Epilogue
Ava
Four days before my July third wedding, I get home early after work—my last day for two weeks. Miles, Trevor and Carlos threw a shower for me this afternoon that involved far too much champagne. I’m a little buzzed and super excited for the festivities to begin.
Work has been insane since the family group settled with the government.
Numerous officials were forced to acknowledge that they could’ve done more to possibly thwart the attack, which was the primary goal of the lawsuit.
The two hundred million in damages they were awarded is almost beside the point to the families.
I moved in with Eric in May—the same week Sky moved in with Miles—but Eric’s loft felt like home long before I officially moved in.
I’m stronger now than I was a few months ago.
I’ve been amazed by how freeing it is to not have to wonder about John anymore.
A thousand-pound weight has been lifted off me now that I know he’s safe and on the road to a full recovery.
I still think of him frequently and hope he’s doing well, but my heart and mind are no longer held prisoner by a past I had no control over.
My heart and mind are fully engrossed in Eric, our wedding and our upcoming honeymoon to Spain and the Canary Islands.
As Jessica predicted, it didn’t happen overnight, but as the weeks went by, I found myself thinking less and less about the things John said to me in that hotel room.
I’m not haunted anymore by his parting words.
I’ve successfully moved on by reminding myself over and over again that as much as I once loved him, he is not my responsibility.
My phone rings with a call from a number I don’t recognize. I almost ignore it, but because of the new frenzy of media attention for the family group since the lawsuit was settled, I take the call. “Ava Lucas.”
“This is Lieutenant Commander David Muncie. We met a few months ago…”
“Yes, I remember.” As if I could ever forget. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I wasn’t sure who else to call. Captain West doesn’t really have anyone else.”
My heart sinks along with the rest of me when I sit on the sofa. “What’s wrong?” Not my responsibility. Not my responsibility. Not my responsibility.
“He’s given up on his PT. He won’t talk to anyone, and most days he doesn’t get out of bed. He refused to do the 60 Minutes interview. He’s in a bad way.”
I wondered why the interview he’d told me about never aired. But I can’t hear this four days before my wedding. I just can’t. “What does that have to do with me?” Not my responsibility.
“I wondered if you might be willing to give him a call. It might help if he heard from you.”
Not my responsibility. “I… I’m getting married. In four days.”
“I’m so sorry. Never mind. We’ll figure something out on our end.”
“Wait…” My mind races when I contemplate the implications of talking to John again, especially right now.
He’s not my responsibility, but how am I supposed to hear that he’s in a bad way and do nothing?
“You really think it would help if I call him?” I wish Eric was here to tell me what he thinks I should do.
“I really do, or I wouldn’t ask. He hasn’t been the same since he saw you.”
My eyes burn with tears, and I’m scared—truly terrified of a setback after I’ve worked so hard to get to a good place. “I’ll call him. When would be a good time?”
“What’re you doing now? I’m at the hospital and could encourage him to take the call. He’s been so overwhelmed with media and other inquiries that he’s stopped answering his phone.”
I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing or not, but I can’t take the time to think it all the way through. “Now is good.”
“You have the number?”
“Yes.” I get up to retrieve the paper John gave from my wallet where I put it after I saw him. All this time, I’ve known it was there, but I’ve never touched it.
“Give me five minutes,” Muncie says.
“All right.”
The line goes dead, and I return to the sofa, where I sit staring at my phone for five of the longest minutes of my life.
Then I punch in the number and listen to it ring twice before Muncie picks up.
“Please hold for Captain West.” In the background, I hear arguing.
I hear Muncie say, “Take the goddamned call.”
“What?” John growls.
“It’s me. Ava.”
“Ava?” He sounds like a little boy on Christmas, and my heart aches for him and for me and for everything we once were to each other.
I force myself to stay focused on the purpose of this call. “I hear you’re giving everyone a hard time.”
“Ava…” A world of agony is conveyed in the way he says my name.
