She walks to the bedroom, and I wait. The trip to Paris is only one of the gifts I got for her.
“Lachlan, how strange! I think the cleaners left a pair of handcuffs on the bed?”
I grin. She’s adorable.
She comes out with flushed cheeks and a small gift bag.
“Here,” she says. “Open it.”
I do. It’s a picture of the two of us, our arms wrapped around each other on the cliffs of Ballyhock. You can see the sea behind us, churning and white-capped, and billowy white clouds. I’m standing behind her, my arms wrapped around her, and her head is nestled on my shoulder.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, strangely moved by the simple picture that captures the two of us so perfectly.
“It’s symbolic, you see,” she says with a smile. I saw it and I just… I just saw us. See?” She points to the sea. “The tumultuous waves behind us.” She points to our feet on the cliff. “Firm footing beneath us. Your arms are around me, and you’re holding onto me, but I’m leaning on you.” Her voice drops. “And there… right there in the background, if you squint your eyes, you can see the colors of a rainbow.”
“I love it,” I say, gathering her to me and kissing her freckled cheeks until she giggles. “And I love you.”
She rests her head on my chest. “I love you, too, Lachlan. Thank you. Thank you for giving me a home.” My chest squeezes. “I’ve one more thing to show you.”
She fingers the little locket at her neck, opens it, and I peer down to see. On the opposite side of the picture of her as a child she’s put a smaller version of the picture she’s framed.
“And now,” she says with a smile. “The locket’s complete. Just like me.”