—F. Scott Fitzgerald
When you’re first in love everything seems brighter. Marin made the russet shades of autumn grow even more brilliant.
I had been in sorrow for a year grieving Regan but now my spirits lifted. The sky was bluer—the air fresher, and the woods, like my heart, were on fire.
The drive up to my family’s country home was breathtaking especially considering the estate was situated on the Niagara escarpment. A tidal wave of color had submerged everything and it seemed the old tired world I knew had perished and both it and I had been reborn.
The cool breeze shuddering against the car helped drown out the pounding of my heart. I barely knew Mar, but already was thoroughly enchanted.
She seemed happy too—occasionally she’d reach across and put her hand over mine, and her smile melted everything that grief and loss had frozen inside me.
The suffocating heaviness was gone and I could breathe freely again, and smile spontaneously—and yes, even wipe away a stray tear of joy from my eyes.
It was October and I was in love. It was perfect.
My family instantly took to her—even Quincy, our finicky golden retriever, adopted her and lay beside her, his muzzle gently resting on her foot.
“You seem to have won some hearts,” Mom smiled at Mar, while subtly winking at me.
Yes, she has won hearts, I smiled inwardly, feeling as if my own would burst.
After lunch, she and I hiked to the ridge where Regan had her accident. I had to show her—to get it over with and out of the way.
She peered cautiously over the edge at the green and yellow quilt of fields below. “It’s lovely here, but windy.”
“That’s how it happened,” I said solemnly. “One sudden gust of wind and poor Regan was swept over the edge.”
“How terrible for you to witness, Jess.”
“No, thankfully I didn’t see it. Regan and Charly had hiked up here—Charly’s our neighbor—you’ll get to meet her later.”
She shook her head sobered at the thought of what transpired.
“I just felt I had to bring you here—to make sure there was nothing unspoken between us. I’ve spent a year grieving Regan, but all my sorrow won’t bring her back.”
She looped her arm around mine and leaned against me. I inhaled the faint scent of her perfume.
“That’s lovely—your perfume. What scent is it?”
She laughed, “I’m not wearing perfume. I guess I’m just a country girl at heart.”
I breathed in the fragrance of her skin and hair—it was fresh as snow with a hint of green apple.
“You really are a country girl,” I laughed. “I like that.”
We shared our first kiss on the ridge, buffeted by autumn winds, and watching a hawk circle over the fields below.