Chapter 11

 Chapter Eleven:  I See You, I Really Do

Life In Color

Mid-fall didn’t arrive in North Carolina like a calendar page turning.   It arrived like a revelation.  The morning had started the way their mornings always started now—like clockwork, like comfort, like a rhythm they’d built with their own hands and then somehow come to rely on as if it had always existed.  Mark came in from Wawa with coffee and that familiar “handled” energy—the kind that always made her feel like the day could be managed, whatever it held. He set her cup down carefully in front of her laptop.  Kimmy looked up from her screen, eyes soft. “Thanks, honey,” she said, but it wasn’t just gratitude—it was them in two words, the easy shorthand of a life shared.  Mark leaned down and kissed the top of her head. He loved the way she smelled in the morning—clean, warm, a hint of shampoo and whatever the air outside carried in with her when she opened the door at dawn. He loved the way she always wore “the shirt” like a flag.

Her shirt.

His chest tightened a little at the thought. I can’t believe this is real.  

Kimmy watched him leave the kitchen with the corner of her eye, the way she always did—like part of her was still amazed that he was here. My husband, she thought, and the word still made something in her brighten, like a lamp turning on.  

Mark stepped out onto the porch with his laptop under one arm, the screen angled down, the other hand still holding his own coffee cup. The air was cool but not cold. Clean. A little damp. That kind of fall morning that feels like the whole world got rinsed overnight.  He settled into his chair and opened the laptop, already thinking about the horse entries he’d glanced at earlier, already hearing Allan’s voice from their ten-minute Wawa chat—So what’s the plan for Saturday? You playing the late races?—already smiling at the idea of telling him later.

Then he looked up.

And something hit him so hard it almost felt physical.

The trees.

They were… different. Not different in a subtle “oh, the seasons” kind of way. Different like someone had flipped a switch. Like the whole hillside beyond their yard had exploded into color—reds that looked lit from within, oranges like embers, golds so bright they seemed to shimmer even under cloud cover.  Mark just stared.  A beat passed.  Then, aloud, with genuine awe—the same awe Kimmy had brought to mountains and glaciers and whale breaches—Mark said, “OH wow.”  He didn’t move. Didn’t sip his coffee. Didn’t even blink for a second.  Then his voice rose, urgent but joyful.

“Honey—come here. COME HERE.”

Inside, Kimmy’s chair scraped back. She appeared in the doorway like a shot, heart already jumping.  “What’s wrong, baby?” she asked—because that was the rule now. If Mark called her like that, something mattered.  But then she saw him.  Not panicked. Not tense. Just… transfixed.  She followed his gaze, stepped out beside him, and the smile that spread across her face was immediate and knowing.  “Oh,” she breathed, and her voice softened into something almost fond. She slipped her arm around his shoulders. “I forget you’ve been in Florida every fall until now.”

Mark still couldn’t stop staring. “It’s like… I don’t know. Like it happened overnight.”

Kimmy leaned into him, cheek brushing his temple. “It kind of does,” she said. “It’s like the trees wait until they’re sure you’re looking.”  Mark finally turned his head and looked at her.  And she saw it—the expression she knew so well. The one that always came with a long pause and a squeeze of the hand and a look that wasn’t just looking.  It was the look that said: You are the thing I didn’t know I needed.

They didn’t say it out loud, because they didn’t have to.

Kimmy’s chest warmed. He’s seeing what I’ve always seen. He’s here. He’s really here.

Mark’s throat tightened. How did I get this life?

He lifted his free hand and brushed his thumb across her knuckles where her wedding band sat, then her engagement ring flashed—small movement, massive meaning.  Kimmy thought, We’re married. We’re really married.

Mark thought, My wife.

Out loud, he just said, “This is… incredible.”

Kimmy kissed his cheek. “You’re incredible.”

He huffed a soft laugh, because she always did that—always turned the wonder back on him.  The next couple of weeks rolled by in a kind of bright blur.  Not because anything huge happened—quite the opposite.  It was the normal life that made it feel so rich.  Grocery runs where they debated apples versus pears like it mattered.  Dinners on the porch where Kimmy talked about her students and Mark pretended to be offended when she called him “Coach Love” like she hadn’t earned the right to say it a hundred times.  

