Chapter 37: The Proposal Within the Celebration
The barn had become a refuge from the reception's gentle chaos. I pressed my palm flat against the F-100's hood, the metal still cool despite the afternoon sun slatting through the boards. Dust motes swirled in the golden light like tiny planets. The truck gleamed, turquoise paint polished to a soft shine, and I thought of all the hours Allan and I had spent with our heads beneath that hood, grease smeared across our knuckles, laughing at nothing at all.
I heard footsteps on the packed dirt floor. Ellis, red-faced and stammering before he even reached me, his hands clasped behind his back as though he were hiding something heavy. Allan stood near the barn door, one hand in his pocket, watching his friend with a look I could not quite read.
"Sabrina," Ellis said. His voice cracked on the second syllable. He cleared his throat and pulled his hands in front of him. A small velvet box trembled in his palm.
I looked at the box. Then at his face. His cheeks had gone the color of a fire engine.
"I know this is strange," he said, talking fast, almost breathless. "I know it's your wedding day. I know this is supposed to be about you and Allan, and it is. It absolutely is. But I can't stop thinking about it, and I don't want to wait any longer."
He opened the box. A diamond sat inside, modest and bright, catching the dusty light and scattering it across the barn walls.
"I want to ask Dana," he said, and his voice broke again. "Right here. In this barn. I want it to be here because this is where everything started. You told her to talk to me. You pushed her toward me. You made this possible."
I felt tears before I knew I was crying. They spilled down my cheeks in hot, silent streams. The velvet box shook in his hand, and I did not think. I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him hard, the velvet box pressing against my shoulder blade, his breath coming in ragged, panicked bursts.
"It is more than okay," I whispered into his ear. "It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect."
He hugged me back, and I felt the tremor in his shoulders. When we pulled apart, his eyes were wet too. He looked at Allan, who had crossed the dirt floor to stand beside me. Allan placed a hand on Ellis's shoulder and said nothing, but something passed between them, the weight of years and friendship and trust.
"Where is she?" Ellis asked, glancing toward the barn door. Outside, the band had struck up a slow waltz. Laughter and the clink of glasses drifted through the warm Vermont air.
"Dancing," I said. "She's dancing with Dana's mother. I saw them head toward the tent."
Ellis's face went through a series of complicated expressions. Panic, hope, panic again. "Will you come with me? Both of you? I don't want to do this alone."
I took his hand, the one holding the box, and squeezed gently. "We're right behind you."
The music swelled as we stepped out of the barn. The late afternoon sun painted the valley in honey and gold. A white tent stood on the lawn, strings of fairy lights drooping between its poles, and beneath it guests swayed to a slow waltz. Dana moved among them, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders, her laugh carrying across the grass. She wore the burgundy blouse from her coffee date, the one I had helped her pick out, and it seemed impossible that only a few short months had passed since she burst into my kitchen, breathless and terrified about a single cup of coffee.
Ellis stopped at the edge of the tent. He looked at me. "What if she says no?"
"She won't," I said. "She told me about the way you kissed her goodnight. And the way you held her hand at the diner. And the way you fixed her porch step without being asked. She won't say no."
He took a breath so deep it lifted his shoulders. Then he walked into the tent.
The music slowed and faded as the band noticed him. Conversations stilled. Dana turned, saw him standing there with the velvet box in his hand, and her mouth fell open. She pressed a hand to her chest.
Ellis dropped to one knee on the grass. His voice carried across the quiet.
"Dana, I love you. I've loved you since the night you showed me the truck in the barn and told me you thought I was cute. I've loved you since you said yes to coffee. I've loved you every single day since. Will you marry me?"
She said yes before he finished asking. The word flew out of her like a bird released from a cage. She knelt down in her burgundy dress, dirt and all, and kissed him as the crowd erupted. Cheers and applause and whoops of joy rolled across the lawn. Allan wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me close, and I felt his laughter rumbling in his chest.
"They'll be okay," he murmured into my hair.
I watched Ellis rise to his feet and lift Dana off the ground, spinning her in a circle as she cried and laughed at the same time. Margret appeared with a handkerchief, dabbing her own eyes, and the band struck up a livelier tune. The celebration resumed, brighter than before, shot through with a new joy.
I stood at the edge of the tent with Allan's arms still around me, my cheek pressed against his chest, and I thought about the woman I had been. Not the one I had become, but the one I had been before. A man in an apartment with a complicated career and no one who knew his real name. A man who had watched something terrible and spent every day since looking over his shoulder.
This was what he had been given. This was what had been bought with the death of Justin Zygurski. A barn full of hay dust and engine oil. A truck rebuilt with love. A husband with steady hands and a gentle laugh. A friend on his knee, proposing to the woman he loved, with tears in his eyes and the whole town watching.
I wiped my eyes and laughed, and the sound felt like home.
Dana broke away from Ellis and sprinted toward me, arms outstretched. She slammed into me hard enough to knock me back a step, and I caught her, laughing, and held her as she sobbed into my shoulder.
"You did this," she said, her voice muffled. "You started all of it. You told me to ask him out. You made me believe I could."
I hugged her tighter and said nothing, because there was nothing to say. The truth was simpler than that. She had done it herself. She had been brave enough to listen. Ellis had been brave enough to ask. All I had done was stand in a barn and tell her the truth about her own heart.
The band played on. The light softened into evening gold. Somewhere beyond the tent, a bottle of champagne popped and the crowd cheered again. Allan's hand found mine, warm and sure, and I let him lead me back into the celebration.