Epilogue Ten Years Later
Charles
I live in Bedlam, I write in my journal. Kate and I are about to renew our vows. It has been ten years since we pledged our troth in our living room, but before the whole world. I stopped and thought. Did ‘troth’ sound too pretentious? Too epic fantasy, role-playing game, over the top? Kate will like “troth” I decide. It sounds Shakespearean.
“Mom!” Cece yells from the other room, “Make Jimmy give back my curling iron.”
I roll my eyes and look over at Kate, who is carefully pinning a Shirley Temple finger curl to the top of Abigail’s head.
She sighs and rolls her eyes right back at me. “Tell me again why we agreed to baby-sit for James and Grace?”
I grin at her. “As I recall, you said, ‘I love my brother, and Grace deserves some time off from herding his hoodlums.’”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Kate seems to consider the memory. “Next time I volunteer for his hoodlums, make sure we hire a whole squad of Mary Poppins nannies to look after them.”
“Mom!” sixteen-year-old Cece appears in the doorway. “Jimmy is using my curling iron to curl the leaves on your philodendron. I think he’s planning to eat them. No one is going to like it if I deal with it.”
I snort with laughter. The last time Cece had dealt with her step-cousin, she tied him to the swing set with a length of clothesline and left him there while she and Letty played jacks on the back step. Jimmy is now six, and a more unrepentant little monster would be difficult to find anywhere.
Just to clear things up, I write , Cece is my daughter from my first marriage. Abigail and Thomas are mine and Kate’s. It seems the doctors were completely wrong about my virility. Letty, a sweet gentle girl, is Grace and James’ oldest.
Jimmy is their youngest, and “hoodlum” certainly suits him. He doesn’t necessarily mean to be bad, but he doesn’t seem to have any brakes. Kate says that James was like that when he was a kid but had mostly grown out of it by the time she was Cece’s age. So maybe there’s hope.
“I’ve got it,” I say. I unfold myself from the couch where I’d been writing in my journal.
I walk into the other room where Jimmy is not trying to curl the plant. Oh, dear, no. that would be too easy. Jimmy is trying to curl the hair on the venerable Mr. Fluffy’s back. The cat is giving the kid the evil eye, but he hasn’t popped the claws yet. Just as well he hadn’t tried to curl Gidget’s fur. The aging poodle isn’t patient.
I reach over to the electrical outlet just inside the door and unplug the curling iron. No need to endanger the cat. Thankfully the switch is off so the curling iron never heated up.
The curling iron must have pulled fur because Mr. Fluffy yowls, smacks Jimmy’s hand with outstretched claws, and escapes. The curling iron is entangled in his fur and thumps his sides as he flees into the room where Kate is trying to help the girls dress up for some sort of school function.
“Mr. Fluffy!” I hear Cece exclaim.
Then Letty’s soft voice, “I have him. Poor Mr. Fluffums! What did my nasty brother do to you, hmmm?”
Jimmy clutches his hand to him, howling as if he’d been mortally wounded. “I’m bleeding!” he wails. “Aren’t you going to fix it? ”
“Yep,” I say. “I’m going to march you into the bathroom, clean your wounds out with alcohol, put iodine on them and call your father.”
It is a reasonable response to a cat scratch. I’m not mean about it, but I’m not especially sympathetic either. I hit the speed dial for James on my phone and hand it to Jimmy. “Tell him,” I say. “Tell him truthfully, or I will.”
I leave Jimmy to make his personal excuses and go to check on Mr. Fluffy.
Cece’s beloved old cat is cuddled on Letty’s lap, eating cat treats out of her hand.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Charles,” Letty says. “I don’t know what gets into him. Last week, he tried to shut Yoyo into the flour bin to see if he could walk through walls or something.”
I think I might have some idea what was wrong with Jimmy. Young as he is, he needs occupation and supervised time with something that would engage his exceptionally bright mind. I’ll have a word with James. We need to find something positive for Jimmy to do…and soon…or who knows what he’ll get into.
Meanwhile, Kate has transformed our daughters and Letty into visions of true loveliness. Our renewal will be almost a re-enactment of James and Grace’s wedding, nearly eight years ago now. The only difference will be that the girls, Grace, and Greg’s wife will be Kate’s attendants, while James, Jimmy, Thomas and Greg will be mine. I corral Jimmy, now reduced to sniveling, “I’m sorry, Uncle Charles. I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Fluffy. I just wanted to make him pretty.”
“He’s pretty enough, you young scalawag,” I say. “Let’s get you washed up and into your suit.”
“Do I have to?” Jimmy whines.
“I’m going to get into mine,” I say. “Thomas is already dressed and ready – and he’s younger than you are. ”
That gets my nephew to cooperate with the process of getting into slacks, dress shirt and jacket. By the time we leave the guest bedroom, his parents have arrived. Both are dressed to take part in our renewal.
Outside, it is a beautiful April day. We are about to paste a beautiful memory over the season when I had once thought my world had ended. The central park area is bright with potted plants since it is a little early for most flowers. Family, friends, and neighbors stand on either side of the central walk. We’d planned our ceremony to be simple, yet beautiful.
The little girls, Abigail, and Letty, walk ahead of us, scattering rose petals. Cece had insisted that she was too tall to be a flower girl and had joined the bride’s maids. She is balanced by Greg’s son, who’s just a year older. I suspect that Cece has a crush on the tall youth, who puts on an air of being focused on his programming and science experiments. There might possibly be something reciprocal going on there…who could guess. They are teenagers, the very soul of volatility.
I’d borrowed Kate’s wedding rings, had them cleaned, and a gem added for Thomas. Today, I will give them back to her. I carry the box in my jacket pocket. No way am I entrusting them to the boys.
Kate is gorgeous in a princess style gown that is just barely pink. A wreath of peach blossoms holds a drift of tulle in place, enveloping her like a cloud. It lifts and drifts about her on the breeze, so different from the woolen veil she’d worn at our Valentine’s Day wedding. I hold out my arm to her. We had decided since this was a renewal, that we would walk each other to the altar.
The same chaplain who had performed the original ceremony waits for us. He has gone completely gray, and his face is a map of wrinkles, but he beams a smile so bright it could have served as a light house or a landing beacon.
When we arrive at the altar, he clears his throat and says in a carrying parade ground voice, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to witness the renewal of vows made ten years ago. Gathered in their living room, many attending via the Internet, after a harrowing search for their oldest child, and a miraculous recovery on the part of the husband thanks to the Navy’s excellent medical team, these two fine people were joined in holy matrimony. Today, they are celebrating that union, taking this opportunity to share their joy in each other and their commitment to maintaining a loving union with their family, friends, and neighbors that we might share their celebration face-to-face, as was not possible the first time.”
He then goes on, paraphrasing the usual vows with, “Will you continue to love and to honor…”
I scarcely hear him, I am so busy looking at the dear face of my lovely wife, mother of my children – for in all but having borne her, she is Cece’s mother, too. She has matured from the slender girl she had been into a stately matron. Still slim, even after two pregnancies, she is rounder at bosom and hip than she had been.
That made her even more beautiful in my eyes. Cece has done Kate’s hair up in an intricate arrangement of braids and curls that might last through the afternoon, but certainly not through the evening of loving tenderness I have planned for my wife.
The brief renewal ceremony comes to an end. I scarcely need the chaplain’s prompting to kiss Kate deep and long. The crowd cheers, claps, and whistles until we are forced to stop and breathe.
“I love you,” she says. It is a vow in and of itself.
“And I love you,” I reply, “In all the ways that can be counted, and more besides.”
* * *
Thank you for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed Charles and Kate’s story.