11. EPILOGUE
DEACON
THREE YEARS LATER
I’m on the porch, back to the wall. There’s a bench made of a long plank, two thick logs underneath me. Andy built it years ago, and it has sat on the western facing side of the house since then. Now, I’m sitting with my back against the wall, a cup of coffee in my hand. It’s empty. I already had two cups, but I might go in through the open screen door and grab another from the kitchen.
We put in a new barn and a paddock on the western side of the yard. There’s a new batch of foals from last year grazing. Their tails swish, their coats gleaming in the sun. A few years ago, Gage started taking a real interest in the horses. Now, he and River Quinn spend a lot of time working in the new barn. This year, we have a handful of fully trained barrel racers, already sold, ready to be shipped to their new homes, all thanks to their efforts.
I shift, stretching my legs out. It aches where I got stabbed way back when, but otherwise, I’m still feeling good.
Inside the house, I can hear the dull roar of chatter. Ginny and Andy are long since retired. Two years ago, I convinced Bittern and Janie to move back and take on their positions that had sat empty for a while. I sold some of the land I purchased when I married Freya and had Jensen put a new farmhouse on it. They’ve lived out there since, coming up to the ranch house every day for work. Their kids are close with mine.
The world is good, life running as I hoped it would.
I fix my eyes on the road, waiting. Today, anytime, my eldest son and his girlfriend, Hazel, will come up that drive.
They’ve been in Billings for three years, only visiting for a day or two here and there. Slate met Hazel his first week at college, and they really hit it off. We met her that summer. Freya was a big fan. Then, we had one of the coldest winters in a while, and they stayed in the city. Slate is a triple major, so he takes classes in the summer. This is the first time we’ll see them both in a year.
I hear bare feet on the porch. My wife comes around the corner, a third mug of coffee in her hand. My dick twitches at the sight of her, dressed down in linen shorts, a blouse fluttering around her pretty figure. Her feet are bare, just as they always are in the summer. You can take a girl out of Appalachia, but you’ll never take Appalachia out of the girl.
She bends down, kissing my forehead. I accept the cup she offers and let her take my empty mug.
“They should be here any minute,” she says, voice husky.
She’s been waiting on this for weeks. Last night, I had to force her to stop cleaning the kitchen and rearranging the flowers on the table so she could get some rest. I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to sit on my knee.
“Yeah, just a while longer,” I agree.
“Aunt Freya!”
Bittern’s daughter, Lady, comes around the corner. She’s about Slate’s age, already married to a boy from Knifely. Both Bittern’s children came out blond with brown eyes, just like their father. Otherwise, I think they look a lot like a good mix of Andy and Ginny.
“Yeah?” Freya leans around to look back.
“Is that bread in the oven ready to go?” Lady asks, hand on her hip. “It’s about near falling from the pans.”
“You can start it. Don’t punch it down though,” Freya says.
There’s a faint rumble from the woods. Then, a plume of pale gray smoke rises. Freya’s up off my knee, running to the edge of the porch. The window behind me flies open, and Remington pokes his head out, leaning on his elbows.
Out of all my sons, Remington turned out the most like me in the end. He’s the broadest of the boys, his hair always shaved to his head like mine, and he’s got the most bullish personality of the lot.
A few months after his eighteenth birthday this year, to Freya’s shock, he went and got a sleeve of tattoos, the whole thing in one go. He just walked in and sat down for dinner with his whole damn arm done up and started eating. I just about kicked him out to sleep in the barn. But I don’t have a leg to stand on in that department, so I let Freya scold him and nodded where appropriate.
In the distance, Slate’s truck appears around the corner, kicking up dust. It’s early spring, but we’ve been in a heat wave for the last week. Everything is dryer than dry. Slowly, I get up, setting aside my cup.
The truck makes its way up the drive and pulls in. I see Slate lean over to say something to Hazel. She smiles, but I can tell she’s nervous. Then, he opens the door and jumps out.
All at once, everybody is surging down the walkway, dogs yapping. Remington jumps out the window and skirts around me. Red and Gage come tearing through the front. The boys are all yelling, wrestling each other to the ground. Instead of a proper greeting, they start beating the shit out of each other. That’s pretty normal.
I stand with my arm around Freya, waiting. She’s got her hands over her mouth, eyes wet. I bend to kiss her temple, and she gives me a watery smile.
It takes a second, but Slate detaches himself from the mob and comes over to hug Freya first. She holds him tight, and when she lets go, a tear slips down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb.
“Took you long enough to get back here,” I say.
He laughs, hugging me. As he steps back, his face sobers. “You both want to say hi to Hazel?”
He’s acting a little weird, one hand in his pocket, like he’s nervous. Freya and I exchange a glance, following him as he walks back to the truck and circles to the passenger side. Hazel pushes the door open as we walk up, and Slate lifts her carefully, setting her down like she’s made of glass. He lets her go, steps back, and Freya gasps.
“Hi,” Hazel whispers shyly.
She’s pregnant, easily halfway along. Her hand rests on the top of her bump that stretches out her t-shirt. Shocked, I glance sharply at my eldest son. He meets my eyes sheepishly. Slate is the last person I expected to have a baby before he graduated. He’s the steady one, the planner.
