Epilogue #2
He stirred in the seat, turning to look at me curiously. “You’ve never asked.”
“Well, I suppose I’m asking now.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” he said and turned to look out the window. “At first...we didn’t really talk. I never knew what to say, and I don’t know if he knew whether he even wanted to talk to me.”
“But he can choose whether or not he sees his visitors,” I said as I shifted lanes.
“I know, and despite not talking to me the first few times, he still let me visit. Eventually, he talked...a little at first, but he talked.”
“About?”
“Nothing really, he would mention something that happened since the last time I visited, and he would talk about what he used to do before...well—”
“Before he tried to kill us.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“And today,” Arlo sighed. “I told him about my mother and sister.”
My fingers tightened on the wheel, and I forced myself to take a steadying breath. “Not exactly the kind of thing I pictured you telling him.”
“Why not? We’ve both known loss.”
“The difference is you didn’t grow up and try to kill people over it.”
“True, but that was almost the point. For him to see the other side, to see that there is a way through the grief and the loss, and for him to be something other than a grieving brother,” Arlo said quietly. “And... he spoke of Olivia.”
“Okay?”
“It was the first time he mentioned her name. I’ve always avoided the subject because I didn’t want to upset him further, so I waited until he brought her up. And today, he did. I shared my pain and he shared his. And...I don’t know, it worked.”
There wasn’t much I could say, nothing that would add to the conversation.
I had set out to accompany Arlo throughout this entire thing because it was important to him.
I was appalled that he had told a stranger, that madman, the story of his greatest tragedy.
It was something Devon didn’t deserve to know, not after what he’d done and what he’d tried to do.
“You’re allowed to be upset,” Arlo said softly.
“Thank you for permission,” I said sarcastically and immediately regretted it. “Yes, I’m upset. But at the same time, it’s your story to tell, not mine. So...you told him, and it made him open up.”
“Yes.”
“Why does it seem like you’re bothered?”
“I’m not.”
“Then why the silence?”
“When I left, he said...he told me he was sorry I never got to know my sister for as long as he knew his. That sisters are special.”
Well, there was definitely nothing I could say to that. “Okay.”
“You’re still allowed to be upset,” Arlo said, and I groaned.
“Say that again and I’m going to drive us off the next cliff,” I grumbled as I settled into the seat. “Look, just because I don’t understand it and it kind of offends me on your behalf doesn’t mean jack shit, okay? You’re allowed to live however you want.”
“Okay,” he said softly, slowly putting his hand on my leg as if he expected me to shift so he could no longer touch me.
As if I were that mad, sheesh.
“Matilda texted me while you were in there,” I said, sensing the conversation was over for now.
It would come back around when Arlo had done some more thinking, so for now I would let it rest..
.and let myself cool down a little. “She wanted me to tell you there’s been a slight change of plans and that we’re going to have the family dinner next weekend, not tomorrow. ”
“Did she say why?”
“Something to do with Mason and Jace not being there.”
“Huh, I wonder why.”
I gave him a sidelong glance and smirked. “Something to do with a ring?”
Arlo’s eyes widened, and he turned in his seat. “Are you telling me Mason is finally going to propose?”
“No, I’m telling you Jace is finally getting around to proposing, and doing it with Matilda and Moira’s help. Apparently, Micah is also being roped into it somehow, but don’t ask me how.”
Arlo let out a breath and laughed. “Well, well, it’s about time. Moira has been giving them so much hassle about it for months, years now. We were all wondering if it was ever going to happen.”
“Oh, and my mother said she sends her regrets, but she will not be able to make the upcoming family dinner,” I said with a laugh.
“What a surprise,” he said dryly.
He and my mother kept their word, and a truce had existed between them for the past couple of years.
Of course, the air in the room dropped a few degrees whenever they were forced together, but they were cordial.
It probably didn’t hurt that my mother had backed off from trying to drive me in her chosen direction, which was probably enough for Arlo.
We had even tried to bridge the gap between our families by inviting my mother and father to one of the frequent family dinners.
Once.
Everything had gone quite well at first as far as I could tell.
Things were a little chilly between Matilda and my mother, but they made nice.
The thing was, Arlo’s family was...not my mother’s cup of tea.
I only had to glance at her to know she was out of her depth and wanted to be anywhere but there.
It had started with Mason making a rather crude, but hilarious joke about eating ass, which had driven Jace to smacking him in the back of the head, and Moira had chewed him out for saying it in front of Micah, while the fourteen-year-old tried hiding his laughter in his napkin so his mother wouldn’t turn her outrage on him.
Then Dom had shown up late, looking disheveled with his.
..well, it didn’t matter if Levi was or wasn’t a felon; he would always be seen that way by my mother.
When he was introduced, last name included, the look on her face was well worth the complaints I would hear later.
Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut as the two sat, practically glowing.
Of course, it wasn’t missed that Levi’s hair was messed up, which just started a new round of jokes from Mason until Matilda threw a roll at him and told him to shut up.
