Epilogue
The ring is burninga hole in my pocket.
We’ve been here for three hours, long enough to catch a decent catfish and a white perch and throw back a cownose ray after the girls had a chance to squeal over it while it swam around the bucket awhile.
I need to do it. The girls are gonna get bored or hungry soon.
We’re alone on the pier except for an older gentleman crabbing with a string and a hunk of ham. The bridge rises above us. Tamblyn says it looks like a brontosaurus with its head dipped down to drink. It’s a fair description.
Fort Armistead has a bad reputation, but I’ve never found it anything but peaceful during a weekday. Angie works twelve-hour shifts, three days a week, now that she’s a CNA, so I’ve been working doubles and taking off Mondays so we can take the girls on day trips. Summers are short, and there’s so many places I want to take the three of them. We haven’t even gotten out on a boat yet this year.
But first things first. I’ve got to propose.
It’s not going to come as a surprise. Angie and I have talked it through, backwards and forwards. She’s big into sharing her thoughts and opinions now. Kind of a course correction from Tyler. I love it. No secrets, no hiding her worries. If something’s bothering her, she tells me, and I fix it. Unless it’s Tyler. There’s no fixing that asshole.
Best we can hope for on that front is that we maintain the status quo. He had to sell the house since he couldn’t keep up with the mortgage on his salary alone. He’s back living with his parents, which is good. We feel better knowing his folks are around to keep an eye on things and make sure the girls are fed.
He’s down to about maybe one sleepover every other month, and an evening here and there. It’s not a lot, but he’s been consistent, and the girls seem cool. He’s also learned to keep his mouth shut during pick up and drop off. I taught him that one the day after I dug up his tree.
Tamblyn’s bobber ducks under the water, and she shrieks. Ivy pops to her feet. The bobber pops back up. The girls hold their breath. It keeps floating. They sigh and groan.
Angie sings, “The one that got away.” She’s been doing that all afternoon, cracking herself up. Happy Angie is the prettiest thing in the world. I need to just do this.
She’s going to say yes. Hell, she’s probably guessed that I’m going to ask today. We picked the ring out together two weeks ago.
I ran the whole thing past the girls, too. They are beyond excited. They want to be flower girls and ride a pony down the aisle. I might have said yes while carried away by the moment. I haven’t shared that detail with Angie yet. Might make it a surprise for the wedding day.
The sun is sinking behind the cranes at Seagirt, and the river water’s turning a deep denim blue. If the Imperial Manila is on schedule, it’s just left port. I’m gonna have to do this thing with the crabber looking on. He might be asleep, sitting on his milk crate. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses, and he hasn’t moved in a while.
Angie sits on the edge of the pier with her legs dangling, her arms resting on the railing. Tamblyn and Ivy are snuggled against her sides. All of them have their hair thrown up in buns. I couldn’t say whose is messier. The evening breeze whips strands from all three heads.
They’re mine. That’s my woman, and those are my girls. I’m gonna be a good dad—to them and whatever babies come in the future. I know how it’s done. I had the best. He taught me everything I know.
I join my little family and say, “Make room.”
Tamblyn wriggles over so I have a space to sit. I swing my legs over the edge, wrapping my arm around Angie’s waist. The girls are wearing the biggest grins. They know what I’m about to do.
“Brandon, did you forget where you put the ring?” Ivy stage-whispers.
“No. I’ve got this,” I say, reaching into my pocket and taking out the diamond solitaire framed with tiny emeralds for Tamblyn and amethysts for Ivy. The girls giggle and clap, squeezing in to get a closer look.
Angie smiles, her eyes meeting mine. I fall—like I have a hundred thousand times before. My nerves disappear.
“Will you marry me, Angie Miller?”
Her smile reaches her ears. “Yes, I will, Brandon Kaczmarek.”
I kiss her, and the girls shriek, hopping up and racing off down the pier, hooting and hollering their excitement. The crabber startles. Guess he was asleep.
I kiss my woman again. This time, like I mean it.
“Is it exactly what you wanted?” I ask her as she holds up her hand, watching the diamond sparkle in the evening sun.
“Exactly,” she says. “Perfect.”
She reaches for me. I take her hand.
We sit there, quiet and content, listening to the girls laugh and play as the shadow of the bridge grows long.
A few minutes before we pack it in to go home, the Imperial Manila sails past on its voyage across the Atlantic. Angie’s eyes are closed, her head resting on my shoulder. If her eyes were open, and if she looked at the right place on the top forward deck, she might recognize a familiar, ass-ugly truck. She wouldn’t be able to see the dirt bike tossed in the bed, but I know it’s there.
I don’t disturb her, though. I preserve her peace and let it sail by.
I’m going to tell her as a first anniversary gift.
Better start thinking now about what I’ll do for the following sixty or seventy.
If you lovedAngie and Brandon’s story, you might also enjoy Charge, the story of a down-on-her-luck single mom and the biker next door.