Fighting the emotional overload, I focus on the purpose of this call. “John, listen to me. You have to do what the doctors tell you so you can get better and get out of there. Don’t you want to get out of there?” The question is met with silence. “John?”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t you want to get out of there?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then you have to do what they tell you to. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. I can do it.”
“Are you saying what I want to hear so I’ll leave you alone?”
“I don’t want you to leave me alone. I spent six years trying to get back to you. The last thing I want is for you to leave me alone.”
Maybe I played this all wrong. Maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. “If I call you once in a while to check on you, will you get out of bed and go to therapy?”
“You’ll really call me?”
“Only if you do what you’re told.”
“I’ll do it.”
“This doesn’t mean… I’m still getting married. In four days, actually.”
“I know. I saw the thing in the paper.”
Oh God, the Vows column. He saw it. “I want you to be okay.”
“Everyone wants something from me since they released my name. I don’t know how to handle it all. The press… They’re relentless. I’ve even had endorsement offers. I keep thinking you’d know what to do.”
“Do you want me to find someone who can help you manage that?” I think immediately of Jules. It can’t be FergusonMain. It just can’t.
“Would you? That would be great.”
“I’ll have someone call you from New York next week. You’ll take the call?”
“I’ll take the call.”
“I have things of yours. Do you want me to send them to you?”
“Could I get with you about that when I get out of here and figure out where I’m going?”
“Sure.”
“Ava…”
“What?”
“You’re happy with him? Really happy?”
My life with Eric runs through my mind like the best movie I’ve ever seen. “I really am.”
“Okay,” he says with a sigh.
“Be well, John.”
“Be happy, Ava.”
I press the End button and wipe away tears. I feel like I did the right thing making the call. If that’s all it takes to get him back on track, it was the least I could do.
I take a deep breath and release it. I’m okay. Better than okay. I’m happy and in love with an extraordinary man who will soon be my husband.
I can’t wait.
I marry Eric four days later, on the lawn of his family’s home on the Hudson.
We get the gorgeous summer day we hoped for, and the wedding is just what we wanted—casual, relaxed and fun.
We’re surrounded by the people we love best, and I don’t have a single reservation or doubt as my father walks me down the aisle to my new husband.
He is everything I could ever want or need.
When Eric spoke to his mother about the wedding, she said the only way she would attend was if she could bring her new man. Eric replied that since her new man wasn’t invited, he was sorry she wouldn’t be able to make it.
After the ceremony, Eric surprises me with a piece of cheese pizza on a plate that makes me laugh even as our guests look on in confusion.
That’s okay. They don’t have to get it. It’s our own inside joke, and the reminder of the first day we spent together, just over a year ago, makes today even more special.
After I told him about Muncie’s call and how I talked to John, Eric said he was fine with me referring John to Jules.
She was thrilled by the possibility of working with the man of the moment and promised to take good care of him.
I asked that she spare me the details, which she agreed to do. It’s better that way.
Eric and Amy have taken leaves of absence from their jobs to run Rob’s campaign.
The media has eaten up the fact that the Tilden Triplets are back together again to get Rob elected, and there’s been a lot of positive coverage of their individual successes.
No one talks much about how their parents’ marriage ended anymore, which is a relief to us all.
Rob stands a good chance of being elected to Congress in November, and no one is more pleased by that than the governor. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, he toasted Eric and me, calling us survivors who deserved every good thing that comes our way. I was more than happy to drink to that.
Our first dance as husband and wife is to “You Are the Best Thing,” a jazzy song we both love by Ray Lamontagne. My husband, Eric, gazes down at me, his smile lighting up the gorgeous eyes that look at me with love and adoration.
“Are you happy, sweetheart?” he asks.
“So happy. You?”
Nodding, he says, “I’ve got everything if I’ve got you.”
“You’ve definitely got me.”
And I have my happy ending, finally.
Thank you for reading Five Years Gone!