Jack bought the house on impulse from the bank after he'd quit at the hospital, a grand old fixer-upper nowhere near the Bay. The home had become his project, he'd worked for months making it livable, painting and spackling and building.
When Jack had first seen it, the lawn was overgrown, crabgrass warring with the stony pavement. The trees had wound themselves up the pillars near the front door, obscuring the windows in a protective gate of foliage. The realtor led him inside, a bit exasperated.
"Are you sure you even want to look inside? There are so many nicer properties closer to your current home…" The voice faded as Jack approached the center of the foyer. He stood over the circular inlay within the chestnut floors and looked up, eyes traveling up the single staircase, grand in its spiral. The tapestries were worn and dusty at the top of the windows, bunting which was once bright, now threadbare and drab.
But, he saw it, saw it new like it had been, saw it like he saw a sick patient growing well. He heard Kate's footsteps at night, transporting tea like an English courier from the kitchen to where she'd spend hours reading in the sunroom to the left. He heard the creak in the boards as they'd dance, slow and loose and rocking, to Sinatra records in the parlor after dinner. The house was sprawling, spectacular—and in total disarray.
"I want it," Jack affirmed, turning around to the realtor as the reverie faded. "How much?"
With little negotiation, Jack received the keys, smooth in his palm. It would take time, effort, and care, but it would be a legitimate labor of love. He'd missed the mindlessness of manual labor from the Island, the clarity that came with exhaustion. He refused to hire contractors at any step of the way.
And, for nearly eight weeks, Jack would return home at late night to Kate with scrapes and bruises, panting but elated. She would scrub the paint from his shoulders in the bath, buffing away the sawdust and sweat as he relaxed into her skin and the water. He slept quickly those nights. Not long after he wriggled under the duvet he was lost, lulled away by Kate's breathing and the crickets outside.
Like clockwork, he'd rise at 6 and repeat, coffee then a trip to the hardware yard or furniture store, only to continue his work. It was fulfilling.
When it was finished, Jack drove Kate over in the Bronco, strapped in and blindfolded.
"Just wait," he promised, "it's worth it." She smiled and reached for his hand over the console.
The tires crunched over the gravel driveway just a few minutes later. "Stay, I'll get you out." Jack nearly jumped from the driver's seat, wild to get her inside. He led her slowly up the walkway, gently paved with shale stones and lined with singing peonies and succulents.
"One step." Jack instructed her, hands firmly around her waist. Her blind, teetering steps were unsure, endearing. Jack placed her hand on the knob, and guided the twist. Before slipping her blindfold off, he spoke, directly into her ear, "Welcome home, Kate."
Home took the breath from her. It was more than anything she'd ever seen. More color, more comfort, more—hers. She felt welcomed by the place, as if it was inviting her in. Candles were lofted high on the wall in sconces: lavender, bergamot, vanilla. Iron picture frames lined the end tables and the walls, constant reminders of their happiness. Bookcases replaced wallpaper, full t bursting with titles. The archways led into one another, halls with rooms that seemed never to end. The house would take time to give its full self, all of its secrets.
She walked to the staircase and traced her fingertips across the polished wood, craned her neck to the second floor landing. It was plush, all somehow—familiar.
"Well?" The look of wondrous contentment on Kate's face as she turned to face him said more than she could, but she did her best to respond.
"This is…incredible. You did all of this?"
Jack nodded, happy with his decision to force her to wait until the very end. Happy with the hours spent on hands and knees and debating with a designer over scents and hues. "For you. For us. So we can have a home."
Moved, Kate took Jack's hands in hers and squeezed, feeling the callouses he'd formed over hammer handles and power tools. With that, she rocked onto her tiptoes and kissed him, fast at first but slowing as she realized something Jack had been trying to tell her since they'd really gotten together: there was no rush, this was forever. They were safe and away, free from the forces of the Island or anything else. Jack was her home, not these four walls, no matter how ornate. All she needed was his warmth and his heartbeat and the sweetened rasp of his voice.
"Thank you, Jack" she said, overcome and nearly silent. It sparked a smile that shocked over his face. She kissed it away, and then back again.