The night was already ruined as far as my mother was concerned, but the cherry on the sundae was when Eli and Milo had one too many drinks with dinner.
I still wasn’t sure how it happened, but I heard the outraged cry from Milo and a thump before watching something streak through the air.
It turned out, fittingly enough, to be a rather large helping of whipped cream that had been jettisoned by their roughhousing.
It had promptly landed on the table in front of my parents, splattering both.
My mother? Unimpressed. My father? Well, he got a good laugh out of it and proclaimed that Matilda made a better homemade whipped cream than the staff at the manor.
I wasn’t sure what my father would pay for most when he got home, his laughter or the compliment, but my mother had struggled to keep her mouth closed.
If anything, I was impressed she had kept her peace.
Admittedly, she was close enough to Matilda to remember she needed to be on her best behavior.
And Matilda had been within arm’s length of several blunt objects.
Considering the swing Matilda had proven she possessed, I imagine my mother was replaying the sound of her favorite sculpture being used as a weapon to save Arlo as she tried not to lose her cool.
So no, no one would be surprised that my mother would no longer be joining us for those dinners.
“When do you have to be back?” I asked him. “To work that is.”
“Tomorrow afternoon. I put in a request to make sure I don’t work mornings after my visits,” Arlo said, and he snagged my hand, looping his fingers through it.
“Request,” I said with a snort. “Arlo, you literally run the funeral home.”
“Yes, but I won’t take advantage of my position to make my life easier.
We’re there to serve people who are in a difficult place to navigate, and we can guide them.
The least I can do is make sure all bases are covered if I’m not there in the morning,” he said with a shrug.
“Not all of us can sit back and let things get done on their own.”
“Ha! That was...was that an impression of me or my mother?”
“Was it arrogant or haughty?”
“Bit of both.”
“Hmm, I seem to have blended you, then. I was going for arrogant.”
“You missed the mark slightly.”
“Ah, well, next time.”
Not that he wasn’t terribly off the mark.
At some point in the past couple of years, I had realized that without the constant partying.
..I didn’t have anything to do. As much as I still absolutely loved sex with Arlo, there was only so much of that we could do before we got bored.
..or started chafing. Milo, of all people, pointed out that I had bought so many props and showed a lot of interest in the arts, so why not start investing in it?
Of course, simple investing required little more than a call to my broker, but he meant I should involve myself.
Which was strange at first, as there wasn’t a starting point I could think of, but again, the family had helped.
Mason had mentioned some groups where creative sorts hung around and tried to ply their trade, and I had snatched up a few to sponsor like the days of old.
Moira had found a couple of old theaters in the city that were run down and doomed to close until I swooped in and gave them the funding they needed to stay open, afford some actual materials, and pay their performers and technicians properly.
Little by little, I devoted energy to trying to foster in others what I had never been able to do myself.
It had seemed odd, giving people money to make things when they wanted to make them all along, yet.
..it worked. I loved being involved, going to the rehearsals, and seeing the latest production that was going to go live in a few weeks, or sneaking into a studio I was paying for someone to use to watch them chip at stone or sit at a computer and operate layers of programs to create gorgeous and occasionally haunting pieces of art.
I never controlled it, though. I knew better than most how important it was to give people the space and security they needed to flourish, but not to chain them to it.
They could create what they wanted, and I would help.
Of course, it was mostly their job when it came time to sell or get their name out there.
I could help them get to the point of creation, but there were still things they needed to do themselves. ..and God save me, it worked.
My mother hated it.
“What are you doing?” Arlo asked as I pulled off the side of the road onto a small patch of grass.
“Enjoying the moment,” I said as I stepped out of the car and walked toward the cliff edge I had threatened to drive us off earlier. “We’ve got time, don’t we? You don’t work until the afternoon, and no family obligations are calling us back.”
“True,” he said, standing beside me as we looked out on the ocean, glowing like fire from the setting sun. “I suppose I should remember to take the time to soak in the life around me and...relax a little. Today has been...interesting.”
I snorted, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. “I thought we banned that word.”
“You banned that word,” he said with a snicker as he lay his head on my shoulder. “Because you’re superstitious.”
“All I know is, when I banned the use of that word around the same time I decided life had been getting too interesting, we stopped having near-death experiences,” I reminded him, because we did not need a return of that.
No more incidents, no more Arlo getting hurt on my behalf through some weird cosmic justice or price or whatever it was, nothing.
I aimed to keep it that way, even if it meant being a little superstitious.
“Are you saying the past few years haven’t been interesting?”
“I’d say they’ve been just interesting enough without needing more, thank you.”
“Some might call that growth.”
“Some might need to shut up and watch the sunset with their fiancé, who they love very much.”
“I do...love you very much.”
“Good, because I love you too. Now enjoy the moment with me.”
I could feel his smile against my shoulder. “Okay.”