Epilogue One
CALEB
Six months later
"You're going to burn to a crisp, monster," Serena calls, finally catching up and tackling my niece into a hug. "Hold still for two seconds."
"I'm part mermaid," Michaela announces, wiggling away. "Mermaids don't sunburn."
"This mermaid does," Serena says firmly, slathering sunscreen on Michaela's shoulders. "Unless she wants to look like a lobster tomorrow."
I watch from the patio table where David and I are nursing beers and pretending to read the weekend papers.
It's been six months since the ethics hearing, six months of Serena slowly taking over every corner of my life, and I still can't get used to how natural she looks here.
Like she's always belonged in this house, with this family. And with me.
"She's good with kids," David observes, following my gaze.
"She claims she's terrible with them. Says she made a toddler cry once just by saying hello."
"Michaela adores her."
"Michaela has good taste."
David snorts. "Unlike your girlfriend."
I flip him off without looking away from Serena, who's now helping Michaela with the rope swing by the water.
"Speaking of good taste," I say, turning back to my brother, "how's Luminous treating you these days?"
"Same as always. Too many meetings, too many hours, not enough time with this one." He nods toward Michaela, who's finally escaped Serena's sunscreen attack and is launching herself, cannon-ball style, into the lake.
"You ever think about making a change?"
"Like what?"
I gesture toward Serena, who's now pulling back on the rope swing, ready to follow Michaela in. "Look at her. Six months ago she was unemployed and blacklisted. Now she's got three major clients and a waiting list."
"Crisis management suits her," David agrees. "She's got that perfect combination of empathy and ruthless efficiency."
"Exactly. She saw what she wanted and went for it. No safety net, no backup plan. Just fearless business building."
"And you think I should do that?" David looks thoughtful. "Starting over at forty-three isn't exactly appealing."
"Starting over, no. But building something new? That's different." I take a long pull from my beer, watching Serena surface from the lake, laughing as Michaela splashes her. "Besides, you're not forty-three. You're forty-two."
"Thanks for the reminder." He rolls his eyes. "What are you suggesting exactly?"
"I'm suggesting," I say, setting my beer on the table, "that maybe it's time for the Kingsley brothers to stop making other people rich."
"Our own firm."
"Our own firm."
David leans back in his chair, considering. "It would be a massive risk. Leaving guaranteed income, established clients..."
I lean forward, elbows on the table. "What's the worst that could happen? We fail spectacularly and have to go work for someone else again?"
"That's exactly what could happen."
"So? We're both good lawyers, David. We'd land on our feet." I watch Serena help Michaela back onto the rope swing platform. "Besides, I've got some experience with spectacular failure lately. It's not as scary as you think."
"Your ethics hearing wasn't spectacular failure. It was a slap on the wrist."
"It was public humiliation that could have ended my career. And you know what I learned?" I turn back to him. "The things worth having are worth the risk of losing everything else."
David follows my gaze to where Serena's now teaching Michaela some elaborate diving technique that looks more dangerous than graceful.
"Kingsley and Kingsley," he muses. "Has a nice ring to it."
"Doesn't it?"
Before David can respond, Serena emerges from the water, hair slicked back and skin glistening in the afternoon sun. She looks like some kind of lake goddess, and I have to consciously remind myself not to stare like a teenager.
"Uncle Caleb!" Michaela shouts from the platform. "Come show Serena your cannon ball!"
"I don't think anyone needs to see that," I call back, but I'm already standing, pulling off my shirt.
"Oh, I definitely need to see that," Serena says, grinning up at me from the water. "I've heard rumors about your legendary cannon ball technique."
"Rumors?"
"Michaela's been telling me stories. Something about you nearly emptying the entire lake?"
I look at my niece, who's giggling behind her hands.
"Lies and slander," I say, tossing my shirt onto a nearby chair. "I think it's time to demonstrate what a real cannonball looks like."
I jog over to the platform, feeling the warm wood under my bare feet. Michaela is practically vibrating with excitement, and Serena treads water below, her dark eyes challenging me.
"Don't hurt yourself trying to impress me, Counselor," she calls up, pushing her wet hair back from her face. "I've seen your morning stretches. Not exactly Olympic material."
"Just for that," I tell her, "I'm aiming directly at you."
She squeals and swims backward, but not too far. Never too far these days.
