61. Epilogue
Penn
Brenda passes away six months later, with her true loves by her side. Daisy holds one of her mother's hands, head bent as she cries softly. I do my best to console her, resting my head on her upper back so she can feel me there, saving my tears for later, so I can be strong for my wife.
Daisy and I married three months after the fiasco at Summerhill. We talked about waiting, about not rushing into anything, but when the man who built the arch came to deliver it, and Daisy realized it was his wife who wrote her favorite book, she insisted that we be the first to use the arch, and soon. I was more than happy to oblige. I would've married her three months prior. I would've married her standing on my head wearing scuba gear. All that mattered to me was having Daisy as my wife.
Brenda surprised us by making a request. She asked that, instead of Daisy wearing her wedding dress, she cut a piece off and pin it below a dress of her choosing. The ceremony was simple, but beautiful. Daisy was radiant, a vision I could not look away from. I never expected this much happiness in my life. Never thought I would be the recipient of Daisy's love. I'm not sure how I got so lucky, but I don't spend time questioning it. I revel in it, thank God every day for broken roads and crooked paths.
Duke is well. His father was furious, threatening to have me charged with battery since his son refused. In the end, local law-enforcement declined to charge me themselves, and without evidence, and Duke's refusal, Glenn Hampton went home empty-handed. I see Duke once a month for guy's night. It was awkward at first, and we earned plenty of stares from people around the room of whatever establishment we chose to meet up, but it has worked itself out. At one point, Duke apologized for how he treated me when we were kids. I accepted the apology, and once he explained that he genuinely cared for my mom, I felt an odd kinship with him.
"How is Daisy?" Hugo asks, the week after Brenda's heavily-attended funeral.
"Struggling," I reply, swinging my leg under the open tailgate of my truck. Hugo had some free time in his schedule, and when he called me and heard I was waiting at my old house for a contractor to arrive, he stopped by. "I don't know if you can ever really prepare for a loved one's passing."
"Expected or not," Hugo says.
It takes me by surprise. He rarely brings up his father's murder.
I wait to see if he'll say more, and he does. "That podcaster emailed me again."
"Tell him to fuck off."
"Her."
"The true crime podcaster is a woman?"
He nods. "Yep."
This woman is Daisy's opposite. She won't even watch the news because it frightens her. Forget any scary movies.
"What have you said to her?"
"Not a damn thing."
"Maybe if you ignore her, she'll go away."
"Here's what I know," Hugo says, pushing off the tailgate as the contractor's truck pulls in. "I want nothing to do with reopening my father's case. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. It's in the past, and there is nothing back there except emotions I don't want to be a part of."
My easy-going friend has never sounded so emphatic.
The contractor gets out of his truck, and we move forward to greet him, our conversation forgotten.
That night when Daisy gets home from work, I have a warm dinner ready for her. Her remodeled kitchen looks nice, though I still need to update the backsplash. When we're finished eating, I prepare a bath for her. She smiles at me gratefully, and I can tell she's doing her best to come out from under the cloud of grief hanging over her head.
"It gets better," I promise her. I would know.
"Get in with me," she says, working my shirt over my head.
"I was trying to do something nice for you. Let you have a little alone time," I protest, but not with much fervor.
"I'll have alone time with you," Daisy insists.
I strip her of her clothes, then remove my own, following her into the warm water. She leans her back to my front, relaxing against me.
"Thank you for being here for me," she says, drawing a finger through the surface of the water.
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
"Not even on a tropical island somewhere, drinking fruity drinks with umbrellas?"
I drop a kiss to the top of her head. "My place in this world is beside you. Wherever you are, I'm there."
Daisy turns around, gathers my face in her hands, kisses me. We go from gentle kisses, to something searching and hungry, and then she sinks down onto me. A natural progression. This is one of so many ways we communicate.
I touch my wife as she moves, the water displaced and smacking the side of the tub.
"Love you," she murmurs.
"Love you more," I reply, lost in her.
When it's over, we towel off and get in bed. I'll clean up the kitchen in the morning. I hold her as she falls asleep, her wet hair strewn over her pillow. I listen to her deep, even breathing, and think about the past year.
A decade spent with the SEALs, mission after mission, doing important work, and then one day it's over. That's it for me. I come back from a physical injury, only to lose my mother. I know firsthand, emotional injuries take longer to heal.
Something propelled me to return to Olive Township, something I still don't quite understand. Maybe it was Daisy's heart, calling me home. And I was the fool who came here with so much pride, thinking I could avoid what waited for me here. That I should.
Daisy sighs, a tiny contented sound. It's the sound my heart makes every time I see her.
I fall asleep to the scent of plums, and Daisy in my arms.
The End
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