“Oh my,” whispers Freya, surging forward to hug Hazel, who stiffens with surprise. Slowly, she relaxes as Freya pulls back and starts assailing her with every question in the book. When is she due? Do they know if it’s a boy or girl? Has Hazel told her parents yet?
I take a step back, jerking my head, and Slate follows me around to the tailgate.
“I’m happy for you both,” I say carefully. “But was this part of the plan?”
He clears his throat, shaking his head. “Don’t come at me too hard. I know I was an accident.”
“Yeah, and I was forty,” I say. “I had a job .”
“I have a job now,” Slate says, assertively. His dark eyes square up to mine, shoulders straight. “Jay Reed introduced me to a guy out in South Platte, and I just had an interview this month at his firm. He’s bringing me on full time this summer, and I’m completing my last year remotely.”
I take a beat, impressed he’s taking this seriously.
“Alright, that’s a good plan,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. “I’m not angry. I just want to know you can take care of your family.”
He doesn’t break eye contact. “I’m good, Dad. We’re all good. And we’re coming back to South Platte.”
“I’m glad you’re taking this seriously,” I say. “I’m proud of you. And I’m feeling pretty old now that I’m going to have a grandchild.”
He glances back at Freya and Hazel. By now, the other boys have gathered around and realized they’re all about to be uncles. There’s a lot of yelling and jostling each other. Gage come out of nowhere and jumps Slate from behind, slamming him to the ground. That’s my cue to go collect my wife and get everybody inside.
Bittern and Janie are at the table, having coffee. They both stand, shocked by the sight of Hazel. Then, the questions start all over again. I have a feeling we’ll be going around in circles about this all day.
Freya, Lady, and Janie sit Hazel down and start talking. The boys get banished to the living room. Bittern and I find ourselves on the far side of the kitchen, making coffee and pulling food from the fridge.
Bittern has thrived since rehab, years ago. He and I, despite our age difference, are both aging around the same rate. We’ve bonded over the years. And I’ll admit, I’m actually glad I kept my word to Freya and didn’t just pop Bittern the night I killed Aiden.
“What are you thinking about all this?” He jerks his head towards the table.
“I mean, I’m happy,” I say. “Slate’s a good kid, got a job lined up.”
He jabs me in the side as he reaches past for a mug. “You got no room to talk, Ryder.”
I laugh, shaking my head. From the living room comes a distant crash. Bittern cringes.
“We might want to take the boys outside,” he says. “Otherwise, Freya’s going to start giving us the look we don’t want to be getting.”
We take the loud half of the family out to the yard. It’s dinnertime when everybody gathers around the table again. Ginny and Andy come up from employee housing. I have to add an extra leaf into the middle so we can all fit. The atmosphere is jubilant. Everybody has settled down, and the food is perfect, as usual.
But I only have eyes for Freya. I’ve never seen her happier before.
That’s worth everything to me.
Late that evening, I go in search of my wife. She cleaned up, said goodbye to Bittern and Janie, got Hazel and Slate settled upstairs, and disappeared. Red, Remington, Gage, and I finished all the chores and locked up the barns. The boys said they were going for a walk with Andy Jr, which means they’re all going to smoke blunts on Deacon’s Hill. I don’t care; we’re on our own land, and the worst they can do is fall asleep in a ditch.
I walk down the silent hallway to my office, moving through it to the door on the far side. When Freya became the sole owner of the café, I built her an office just off mine. It’s a beautiful little room with big windows that look out over the southern hill. I creak open the door, leaning against the sill.
“You want to go to bed, sweetheart?” I ask.
She’s sitting at her desk. I made that for her with my own two hands, put together with pine from Ryder Ranch. It’s pale wood, three sided, and houses her laptop, tax receipts, and inventory sheets for the café.
She lifts her head, eyes a little tired. “Yeah, I just finished the schedule for next week,” she yawns, sitting back.
I step in, closing the door, and go to her. She smiles as I crouch by her chair, running my palms up her thighs.
“You’re so happy Hazel is pregnant, aren’t you?” I say.
She smiles, bright blue gaze softening. “I’m so happy,” she affirms softly. “And you were right. He came home.”
I glance around at her stacks of paperwork. The last few years of learning to be a business owner held their fair share of challenges, but she met them head on, with determination. I held her hand in mine every step of the way. Now, she has a thriving business with two employees and a catering company on the side.
It’s fair to say, she’s comfortable now.
“I think we made it, sweetheart,” I say.
She touches my face, tracing my tattoos the way she always does. Leaning in, she kisses my mouth slowly. My breathing deepens as I kiss her back. My fingers tighten on her thighs. When I break away, her smile is peaceful, satisfied.
“You want to take this upstairs?” she whispers.
“Fuck, yeah, I do,” I say, sliding my hands under her legs and hoisting her up. She laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck and her thighs around my waist.
“Just be quiet,” she begs.
“How about I just shove your panties in your mouth?” I whisper.
She gasps, but before she can speak, I shift her in my arms so she’s laying across them. Her face softens, one arm locking around my shoulders. I could look for some words to encompass everything we feel right now.
But I don’t think there’s a word to sum up a lifetime well lived.
Instead, I carry her upstairs to our bed.
THE END