stage of his or her life should read this book.”

That got a laugh.

“So please take a minute to talk to all our student writers tonight, and then go home and talk to the students in your life. Ask about their reality. It might be very different than you’ve imagined.

“I think that’s it. I’m honored to have worked with these amazing kids, and I am anxious to see what the next chapter of their lives will look like. I’m sure it will be brilliant.”

I started to walk off the stage, but Jo called my name and ran off the stage and came back wheeling a dolly with a huge potted bush on it. She stopped at the microphone and said, “We thought about buying Ms. Pip roses, but we all did some of our work in her garden and we decided we wanted to leave a mark on it. So we went to Johnston’s nursery and they said you’d like this. Now, every time you look at it, you’ll remember how much we appreciate everything you’ve done. Not just working with us on our book, but for all the books you’ve written. You write stories that don’t talk down to kids . . . they tell the truth.”

She hugged me and I finally did start crying.

Ned came out and wheeled my new bush off the stage because I could hardly see through my tears.

That night, after the book signing and party, I wrote in Amanda’s journal.

Dear Amanda,

I’ve tucked a copy of every book I’ve ever written in that chest for you. Today, I added
Raise Your Hands.
It’s special because I didn’t write it. I edited it and maybe mentored it, but you’re in it as much as you are in any of my other books. As I read all the kids’ stories and worked with them, I thought of you. I wonder about your high school experience. As it comes to an end, are you sighing with relief, or are you sad to see this part of your life draw to a close?

I hope as you read this journal, whatever chapter of your life you’re in is a good one.

Love,

Piper