IV. Couldn't put Humpty together again

All in all, she was really quite pleased with how her Saturday evening was shaping up. It would have bored Brittany to tears, she was sure, but it suited Jeanette perfectly--curling up against Simon on the couch in her apartment and relaxing against the soft warmth of his torso, all while reading the book in her lap and drinking the cup of tea resting on the coffee table. For his part, Simon sat grading exams from his introductory level class and occasionally taking a sip from his coffee.

Though neither had spoken within the last half hour, if not longer, it didn't feel awkward to her. It just felt … quiet. Comfortable. Intimate. Sighing happily, Jeanette nestled her head against Simon's shoulder and glanced up at her significant other.

A slight smile graced his lips. He reached over and began running his fingers through her hair, absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving the papers he was grading. His fingers moved slowly and gently, a feather's touch. Jeanette shivered.

"Cold?"

She shook her head. "N-no."

"I could fetch a blanket, you know, or a sweater …"

It didn't escape her notice that he hadn't including "turning up the thermostat" as an option. His excessive, cheapskate frugality never ceased to amaze her. For goodness' sake, he'd made millions back when he was singing! Usually this particular character trait of Simon's annoyed her to no end, but tonight Jeanette simply found it quirky and endearing.

And that's when she knew. This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for all week. The perfect time, the perfect situation, to just open her mouth and ask him.

"Simon …"

He made a few slashing marks with his red pen, then murmured distractedly in reply, "Hmm?"

Stay, she silently pleaded. Slowly she opened her mouth. Stay like this with me.

Then she closed her mouth again. Even after all these decades, even at forty years old, she simply didn't have the courage. She reached down and shut her notebook with a brisk snap, angry with herself. And, unfairly, slightly angry at him too, for not being able to magically read her mind.

"Jean?"

She glanced back up to find that he was looking down at her, the exams now forgotten, with a slight frown marring his features. A frown of worry and concern. Of love. He didn't say the words very often, for whatever his reasons, but he was constantly telling her that he loved her in a myriad other ways. Precisely as he was doing right now.

Almost before she realized she was going to do it, Jeanette blurted out, "Stay."

His frown deepened into one of confusion. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere. Besides which, there's still half a class worth's of exams to grade."

"No, Simon." She swallowed thickly and, after a moment to steel herself, met his gaze straight-on. Hoping her eyes would say what she couldn't seem to, she added softly, "I mean … stay."

Stay with me.

His frown slowly faded, and his eyes widened. It took all of her willpower not to look away. She watched Simon swallow, once, twice, as he processed what she was saying. His breathing grew rapid and shallow, and Jeanette knew that he understood perfectly what she was asking.

Stay like this.

He'd always known her so much better than anyone realized. Better than anyone gave him credit for. Sometimes, he almost knew her better than she knew herself.

Stay for good. Stay forever.

That knowledge of her that he had--that unspoken power--used to scare her. But it didn't now. Not anymore. Now, the only thing she feared from Simon was the threat of his absence.

"Yes," he whispered finally, in a voice rough with held-back emotion. "Yes, of course."

--

The tie wasn't the problem. He was used to bow-ties. He, in fact, wore bow-ties fairly frequently when lecturing in the classroom. So it wasn't the tie that was causing him to sweat and fidget and just generally despise the entire concept of the tuxedo.

No. It was the cummerbund.

Simon Seville stared down at his waist and scowled. After giving the offending article of clothing an annoyed and vicious tug, he glanced back up only to see his brother's thoughtful eyes upon him.

Theodore favored him with a small, gentle smile. "Are you nervous?"

"No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous, Theodore."

Nodding, the younger chipmunk seemed to ponder that answer for a few moment before asking, "Are you fibbing?"

He sighed in defeat. "Yes."

"As your best man, I feel I should point out that everything is going to be fine." Theo's smile brightened. "This whole wedding has been a long time coming, after all."

"Even so. What if … what if she--"

"She won't."

"But what if I--"

"You won't, Simon. I promise."

Tilting his head, squinting slightly, he marveled at his younger brother's hidden powers of perception. "Am I really that predictable?"

Theodore chuckled. "Big brother, I could set my watch by you. And then use it to time boiled eggs. Right down to the millisecond."

Simon chuckled too and found himself relaxing a bit in the warm comfort of Theo's confidence. Then, noticing Theodore suddenly snap to attention, he whirled around--and gasped.

Jeanette stood at the opposite end of the church, smiling nervously, wearing a long flowing dress and spring flowers in her hair. Alvin stood beside her, proud and preening, obviously enjoying being the center of attention. Even if that attention was only because he'd been given the honor of walking the bride down the aisle.

But Simon only had eyes for Jeanette. His Jeanette. His heart, his life, his world--and in about twenty minutes, give or take, depending on how much grandstanding Alvin felt it necessary to engage in, Simon's wife.

--

Right around age fifty, after having spent a little more than a decade establishing her credentials as a serious writer of serious books, Jeanette Seville-Miller decided to stop caring what the critics said and start writing for herself. Brittany clucked disapprovingly, as could be expected, while Eleanor just smiled and said the change was overdue. Simon--ever indifferent to things that did not directly and negatively impact his loved ones or his work--simply told her that he was happy if she was happy.

And, in fact, she was very happy. She began writing children's books, and she was happy.

What won her a Newberry, however, wasn't a book but a children's poem. Over dozens of pages, in long, languid stanzas, Jeanette unfurled the story of a very large stone in a river.

For years, the stone and the river stood separate, distinct, alone. The river rushed wildly past, a bit dizzy and more than a bit helter-skelter. The river missed seeing much of the beautiful woods that surrounded it on both banks, because it just let itself be carried along and never much cared for where. The stone, meanwhile, remained firmly and stubbornly in its place. It never saw very much of the woods, either, simply because it never went anywhere.

Then something strange began to happen. The river's water, lapping steadily, hour after hour, day after day, began breaking off tiny bits of the stone. Fine as grains of sand, the stone's pieces got caught up in the river's rapids. These pieces floated cheerfully along, seeing parts of the woods they had never seen.

Slowly and over time, more and more of the stone wore away, and the river's bed began to fill up. Something else strange happened then. The river slowed down. Only slightly, at first, and almost imperceptibly. But increasingly, as the days went by, the river noticed more and more details in the woods because it was not rushing by quite so fast. No longer was the river strictly beholden to the whims of the water's currents and eddies.

Yet more time passed, as time is wont to do. Eventually the large stone eroded entirely away, and the river stopped flowing because it had become completely filled with the stone's silt. What remained was neither stone nor river but something else entirely--a very rich, moist soil. The river and the stone were sad for a time, because they were no longer moving and could no longer see all of the beautiful woods as they had before.

Their sadness was not long-lived, however. Flowers quickly bloomed in their fertile soil and, within a hundred years, giant trees had grown up to tower protectively over those flowers. The stone and the river rejoiced in the green life all around them. They were not sad about missing the woods, and for very good reason.

They were the woods.

And neither could have become such without the other.

--
Author's Notes: For anyone who might still be following this story, my apologies for how long this last chapter took to post. Real life and its obligations intervened, etc, etc, excuses, excuses. Thanks very much to those who have been reading, however! I hope this ending satisfies.