Coming Home To You. Liesel Schmidt
in that moment when everything in the world still seemed right.
And now nothing was.
Pictures like that become ghosts to haunt us, a sharp and jagged-edged pain that turns random moments in time into torture.
Torture because he was alive in my camera—bright and beaming and hopeful. In real life, though, in real-time, he would never smile like that again.
***
“You ready?” Paul asked, shielding his eyes and squinting into the blindingly bright Florida sunshine.
“Are you?” I returned, sounding slightly edgy in my nervousness.
As many times as I had done this, I never, ever got over the anxiousness I felt as I waited for the send-off. It always wreaked havoc on my bladder, which only seemed to back up my theory that God had a special place in heaven reserved for the makers of port-a-potties and antibacterial hand gel.
Paul leveled his gaze at me, confident. He nodded and grinned.
“Yup. All set.”
He shook out a kink in his neck, loosening up one last time.
“What kind of time are you gonna do it in?” he shouted at me, fighting to be heard above the din around us, all the other people chattering while we waited for this race to start.
“Why does it matter?” I shot back, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the question.
I always did my best, but I was never sure exactly what my best was going to be. I hated to be pigeon-holed, just in case it was a bad morning. Just in case my feet weren’t as swift as I’d like.
“Why? Because I don’t want to marry a slow woman, that’s why!” An impish grin broke out on his flushed face, his blue eyes glowing with excitement.
“What?”
“I said I won’t marry a slow woman!” he shouted again, catching the attention of everyone within earshot.
“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to run a pretty damn good race!” I shrieked, jumping into his arms.
“We’re going to have a ten-second delay for the walkers,” a voice announced loudly through a megaphone, completely unaware of the way my future had just been changed.
“Am I hearing things, or did you just propose?” I stopped gazing into Paul’s eyes long enough to find the source of the question. His friend Sam was staring at us, wide-eyed with mock surprise.
“Seriously, man, it’s about time and all, but I hate to tell you…you just handed me this race!” Sam grinned wickedly as the air horn went off, releasing all the runners from their frenzied state of suspended animation.
“I sincerely doubt that, Fleming!” Paul tossed back, breaking into a run that would have robbed most people of every ounce of energy after only a short sprint.
Sometimes the man truly amazed me.
Actually, the man always truly amazed me.
And for reasons totally eluding me, Paul Benson was truly, deeply, I’ll-be-yours-forever in love with me.
I broke into my own run, trying like hell to concentrate on my breathing, to get my heart rate under control and wipe my mind of everything except this moment and this race. I was so happy, though, it was hard not to have a cloudy head.
I ran hard and strong, my competitive streak taking possession of my brain and my body, erasing every other thought beyond this race. I barely saw the turns and hills, only vaguely noticed the faces of the other people I passed as I sailed through the course and toward the finish line. The familiar landscape and buildings of downtown Pensacola blurred together in a rush, so focused was all my energy on this last sprint.
Victory was going to be mine.
I could taste it, I could smell it, and I could hear it. I neared the chute and the crowds of waiting watchers, people cheering and the announcer calling out names and race numbers as runners crossed the line.
“Go, Zoë, go! Come on, you can do it!” I heard from somewhere to my left.
I knew so many people at these things that identifying the source was nearly impossible.
There was an excited chaos—clapping, cheering, all the normal sounds of a race. And rising from somewhere above the indistinguishable soup of sounds, a group of voices unified and solidified into one.
“Say yes! Say yes!” Over and over it came, thunderous like a battle cry; and soon the small group of voices became innumerable.
I ran through the chute, past the announcer and the overhead electronic clock that seemed to spill each second. The chanting grew louder and louder, and I finally realized what they were saying and who they were saying it to.
It was for me.
I bent forward, leaning on my thighs as I tried to catch my breath. I closed my eyes against the sweat making a hasty trail down my face and breathed deeply, my heart still racing from the exertion and the excitement. When I straightened and opened my eyes, they were filled by the sight of Paul—down on one knee in front of me.
Sweaty, shirtless, and wind-blown, he looked up at me with eyes that seemed to sparkle brighter than I’d ever seen them. He reached into the tiny front key pocket of his running shorts and pulled out a ring, smiling. Expectantly, nervously, unabashedly smiling—like a little boy at Christmas.
My heart was melting and overflowing and exploding all at the same time.
“Zoë Evangeline Trent,” he said, his voice barely audible above all the noise around us. “Will you marry me?”
Maybe I was still trying to catch my breath.
Maybe it was shock that this was truly happening.
But at that moment, I couldn’t even find words. The salt of the sweat I had tried so hard to keep out of my eyes ran together with the salt of tears, and all I could do was reach out and fall into Paul’s waiting arms.
He rose up and held me long and tight—tight enough to leave me breathless.
Finally, I found my breath and my words, and I pulled back to look at him. Everything else melted into a foggy haze as I looked into those cool blue eyes.
“Yes,” I said, nodding as fresh tears pooled and blinded me. “Yes, yes, yes,” I whispered again. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” The words came louder and stronger, and a raucous whoop rose up from the crowd that had gathered around us.
“Now give the woman a kiss, you idiot!” Sam bellowed, pushing his way to the front of the fray.
I smiled at Paul, and he smiled back—his crinkled eyes and crooked grin the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. The kiss that followed was full-bodied and passionate, heady and electric and consuming. One that set my heart on fire and seemed to blaze a trail all the way down to my toes. I could taste the salt on his lips, a remnant of race sweat, as he pulled me tighter and tighter to his chest and lifted me off the ground. The rest of the world washed away, the noise around us muted to a barely audible whisper. It was our moment, our feeling—and the fact that other people were around became an insignificant detail.
I could have stayed like that forever, locked in that embrace and in that