And build toward it with both hands. He'd built a dock. He'd built a porch. Now he was going to Murfreesboro on Saturday. The following Thursday, the 1 year and 25 day mark since the flood, Clare came over at 6:00 with groceries, and Dileia came flying out the back door to show her something she'd made at school.
And by the time Marcus had the back door open, they were already on the porch together. Dileia talking and Clare listening with her full attention, the way she always did. Marcus stood in the doorway and watched them for a moment. Then he said, "Clare." She turned.
He was standing in the doorway of the house he'd built his life in on the porch he'd built for her. And he had the ring in his hand, not in a box, not hidden, just in his hand, the way he'd decided to do it. Because Marcus Reed did not do things for the story of them. And a box and a presentation wasn't who he was. And she knew that.
And because of that, she would understand this better than she would have understood the other way. Dileia saw it first. She went completely silent, which was rare enough that it startled Clare into looking at Marcus and then at his hand. She stood up from the swings slowly. "Marcus," she said, "you didn't need permission to choose me the night you came to that door."
He said, "You didn't need it when the road opened and you drove away. You didn't need it at that marina lot, and you didn't need it in your parents' dining room, and you've never needed it once in the year we've been building this." He paused. He let that sit. I'm not asking you to choose me now because I think you need my permission to do it.
I'm asking because I want you to have the ring because I want everyone. Starting with our daughter. He glanced at Dileia who had both hands pressed over her mouth. Starting with Dileia to know that this is what I chose. You on purpose?
Out loud. The river moved below them. The porch held. Clare looked at him. Her eyes were bright, but she wasn't crying yet.
She was holding it back the way she held things when she was deciding whether to let them happen. "You practiced that," she said. "A little," he said. "It was good. Thank you."
She walked the three steps between them. She took the ring from his hand. She looked at it for a moment, plain. "Wellade, not showy, exactly like the man who'd chosen it." "Yes," she said.
"Not I will." Or of course or yes, Marcus. Just yes, direct certain the way she said everything she meant. He slid it on her finger. Dileia made a sound between a scream and a laugh and threw herself at both of them simultaneously, which resulted in a collision that knocked Marcus back a step and nearly sent all three of them into the porch railing.