Epilogue
DAPHNE
It’s a Sunday afternoon in September and we’re just at home. Luke is picking out a tune in the living room, bent over his guitar as he works over a chorus, murmuring potential lyrics under his breath. The gold ring on his left hand glints as he plays, a sight that will always make me smile. I’m dicing vegetables to roast under the little organic chicken that Merrie offered me yesterday from her overstock, and sunlight is warming the house with golden light.
There have been changes in my little house. It feels more full now, and it’s more than the stand for Luke’s guitar in the living room and his clothes claiming a third of the closet. A fierce little black kitten with green eyes has moved in from the shelter and is snoozing now in a sunbeam. Quentin was the smallest from a little of five, but has enough character for two. He wakes Luke up each morning by sitting on his chest and batting his nose with one paw, a tiny creature who knew immediately which one of us is the soft touch.
There’s a new zone on the wall of the living room, too, a collage of photographs in plain black frames. My mom is there, laughing as she tries on an outlandish hat in a bridal shop. Taylor is waving at the photographer from the band bus. There’s a picture of Luke and Taylor on stage together, both singing, back-to-back and having a great time. Abbie and I are dressed for our high school prom, both looking painfully young, and there’s another one of Mackenzie, Willow, Cameron and me, taken in my kitchen, on girls’ night last winter. Luke’s mom is in her garden with a frilly drink in one shot, and holding the hands of a dark-haired boy as he learns to walk in another.
I love how Luke’s brow is furrowed in that one, as if he’s determined to nail a new skill.
I’m there on my graduation day with both of my parents, their pride enough to light up a small town. That picture makes me feel the possibilities, and reminds me that there’s nothing I can’t achieve. If I forget, Luke will remind me of that, too.
It’s our collective past, but there’s room for our future. Of course, pride of place, in the middle of the cloud of memories, is a picture of Luke and me on our wedding day. It’s a candid shot that my dad took when we left the church. (Before we adjourned to Merrie’s for a private reception.) We’re grinning at each other like fools, Luke in his dark suit and me in the creamy silk dress my mom helped me choose for my future. My arm is loaded with pink roses and Luke has a matching boutonniere. (He cleans up well, in case you’re not sure.) We’re holding hands as we jump from the top step in front of the Anglican Church. My dad caught us in the air, my veil lifting. Our happiness is tangible and impossible to ignore. It practically radiates from that picture and puts a glow in my heart every day.
It can’t compare to the glow that Luke has ignited there. He still makes my heart skip, and that unexpected love just keeps getting stronger every day.
How do you know when you’re safe, or when you have the security you need to live life to the fullest? It’s trust and it’s love and it’s so much more. For me, that confidence comes from partnership, from having someone in my life who listens, and someone whose stories I listen to in exchange. It’s having someone you know will hold your hand whenever you make a leap of faith, maybe even jump right along with you. It’s knowing that someone will catch you when you fall, or give you a hand when you stumble.
It’s someone whose presence makes you happy, whose touch sets you on fire, whose insight makes you see things in a different way. It’s someone who isn’t afraid to challenge you or give you a nudge when you take the easy path, instead of the one that’s best for you. It’s putting your trust in someone who isn’t afraid to make a little trouble to make everything come right in the end.
Someone like Luke Jones.