Kimmy working in “class,” laptop open, the Mickey-and-Minnie figurine sitting beside it like a little landmark of everything they’d built.  Mark playing a few races online, sharing his screen with her, letting her pick a horse based on the name alone and grinning when her pick placed.  And every morning: Wawa. Coffee. That small ten-minute chat with Allan that had become its own quiet ritual.  

Then, one morning, the routine cracked.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

Just… wrong.

Mark walked out to the porch after setting Kimmy’s coffee down, just like always. He sat, opened the laptop, clicked through a site, stared at the screen—

—and frowned.

He leaned forward.  Tilted his head.  Rubbed his eyes like maybe he was still half asleep.  He blinked hard, then again.  The text looked… off. Like a smudge. Like his glasses were dirty—but he wasn’t wearing glasses.  He sat back, puzzled, and called into the house, trying to keep his voice casual.  “Kimmy? Can you come here a minute?”  She appeared a moment later with a smile already on her face. “You find a horse with my name in it again?” she teased, because she loved pretending she didn’t like his racing world even though she did.  Mark looked up at her—half anxious, half uncertain. “Look at my laptop. Is the screen messed up? Kind of blurry?”  Kimmy leaned in from his left side, close enough that her hair brushed his shoulder. She studied the screen for a second. “Looks good to me, honey.”

Mark exhaled, relieved. “Oh,” he said softly. “It does.”

Kimmy straightened.

And the blur returned.  Mark’s brow furrowed again. He lifted his hand, covered one eye—then the other.  Kimmy watched him, amusement fading as her stomach tightened.  “Baby?” she said carefully. “What… what are you doing?”

Mark’s voice lowered like he didn’t want to make it real by saying it too loud. “This can’t be good,” he muttered. Then he tried to explain, searching for the right comparison. “When I cover the left eye—crystal clear. When I’m looking with just the left…” He swallowed. “It’s like… like there’s a smudge on a lens. Like I can’t… focus it.”  Kimmy didn’t hesitate. She set her hand on his shoulder. “Okay,” she said, calm but not pretending. “I’m getting you an eye appointment.”

Mark looked up, that look again—but not the tender one. This one had a flicker of something else in it.

Fear.

Two days later, they were in the car coming home from the specialist.  Kimmy drove. Mark sat in the passenger seat looking out the window like the scenery might give him a different answer if he stared hard enough.  The sky was gray. The trees still blazed with color, but now Mark wasn’t reacting to them the way he had been. Kimmy noticed. It made her heart ache.  She tried to keep her voice light, careful. “So… I’ve never heard of macular degeneration. Have you?”

“No,” Mark said. One word. Flat.

Kimmy gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “But it’s good that they can treat it, right? I mean, the doctor said five years ago you’d lose your eyesight. Now they can treat it. That’s… that’s a good thing, isn’t it, honey?”  Mark let out a humorless breath. Then he turned his head slightly, eyes still on the passing trees. “If getting a needle stuck in your eye is a good thing…”

Kimmy winced. “But better than losing your vision.”

Mark’s mouth tightened. “Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s a small plus.”

Kimmy swallowed the rest of what she wanted to say. She wanted to talk him through it. She wanted to build a plan. She wanted to fix it the way she fixed everything—by shining light on it.  She tried again, softer. “I think that—”

Mark’s voice cut in, not harsh but firm. “Honey… can we not talk about it right now?”

Kimmy’s throat tightened. She glanced at him, saw the way his jaw was set, the way his shoulders looked just a little too rigid.  “Oh,” she said, trying to hide the sting. “Sure, baby.”  She kept driving.  But her mind wouldn’t stop.

He’s scared.  He shouldn’t be.  It’s going to be okay.  It is… right?

Mark’s mind was quieter, but heavier.  Is this the start of never-ending appointments?

Needles. Drops. Specialists. Waiting rooms.  I didn’t see this coming.  I didn’t… plan for this.  And under all of it, the thought he didn’t want to name because naming it gave it teeth:

I’m older.  Maybe it matters.