I climb onto the platform, Michaela hopping beside me like an overexcited puppy. "Show her the super-mega-ultra cannonball!"
"Super-mega-ultra cannonball?" I repeat. "That sounds made up."
"It's totally real!" Michaela insists. "You taught it to me last summer!"
"I think you're confusing me with someone who knows what they're doing," I tell her, but I'm already backing up to get a running start.
"Don't chicken out now, Kingsley!" Serena calls from the water, her voice full of challenge and laughter.
I take three quick steps and launch myself off the platform, pulling my knees to my chest in what is definitely not a super-mega-ultra anything, but does produce a satisfying splash that soaks both Serena and Michaela.
When I surface, sputtering and wiping water from my eyes, both of them are applauding.
"Not bad," Serena says, swimming over to me. "Though I think Michaela oversold your technique."
"Hey!" Michaela protests from above us. "That was awesome! But watch this!"
She takes two running steps then executes a perfect cannonball that would make any eight-and-one-quarter-year-old proud, sending another wave washing over us.
"Show-off," I mutter, but I'm grinning.
We spend the next hour in the water—racing, diving, and generally acting like we're all eight years old. David eventually joins us, though he maintains his dignity by using the ladder instead of the rope swing.
By the time we drag ourselves back to the deck, the sun is starting its descent toward the horizon, painting everything golden. Serena collapses into the chair next to mine, wrapping herself in a towel.
"I love this place," she says, looking out over the lake. "I'm glad we came."
"I'm glad too," I tell her, looking at her and feeling nothing but absolute certainty. Before now, I'd never brought anyone here. This house, this family time—it was always just David, Michaela, and me. Adding someone else felt too risky, too permanent.
But watching Serena fit so seamlessly into our summer tradition, like she's always been part of it, I feel like every risk we took to get here was worth it.
"So," David says, settling back into his chair with a fresh beer, "you were saying something about the Kingsley brothers going into business together?"
Serena perks up, tucking her legs under her. "Business together? Like what?"
"Caleb thinks we should be brave like you and start our own law firm," David explains.
"That's brilliant!" Serena says immediately, and I love how her face lights up with excitement. "You two would be unstoppable."
"See?" I tell David. "Expert opinion."
"Expert opinion from someone who ate nothing but anxiety toast for her first month of business ownership," David points out.
"Anxiety toast is a perfectly valid food group," Serena protests. "And it worked. I'm still in business, aren't I?"
"More than in business," I correct. "You're thriving. That crisis management contract with Bennett's pharmaceutical company alone is bigger than most firms' entire client base."
She ducks her head, but I can see she's pleased. "I got lucky with timing. Corporate America is having a lot of crises these days."
"It's not luck," David says. "You're good at what you do. Really good. And Caleb's right—watching you build something from nothing is inspiring."
"So you're considering it?" Serena asks, leaning forward. "A Kingsley firm?"
"I'm considering it," David admits. "The corporate world is getting more cutthroat every year. At Luminous, I spend more time in budget meetings than actually practicing law."
"Plus," I add, "we'd get to be selective about our clients. Take cases that matter, not just cases that pay."
"Cases that pay do matter when you have an eight-year-old," David points out, but his tone is thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"Dad," Michaela calls from where she's building some kind of elaborate sand castle near the water's edge, "are you and Uncle Caleb going to be business partners?"
"Maybe, monster. Would that be OK with you?"
"Of course. It means I get neep-o-sheep-em," she announces without looking up from her construction project.
"Neep-o-what?" David asks, his face scrunching up in confusion.
"You know that thing where kids get stuff just because their parents have stuff?
" Michaela clarifies. "Neep-o-sheep-em! It's like.
.. inheriting but you're not dead. You just get extra candy or a LEGO set when your uncle is rich.
" She looks up, sees us all grinning, and shrugs.
"I learned it in school. It's a real thing, look it up. "
"Do you mean nepotism?" I ask and suddenly Serena is howling, nearly falling off her chair.
"Neep-o-sheep-em," she gasps, and then again, wiped out with laughter. "God, I want to put that on a t-shirt. Corporate neep-o-sheep-em. I love you, Michaela."
David gives me a long, hopeless look, like parenting was always doomed to end here. "Fine. If we start a firm, you get all the neep-o-sheep-em you want."