Chapter 19 What Remains, What Endures
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHAT REMAINS, WHAT ENDURES
David’s car eased into the driveway, pulling up close behind Colin’s red Mazda.
“You brought the cars home!” Colin observed.
“David and I got them a couple of days ago.”
But Colin didn’t hear him. He was already out of the car and moving toward the lawn, eyes locked on the house, mouth slightly open. His steps were slow, almost dreamlike, as if sleepwalking his way home.
He hesitated for a moment at the edge of the lawn, then drew in a deep breath and stepped onto the grass.
He paused there, his gaze locked on a small, round disk of wood that marked where Sarah had fallen.
He hesitated again, then moved carefully, almost reverently, as if his footsteps might disturb something sacred.
Then once again, he paused. And just for a breath, it was there again—her scream, drifting through his mind like smoke.
Not a torment now, but a memory carved too deep to vanish.
His breath caught, and he felt his heartbeat quicken.
His shoulders trembled, and without thinking, he groped to his right. Reaching.
And Joshua was there—solid and steady. Their fingers laced together, and Colin felt his heartbeat slow—his breathing even out. The panic began to recede like a tide easing out to sea, leaving behind a calm that settled deep within him.
“I asked Graham to help me think of a way to honor her,” Joshua said softly.
“There’s going to be a small stone wishing well here.
It’ll be fed from the house and make a quiet trickling sound.
If they like, people can drop a coin and make a wish.
We’ll plant flowers. There’ll be a plaque on the well—just her name. Sarah.”
He laid his palm against Colin’s cheek. “Sweetheart, I hope that’s OK. I didn’t ask your permission, so if it feels wrong—”
Colin shook his head, eyes brimming. “It’s perfect, Josh.” He bent and kissed him. “Thank you, mo chroí.” He blew out a breath and turned back to their house. “God, it really is bigger.”
“Almost three feet wider, all the way back and up! So our bedroom is bigger too.”
“Jesus,” Colin breathed out. He stood in the middle of their yard, not moving, then he turned to Joshua. “God, Josh, I’m almost afraid to––”
“To go in? To see it?”
Colin nodded, and Joshua leaned against him, clutching his arm, his forehead against Colin’s shoulder. “One step at a time, my love.” He gestured ahead of them. “Look at the porch! It’s so much bigger now.”
Colin blew out a breath and took a tentative step forward.
“Darling, take your time,” Joshua whispered, and Colin nodded.
“I don’t know why I feel like this.”
“I do!”
“Well, hang out your shingle and tell me!”
“You’re afraid—just like I was—that it’s changed too much to be… well, to be ours anymore.” He leaned against Colin and kissed his cheek. “But I’ve been inside, my yedid. And I promise you, it’s still ours. It’s still us.”
Colin stopped at the bottom step, chest tightening until the air felt thin and sharp in his lungs.
He stared at the porch a beat too long, then forced himself upward—one step, then another—his hand locking around Joshua’s.
The grip was warm, damp with the faint sheen of sweat, and it tightened once, twice, in quick convulsions.
Joshua glanced at him but held his tongue, letting Colin choose the pace, letting him decide how much to reveal.
When they reached the door, Joshua nudged his arm. “New door. Here’s your keys.”
Colin took the key ring from his hand. He opened the screen door and then paused to run his hand over the front door. “Nice!”
“It’s oak,” Joshua whispered, smiling. He laid his hand in the middle of Colin’s back, solid–-steady, a quiet anchor.
The door gleamed in welcome: a broad, arched panel rich with honeyed tones and subtle whorls as if the tree’s history had been captured in every grain.
It shone faintly in the morning light, lovingly sanded and finished to a soft satin glow.
A narrow vertical window had been inset off-center, framed in bronze, and filled with textured glass—just enough to catch the light without offering a clear view inside.
The handle was black wrought iron, curved like a question mark, solid in his grip when he tested it. A small carving had been worked into the bottom right corner of the door—just a simple pair of clasped hands, no bigger than his palm.
He drew in a quick breath and pointed to the carved image.
Joshua nodded, his own eyes glistening. “Graham.”
Colin blew out another breath, then fitted the key and unlocked the door.
Joshua reached for the doorknob, but Colin stopped him with a hand to his chest.
“Wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Colin gave him a crooked smile. “For once, I’m doing this properly.”
Before Joshua could protest, Colin opened the door, then slipped an arm behind Joshua’s knees and another around his back and lifted him in one fluid, determined motion. Behind him, he could hear Nate cheering and David’s soft laughter.
“Way to go, Colin!” Nate yelled.