The driveway came into view. Their home. Their porch. The creek line of trees beyond.  Kimmy turned in, parked, shut off the engine.  For a beat, neither of them moved.  Mark stared out through the windshield as if he was trying to memorize the exact look of the world.  Kimmy looked at him, worried now in a way she couldn’t mask.  She wanted to reach across the console and pull his face toward hers and say, Look at me. Look at me. We are okay.  But she didn’t.  Not yet.  Because the truth was: she wasn’t fully sure how to say it in a way he could hear.  They got out of the car. Walked inside. Went back into the life they loved.

But something had shifted.

A shadow, small but real, had edged into their bright, colorful fall.  And as they stepped into the house, both of them—quietly, separately—held the same thought in two different forms:

Kimmy: Our life is too good to be ruined by this.

Mark: Please don’t let this change everything.

The door closed behind them.  And the porch light, later that night, would still glow.  But for the first time in a long time, it would feel like it was holding space for something unresolved.

Reaching Out… Touching You… Touching Me

The soft clink of the coffee cup on the table had become part of Kimmy’s internal clock.

Wawa coffee. Morning porch. Mark settling into the day.  She noticed it even as she finished the last line of an email, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The screen dimmed as she closed the laptop, pulled on her pickleball skirt, and slipped her shoes on with the practiced ease of routine.  When she stepped onto the porch a half hour later, ready to announce she was heading out, something stopped her.  Mark sat near the far end, elbows resting on his knees, staring toward the creek and the stand of trees beyond it. The October sky hung low and gray, the kind of day that pressed everything inward. His Dan Brown book lay closed across his lap—not abandoned, but forgotten.  Her steps slowed without her meaning them to.  

“Hey,” she said gently, coming up behind him. “I’m heading to pickleball with Sally. Okay?”  He turned his head just enough to offer a half-smile. “Have fun, honey.”  The words were right. The tone wasn’t.

Sally pulled into the parking lot just as Kimmy waved her down. Instead of heading for the courts, Kimmy gestured toward a bench near the edge of the lot.  “Can we sit for a minute?” she asked.  Sally studied her face. “Sure. What’s wrong, honey? You and Mark have a spat?”  Kimmy shook her head, but her eyes were already misting. “No. It’s… it’s the eye thing. It’s really bothering him. And I don’t know what to do.”   The words tumbled out then—everything. The blurry screen. The doctor. The silence. The way Mark had started holding pieces of himself just a little farther away.  “I’ve never known him to pull back like this,” Kimmy finished softly. “He’s always been there for me. I want to be there for him… and I don’t know how.”  Sally listened without interrupting, her expression steady and thoughtful. When Kimmy finally stopped, Sally reached over and squeezed her hand.

“It’s simple,” she said gently. “Not easy. But simple. Let him know you’re there. That you see him. And that he can still see you. Convince him—without words if you can—that this doesn’t change what you are to each other.”  Kimmy swallowed.  “You two will get through this,” Sally added with a small smile. “You’re the happiest couple we know.”

Kimmy drove home quieter than she’d left, her mind turning, shaping courage into resolve.

Mark remained on the porch when she returned, still wrapped in his thoughts.  I need to get past this, he told himself. I can cope. I just don’t want to burden her.  The door opened behind him.  Brave face, he thought. You can do this.  He felt her hand settle on his shoulder.  “Have fun?” he asked, keeping his voice light.  “I did,” she said. Then came that familiar pause—the deep intake of breath he knew so well. The one that meant Kimmy was about to step into something that mattered.

“Mark…” she began softly. “I know this worries you. But there’s something you need to know. Something I want you to know.”

“It’s okay, honey,” he said quietly, still facing forward. “I’m okay.”

“No,” she replied, just as quietly. “You’re not. And that’s okay too.”

Her voice didn’t waver.  “I chose you,” she said. “Not for Christmas presents. Not for snowy walks or river sunsets or glaciers in Alaska. I chose you. I want you.”

His chest tightened.  I don’t want to disappoint her, he thought.  Then her hands left his shoulders.  A heartbeat passed.  “Mark,” she said, steady now. “Look at me. I want you to see me.”  He didn’t move.

“LOOK AT ME.”

He turned.  And his heart stopped.  Kimmy stood there in the shirt—his shirt—unbuttoned but hanging loose on her frame, oversized enough to reveal nothing except the smallest glimpse of her belly. Not provocative. Not exposed. Just… her. Brave.  Present. Choosing him.  The realization hit him like a wave.

We can do this.

