decide, of ever having to do anything but think, think, think , every minute of every day. What I needed was to stop thinking, start planning, or better yet, simply act . Just as I had done, so magnificently, today after the plane flipped over.
Here, I understood,was someone who would not allow me to take comfort in inertia. Already, I was different with him. Better. More .
At last, we pulled up the circular drive of home. I felt a rush of warmth and belonging—I could have wept at the sight of the familiar green shutters, the fairy-tale façade with trimming rather like a gingerbread house, the wide porch with its brick columns, all the green and pink chintz-coveredwicker furniture clustered about in cozy arrangements. Soon we all would be leaving this house for the new one, almost finished in a different part of Englewood. Still, I felt that here, in this snug house, my family was present, waiting for me even though I knew that Dwight was the only one inside. And perhaps this was the reaction I had been waiting for; this sudden, overwhelming senseof home .
I turned to Charles, wanting to share this feeling, wanting to wrap my happy home around him as well, for I remembered that he didn’t have much of a family; suddenly I couldn’t bear the thought of him driving off alone to face the world. “Would you like to—” I began, but then stopped. He was staring at me so intently that I shivered, involuntarily. He was searching me, searching forsomething important within me; all I could do was stare back and hope, desperately, that he would find what he was looking for.
“There’s something else,” he said, and he didn’t sound as sure of himself as he usually did. “Something unexpected.”
“Oh?” I thought back to my behavior earlier; had I embarrassed him somehow?
“You may not be aware—no, of course, you’re not. I’ve been rather on a projectlately. A mission, of sorts. To find—to find someone to share my life with.” He paused, as if waiting for me to say something. I couldn’t; I could only continue to stare at him. So he cleared his throat and went on.
“It’s lonely—it’s been lonely these past months. It occurred to me that it would be better to have someone to share this—all—with. From the moment that we met in Mexico, I confessI’ve wondered—I’ve thought about you. And then today. You handled that very well. Like an aviator.”
“Thank you,” I replied solemnly, understanding that this was perhaps the highest praise he could offer.
“Also, there’s one other thing,” he said with an odd, pained smile. “I can’t quite get it out of my mind. While we were up there today, for the first time I was afraid. Not for myself—I’ve neverbeen afraid for myself. I’ve always known I would be all right. The strange thing is, I was afraid for you. Afraid of you being injured in some way. I must tell you, I’ve never felt such a thing before. At first, I wasn’t sure I liked it, to tell the truth.” He laughed—or, rather, tried to; it was more of a gulp. “But now, I believe I did—not that you were in danger, but—it seems I have a strongdesire to protect you, and that must mean something. It must .”
“What must it mean?”
“It must mean that I should ask if you would consider marrying me,” he replied softly.
“You must be joking!” I couldn’t help it, I did laugh, and then instantly was horrified, for I knew, by a quick flutter of his eyelids that allowed me an unexpected glimpse into his heart, that he was not.
I looked back upat the house, the house of my childhood. The house that had always sheltered me; too much? I wondered. Iknew nothing of the world, other than what my parents had wanted me to know. I didn’t even know everything about my own family . I only knew that I had to work hard, study hard, prepare myself—for what? That, they had not bothered to teach me.
But nothing could have prepared me for this moment.Nothing could have prepared
Here, I understood,was someone who would not allow me to take comfort in inertia. Already, I was different with him. Better. More .
At last, we pulled up the circular drive of home. I felt a rush of warmth and belonging—I could have wept at the sight of the familiar green shutters, the fairy-tale façade with trimming rather like a gingerbread house, the wide porch with its brick columns, all the green and pink chintz-coveredwicker furniture clustered about in cozy arrangements. Soon we all would be leaving this house for the new one, almost finished in a different part of Englewood. Still, I felt that here, in this snug house, my family was present, waiting for me even though I knew that Dwight was the only one inside. And perhaps this was the reaction I had been waiting for; this sudden, overwhelming senseof home .
I turned to Charles, wanting to share this feeling, wanting to wrap my happy home around him as well, for I remembered that he didn’t have much of a family; suddenly I couldn’t bear the thought of him driving off alone to face the world. “Would you like to—” I began, but then stopped. He was staring at me so intently that I shivered, involuntarily. He was searching me, searching forsomething important within me; all I could do was stare back and hope, desperately, that he would find what he was looking for.
“There’s something else,” he said, and he didn’t sound as sure of himself as he usually did. “Something unexpected.”
“Oh?” I thought back to my behavior earlier; had I embarrassed him somehow?
“You may not be aware—no, of course, you’re not. I’ve been rather on a projectlately. A mission, of sorts. To find—to find someone to share my life with.” He paused, as if waiting for me to say something. I couldn’t; I could only continue to stare at him. So he cleared his throat and went on.
“It’s lonely—it’s been lonely these past months. It occurred to me that it would be better to have someone to share this—all—with. From the moment that we met in Mexico, I confessI’ve wondered—I’ve thought about you. And then today. You handled that very well. Like an aviator.”
“Thank you,” I replied solemnly, understanding that this was perhaps the highest praise he could offer.
“Also, there’s one other thing,” he said with an odd, pained smile. “I can’t quite get it out of my mind. While we were up there today, for the first time I was afraid. Not for myself—I’ve neverbeen afraid for myself. I’ve always known I would be all right. The strange thing is, I was afraid for you. Afraid of you being injured in some way. I must tell you, I’ve never felt such a thing before. At first, I wasn’t sure I liked it, to tell the truth.” He laughed—or, rather, tried to; it was more of a gulp. “But now, I believe I did—not that you were in danger, but—it seems I have a strongdesire to protect you, and that must mean something. It must .”
“What must it mean?”
“It must mean that I should ask if you would consider marrying me,” he replied softly.
“You must be joking!” I couldn’t help it, I did laugh, and then instantly was horrified, for I knew, by a quick flutter of his eyelids that allowed me an unexpected glimpse into his heart, that he was not.
I looked back upat the house, the house of my childhood. The house that had always sheltered me; too much? I wondered. Iknew nothing of the world, other than what my parents had wanted me to know. I didn’t even know everything about my own family . I only knew that I had to work hard, study hard, prepare myself—for what? That, they had not bothered to teach me.
But nothing could have prepared me for this moment.Nothing could have prepared
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