The Second Yes

The sleek black Porsche pulls up to the curb, and a guy in his early thirties climbs out. With a quick check in the sideview mirror, he whisks a hand casually along the hair above his ear and grins with a not-so-subtle wink. Standing tall, he makes his way toward the apartment complex across the sidewalk.

“Mr. Gibson, how are you?” a middle-aged woman greets him as she leads her poodle toward the driveway.

Giving her a courteous pause, he tilts his head and blows her a kiss. “Mrs. DuPont, thank you so much for keeping an eye on Vicky while I was gone. It made me feel a whole lot better knowing someone was here to look after her.”

Mrs. DuPont blushes a bit. “It was nothing. Besides, I think it was only a twenty-four-hour bug, to be honest. The following day, she looked right as rain!”

He compliments her with a bow. “Thank you again, and do I need to remind you to call me William?”

“You’re so welcome, William.” She continues toward the cars and pauses. “You’re looking especially sharp today.”

“Thank you,” he calls back.

She follows up with, “By the way, I made some delicious macaroons. I’ll bring a few over in a few minutes if that’s okay.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he calls over his shoulder as he mounts the stairs. “I’ll let Vicky know you’ll be over.”

The rest of the steps he takes two at a time, his size-eleven Edmonds holding him steady as he goes. He decided he was worth the extra purchase of new shoes, considering his current plight. He pats his suit coat’s chest to ensure he remembered the exclamation mark to his fifteen-year announcement.

Reaching her door, he clears his throat and raises his hand to press the doorbell. But before his finger makes contact, the door swings open.

Standing there in a blue floral dress, matching pumps, and a sapphire necklace to match, was Vicky. Soft pink lips beneath eyes that matched the pendant.

“Will, I am so glad you’re back!” She bounces on her toes and throws her arms around his neck. “It seems like forever!”

His arms automatically surround her, and he pulls back, teasing her. “You always say that.”

“And,” she grins, “I always mean it.”

Her sweater is laid on the back of the chair right inside the door. She clutches it with one hand and returns to William’s side.

“I’m ready when you are, babe.”

Cocking his head to the side, he says, “Oh, I’m always ready, but I figured we could go to dinner first, if that’s okay with you. I haven’t eaten anything since I loaded the first plane back in Massachusetts.”

Vicky’s eyes grow as huge as she hands her sweater to him. “You must be famished!”

With a chuckle, he holds her sweater up while she slips into it. “I am. But we’re about to fix that.”

On the way downstairs, William tells her, “Mrs. DuPont will bring macaroons up to us later, so save room for dessert.”

Just then, Mrs. DuPont sees the couple on her way back toward her place. “Oh, you’re leaving?” she says, sounding dismayed.

“Yes,” William says. “We’ll be back a bit later.”

Then Vicky chirps in, “I’ve heard you’ve made us some delicious macaroons!”

Mrs. DuPont’s worry melts away, and a kind smile emerges. “Yes, I have. I can bring them by—tomorrow. Yes, I think tomorrow would work better for me.”

Then she gives a presumptious smirk as the couple passes her toward the car. William flashes a wink over his shoulder at her as he opens Vicky’s door.

They arrived about forty minutes later at L’Elysée sur Mer, a lavish five-star restaurant. The Coq au Vin was nothing less than perfect, served with delicate asparagus spears and completed with a robust Côtes du Rhône. An acoustic ensemble played soft instrumentals in the spacious room with toned-down amber lights.

There couldn’t have been a more perfect time than the one William chose to drop to his knee and withdraw the small black box from his suit coat.

Immediately throwing her hand to her neckline, Vicky gasped, “No, we’re celebrating your graduation—your degree!”

His head bowed toward the box as he lifted it, opening the lid for her to see the contents. “We’re celebrating our life, I hope.” He smiled at her with the warmth and promise any woman hopes to receive at her engagement. “Will you marry me, Victoria Priscilla Kingsley?”

For a split second, she stared at him, stunned.

Then he removed the ring from the box and held it poised in front of her.

Vicky all but leapt into his arms and covered his face and lips with kisses. “Yes, yes,” she said unmistakably, “I will marry you, Dr. William Persius Gibson.”

He gently took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. She stared at its perfection as the waiter appeared with an extra unopened bottle of wine, alongside a sizable piece of raspberry-covered cream cheese and two additional dessert forks.

The night was a blur of magic, even to the point where their car was delivered at the entryway and they loaded in beneath the awning. Rain pattered the streets at an unrelenting pace, reflecting the streetlights on the asphalt.

Music on the stereo played the song they danced to the first night they met, and she gave his hand an extra squeeze, holding their hands in unison beneath the rearview mirror to gawk at the glimmering stone.

The joy escaped her mouth as she exclaimed, “I can’t wait to tell my family. They are going to love—”

From behind her, through the opposite side of the car, William saw the truck, its blinding headlights glaring at him from behind her head, just before the impact.

For the briefest moment, as the car absorbed the and rolled. She witnessed the terror cross his face that she never expected to see.

When the car settled, her head lying against the dashboard, her eyes only softened as they peered straight through him to something beyond.

***

The day promised clarity as the sun shone brightly and birds hopped upon the lawn while William climbed the grassy hill. The Edmonds on his feet squeaked on the green blades of grass as he trudged up the side.

Everyone gathered in a circle, and he should have been there sooner. He wanted to be, but he was having a difficult time even getting out of the limousine that delivered him.

Unable to eat, much less leave his apartment, all he could do was go through the simple motions of being alive until it all came back to him.

The doctors said everything would come back, even happiness, but he failed to see how anything could ever be meaningful again.

The command decision to become one hundred percent involved in his career was the only action he could muster.

But the funeral? That wasn’t a question. They would bury a daughter they'd spent years planning a future for. He would bury the life he had just promised to share with her.

Peering across the sea of people paying their respects, his eyes drift across her mourning family, dressed in customary black clothing. She had her father’s sky-blue eyes and her mother’s slim stature.

To the side of their mother, a woman has her back turned as she whispers something to her. Withdrawing a tissue from her purse, her mother hands it to the other woman, who turns back around to dab her eyes.

Focusing hard, his brows pull tight and his jaw goes slack, his knees nearly giving way as he stumbles. Everyone turns, concerned, to the man who nearly collapsed.

Looking directly at him was his fiancée, standing alongside her mother.

“Vicky?” he sobbed, holding his hand out toward her.

“No, William.” She took his hand and held it between hers. “I’m Adeleine. Vicky was my twin.”

She burst into uncontrollable sobs.

That began another romance.