“I see you, baby,” he whispered. “I really do.”

She took his hand. “Come with me.”

Later, she lay with her head on his chest, his arm around her, the world finally quiet again.  “For most people,” he murmured, fingers brushing her hair, “most things in life don’t work out. But I found you. And you found me.”  Tears slipped silently down her cheek. “I was so afraid of losing you,” she said. “But that can’t happen. I won’t let it.”  He kissed the top of her head, breathing her in.  “Thank you,” he whispered. “You saved me. We’re good. We’ll get through this… because I see you.”  She shifted closer.

“And I’ll always see you,” he promised.  The porch light glowed softly behind them as the world settled back into place.

Knowing You, Knowing Me… Uh Huh

The next morning felt different.  Not brighter. Not lighter.  Just steadier.  Mark pulled into Wawa out of habit, but the habit felt newly claimed, like he was choosing it again instead of drifting through it. Allan’s truck was already there, angled the same way it always was, like it belonged.  They stood near the hood, steam rising from their coffee cups in the cool fall air.

“Allan,” Mark said, not easing into it, “I’ve got something going on.”  Allan listened. Really listened. No jokes. No interruptions. Just nods and a tightening jaw when Mark mentioned the diagnosis.  “That sucks, dude,” Allan finally said, then took a breath. “But you can do this. You’re not alone. And… Sally told me.”

Mark blinked. “She did?”

“She worries about Kimmy. Which means she worries about you.” He smirked softly. “You married into a team.”

Mark exhaled. “Yeah. I did.”

They stood there a moment longer before Mark said, “You guys coming over Saturday? Dinner.”  Allan grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

When Mark came home, coffee in hand, the house was quiet in that mid-morning way that meant Kimmy was still easing into her day. He set the cup down by her laptop, careful not to jostle anything, then wandered into the bedroom they’d renovated together.  That’s when he saw it.  The journal.  The one he’d given her last Christmas, its pages now thickened with writing, corners softened, the spine worn in a way that made his chest ache a little.  He picked it up, flipping through just enough to know it mattered.

“Mark…?” her voice called from the porch. “Mark… where are you, sweetie?”

He stepped out, journal in hand.  Her face lit instantly. “You found it.”  “I did,” he said. “And I was thinking… tonight, we add to it. Together. Things we still want to do. Not someday. Now.”

Her smile deepened into something warmer. “I like that.”  That evening, they sat on the porch with wine, the journal open between them.  “College football game,” Kimmy said first, grinning as she wrote it down.  “Panthers game,” Mark added.  “Florida Derby,” she said, eyes sparkling.  “Oh,” Mark said casually, “I invited Allan and Sally over Saturday.”  Kimmy paused, then snapped her fingers. “Wait. Wait. What if—what if we plan the European river cruise. This summer. On the Rhine. And do it with them?”  

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re serious?”

She nodded. “Why wait?”

Mark reached for his laptop. “I’ll start looking.”

Friday afternoon found Kimmy on break from virtual school, chili simmering, the air rich and comforting. She set the bowls down on the porch table.  “Soup’s on.”  Mark smiled, then noticed the look.  “You’re doing it again,” he said gently.  “What am I doing?” she asked, feigning innocence.  “That look. The ‘oh please can we look’ look. And the other one.” He leaned closer. “The one where you’ve already decided something.” She laughed, slid her chair closer, and took his hands.  “I’ve been thinking,” she said softly. “And you’re responsible.”  “Whoa,” he said, mock alarmed. “What did I do?”  She glanced down, breathed, then looked up with quiet resolve. “You said in Vancouver…”

Mark’s heart leapt. She’s retiring.

“Oh yes,” he blurted. “My answer is yes.”

“Wait — I’m not done,” she laughed. “But… yes. I can retire at the semester. Seventy percent pension. With the savings — especially from the house — we’re good.”  She met his eyes, steady and sure. “All day. Every day. Just us. What do you think?”  Mark didn’t answer with words. He stood, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her slowly — the kind of kiss that said thank you before it said I love you.

“I love you so much,” he whispered. “But don’t do this for me.”  She pressed her forehead to his. “It’s not for you. It’s for us. Always us.”  They stayed there, wrapped together, the journal open on the table, wine forgotten, the future quietly unfolding.