“Colin!” Joshua blustered, laughing. “What the hell—”
“Carrying you over the threshold, silly boy.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Romantic, aren’t I?” Colin murmured as he moved across the threshold, kissing Joshua tenderly.
Joshua’s arms tightened around his neck. “When are you not?”
Colin sat him down and kissed him again. “Welcome home, my love.” Then he released Joshua and turned.
The living room was nearly empty. No couch. No chairs. It felt new. Raw. Unlived in. The scent of new wood mingled with the faintest trace of smoke, like memory clinging to the bones of the place.
“I haven’t shopped for furniture yet,” Joshua told him. “I just couldn’t. Not without you.”
“I’m totally up for furniture shopping,” Colin told him, moving slowly, step by step, into the living room. He turned in a circle, taking everything in, still drawing in slow, careful breaths.
Joshua stood beside the door, watching him. Waiting. Breath held.
“New fireplace,” Colin noted. “I like it!” He pointed to a large cardboard box leaning against the wall. “Is that a new TV?”
“Yep,” Joshua said. “Ours bit the dust… so to speak. The new one is still boxed. I figured we’d unbox it together. You know—make it a bonding experience.”
Colin snorted. “Is this one going to come with a twenty-seven-page manual and six mystery screws?”
“One can only hope.”
Colin chuckled, then turned back toward the fireplace.
His smile faded. He stared at the mantle and pointed, his hand trembling.
Joshua followed his gaze and smiled. “Mara promised me she’d do her best with it. It’s not perfect anymore, but…”
The sculpture sat on the new mantle, the interlaced hands dulled by smoke and soot but unmistakably theirs. One side bore a faint crack, and a bit of charring edged the base. But it still shone. It was still them.
Colin stepped closer, reached out, and brushed his fingers over the familiar shape. Then, hand trembling, he touched the engraved bronze plaque on the base: “I’ll always hold you tight.”
He bowed his head, hand resting on the mantle, eyes burning. “God,” he whispered, his voice choked. “I was so afraid it wouldn’t make it.”
“Mara knew how much it meant to us.”
Colin swallowed hard. “And they saved it.”
“They did.”
He touched the statue again, his fingers slow, reverent. “Not perfect… but still beautiful.”
Joshua moved to his side. “Just like us.”
Colin nodded and bent to kiss him. “Well, one of us isn’t perfect, that’s for sure.” He turned back to the mantle, then took a step forward, his hand reaching toward something tucked at the back. Something small. Something in an antique frame. His voice lowered to an awed whisper. “Oh, god, Josh.”
Joshua stepped closer, a tender smile touching his lips.
Colin carefully lifted the antique frame, his hands cradling it with gentle reverence. His voice trembled slightly. “It survived.”
Joshua’s heart tightened, warmth spreading through him. He’d known the photo had survived—but seeing Colin’s reaction made it real in a new, powerful way.
Colin stared down at Moishe and Chaya Friedman’s cherished faces, the glass clear, their features lovingly restored, as if untouched by the disaster. “How—?”
Joshua gently rested his hand on Colin’s back, leaning in. “I found it after—after everything. I asked Mara to make it a priority.”
Colin’s eyes shone as he met Joshua’s gaze. “I was so afraid we’d lost them.”
Joshua pressed closer, his voice quiet but strong. “I wouldn’t let go of them.”
Colin nodded slowly, pulling Joshua into a tight embrace, holding the picture of Joshua’s great-grandparents safely between them.
Joshua carded his fingers through Colin’s sandy waves. “Of them or of you, my love.”
Colin kissed him again and returned the picture to its place on the mantle.
Then he turned to face the dining room. For a long time, he stood, staring at the new octagon window, drawing in slow, deep breaths, remembering.
He looked down at his hands, healed now, with only a few tiny white scars to prove anything had ever happened.
Then he lifted his eyes back to the window.
“We need curtains,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Sheer ones.”
“Yes, my love. So we can see the river while we eat.”
“And a new dining room table.”
“And a new liquor cabinet,” Joshua added, smiling.
Colin took a slow, tentative step toward the octagon window. “I hope we’ve got some money left in our account.”
Joshua grinned. “Well––the city just added fifteen grand to it, so I think we’re golden.”
Colin turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. “They did?”
“Esther was not to be denied.”
Colin scoffed out a laugh. “Esther is seldom to be denied.” He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. Then he looked back at Joshua. “Do they know I’m home?”
“They do. But you’re still officially on paid admin leave.” He sniffed out a soft laugh. “Another gift from the Charlottesville City Council.”