Dinner With Friends

The house felt alive in that familiar way it always did when company was coming.  Mark moved from room to room with purpose, straightening throw pillows that didn’t need straightening, nudging chairs into perfect alignment, checking the porch lights even though he’d checked them ten minutes earlier. He paused once, hands on his hips, scanning the room like a coach surveying the field.  Kimmy watched him from the kitchen, smiling to herself as she stirred the spaghetti sauce.  “They should be here soon,” she said lightly. “I think we’re ready.”  Mark turned, nodded once, then reached over and adjusted a napkin that was already perfectly placed.  “Yeah,” he said. “Ready.”

The knock on the door came right on cue.  Before Mark could even reach the handle, laughter burst through the wood. He opened the door to find Allan and Sally mid-joke, already grinning like they’d walked into exactly the right place.  “Well,” Allan said, stepping inside and clapping his hands together, “we get the message. We’re here to be sold on a cruise tonight.”

Mark and Kimmy exchanged a perfectly timed look of mock innocence.

“What?” Kimmy said, wide-eyed.

“Cruise?” Mark echoed. “Who said anything about a cruise?”

Sally laughed as she hugged Kimmy. “Oh, please.”

They all moved easily into the house, the way close friends do — no awkwardness, no settling-in period. Mark wore a burgundy Viking polo with khakis, casual but deliberate. Kimmy’s khaki skirt and wine-red button-down mirrored him without trying to, the kind of coordination that happened naturally now.  Dinner began with the easy rhythm of shared history.  “So,” Sally said once everyone was seated, her tone gentle but direct, “how’s the eye?”  Mark didn’t hesitate. “Going great. Had a shot today. They’re optimistic — all good.”

Sally’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. I’m really glad.”

From there, the conversation flowed — teasing, laughter, stories that overlapped and interrupted each other the way good ones always do. Allan ribbed Mark about his “Coach Love” tendencies. Kimmy and Sally laughed about pickleball rivalries. The room hummed with warmth, the kind that didn’t need effort. After dinner, Kimmy stood and clapped her hands once.  “Okay. Porch time. I’ve got the fire going.” Outside, the air had that unmistakable fall crispness — cool enough to make the flames feel indulgent, warm enough to linger. They settled into their chairs with glasses of wine: white for Mark and Sally, red for Kimmy and Allan. The fire crackled softly, punctuating the night.

Allan leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  “Alright,” he said. “Let’s talk cruises. Give us the outline.”  Sally turned to Mark. “You’ve done one before, right?”  Mark nodded. “A few years back. And honestly? The highlight isn’t just one thing. It’s the day you float through the Rhine River Valley — castles everywhere, old stone walls rising right out of the hills. You stop in these towns that feel like they belong in another century.”  Kimmy leaned in, eyes bright. “And that’s not even the best part.”  

Allan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Mark smiled. “The best part is it’s the least expensive of Viking’s offerings.”

Kimmy grinned. “And — we talked to our travel agent today.”  Sally sat up straighter.  “We have two rooms on hold,” Kimmy continued, “for forty-eight hours. No cost. No pressure. Ball’s in your court.”  Allan and Sally looked at each other, excitement flickering between them — that familiar glance couples share when they’re imagining something new together.  “It sounds… really good,” Allan said finally.  “Yeah,” Sally agreed. “We’ll talk tonight and let you know by tomorrow.”

Later, the house quieted again.  In the bedroom, Kimmy stood at the mirror in the shirt, already half-ready for bed. From the bathroom, Mark’s voice floated out.  “Think they’ll go?”

“I’m hopeful,” Kimmy called back.  Mark stepped out then — arms extended — wearing a red long-sleeve Viking t-shirt, unmistakably intentional.  Kimmy doubled over laughing, hands on her knees.  “Oh my God,” she said between breaths. “You won’t stop — even when they’re not here!”  Mark laughed as he flipped off the light and climbed into bed. Kimmy took her place instantly, curling into him, her hand settling over his heart like it belonged there.  “That was fun tonight,” Mark said softly. “Great friends. And seeing you with Sally — you’ve gotten so close. It was a really good night.”

He kissed the top of her head.

Kimmy smiled against his chest. “Love you, honey.”

The fire crackled one last time outside.