Epilogue
Nine Months Later
“Eden!” Abby waves like an air traffic controller as I enter the camp parking lot. “Over here.”
I don’t know where else she thinks I would go, but I’m too happy to see her to tease her about her overzealous welcome. She and Houdini are at my door when I step out. She wraps her long arms around me in a bear hug. I have to tilt my head onto her shoulder—she’s two inches taller than me now.
“How’s Grams? How was the drive? Was it bad? Did she do okay? Where is she?”
I giggle but don’t have a chance to answer before Houdini shoves his heavy body between us and pries us apart. I dodge as he jumps on me—we have to break him of that habit—and crouch to give him a hug.
“She’s good,” I say over Houdini’s joyous cries. “The drive was quick, and she’s at the house with my dad and Adelaide.”
“But we’re still doing game night, right? Because I found this new card game online, and I’ve studied all the strategies and think I have a really good chance of beating my dad.”
She chopped her hair to her chin a few weeks ago, which only makes her look older and more like Caleb. She sent me photos from the salon. She’s calling it her high school hair. The world isn’t ready for this one.
“Of course. Where is your dad anyway? He texted me that I should meet him here after dropping off my folks.”
“Well”—she bites her lip and darts her focus up toward camp—“he had to go up to Colibri Peak.”
“Oh.” I can’t keep the disappointment from my voice.
This is the longest we’ve spent apart since before the earthquake.
It’s been six weeks since we drove to San Francisco together for Mom’s surgery.
Caleb stayed two weeks to help with her immediate recovery, but this is the first time I’ve been home since then.
It’s still too early to tell how effective the surgery was, but we’re hopeful she’ll have some relief.
Last year, after she began treatment, the medication was instantly helpful.
We noticed a steep decline in tremors, but the effectiveness waned enough that her doctor recommended deep brain stimulation, like a pacemaker for the brain, which should reduce her symptoms further.
In the last two weeks, she has been much more herself and insisted on coming with me to Grand Trees for the annual preseason camp party.
The only good thing about the quake was that a landslide took out the temporary detour, forcing Caltrans to fix the long abandoned and neglected main road.
The drive to San Francisco is now an easy five hours, and we’ve found a rhythm to closing the distance: a week or two for Mom here, where she thrives between appointments.
Then we return, and I have time to soak up Mom, Dad, Cassie, and Cassie’s new baby.
At seven months old, she already has enough sass to give her mom a run for her money. It is phenomenal.
But I’ve never been away from home this long, and I’m anxious to see Caleb after such a draining and difficult separation. I’m greedy for him.
“When is he coming down?” I ask.
“Not for a while. Something about bark beetles and root rot?” She sighs. “You know how my dad gets when his tree babies are in danger.”
I laugh. “Do you want to check out the renovations to the gym with me while we wait?”
I’m taking a leap this summer and teaching a few dance classes at camp.
Caleb installed mirrors and ballet barres in the gym to my exact specifications.
I’ll likely be working with a dozen beginners each week, teaching them basic positions and elementary movements.
But if I can introduce the beauty of dance to a child—even if it’s for only an hour a week—I think I’ll be doing some good.
Who knows? Maybe one of the kids will be inspired to continue dancing at home.
Or maybe we’ll just create a memory. I’ve learned that joy doesn’t have to last forever for it to be worth making.
“No,” Abby blurts. “My dad said you should meet him up there.”
“At Colibri Peak?” I glance at my shoes. I did not come prepared for a hike; I never learn.
“He might be up there awhile. I have to help Ian with the kitchen prep for tomorrow.” She tugs on my hand, leading me onto the stone path.
The welcome court is already decorated with white lights and paper lanterns in anticipation of tomorrow’s party.
I can’t believe it’s been a year since I danced with Caleb in this courtyard.
It feels like yesterday, and several lifetimes ago.
“Are you sure?” The thought of a hike, even along my favorite trail, makes me want to curl up and take a nap in a hammock and wait for Caleb to come to me. I pull out my phone to text him, but Abby holds up her hand.
“He doesn’t have service.” She nudges me toward the upper trail. “And Houdini will go with you.”
A hike it is. Houdini races ahead as Abby waves us on.
My desire to see Caleb keeps the worst of my weariness at bay, and each time I fall behind, Houdini races back to me like an encouraging coach.
I don’t know how I’ll find Caleb if he’s wandering around looking at trees, but Houdini charges up the hardened path like a homing device.
The hillside has faded to summer’s muted tones.
Sage, gold, and copper grasses bow to the wind’s gentle hand as we pass.
Up ahead, I notice where Caleb had a crop of pines removed due to disease.
Seedlings stand in their place, their hopeful little branches soaking up the sun’s affection, grateful for their chance to grace the hallowed land with fresh life.
Houdini takes off at a sprint, and I know we’re close.
The dormant butterflies in my belly bat their dust-coated wings, and nerves take flight.
I’ve been waiting for this reunion for weeks—or maybe longer.
Maybe I’ve been waiting with bated breath, holding the magic of this land in my bones, during an absence far longer than this one.
Maybe I’ve been waiting forever.
I climb to the crest at a jog, finding my footing and fighting my fatigue, and hear Caleb’s voice before I see him as he lavishes Houdini with soft praise and affection he reserves for when he thinks they’re alone.
The vista unspools before me as I watch them crouched at the summit, shoulders pressed together, looking out over the view.
I give them a moment, drinking in the sight of him and taking a mental snapshot.
The emerald branches of the redwoods frame the reflection of Grand Trees Lake fifty feet below.
The sun is a beacon in the cloudless sky—bright and resolute as a spotlight across the lake’s surface.
When I step forward, pine needles crunch under my feet.
Caleb turns, his smile brighter than the sky itself. “Took you long enough.”
I grin back at him. “You try hiking in these shoes.”
“What did I tell you about wearing better shoes?”
“And I almost thought I missed you.”
Caleb stands, and we meet in the middle. He cups my jaw in both hands, resting his mouth on mine and breathing in. “I missed you enough for the both of us.”
It’s so easy to get lost in him—to forget that there are a million things we need to discuss before heading home, when the entire town of Grand Trees will, no doubt, descend. I don’t know when we’ll be alone again.
But still, those butterflies demand my attention. The nerves, the excitement, the anticipation all collide, and I pull back. “Are you done up here?”
“Not quite,” he whispers against my lips, drawing me in for another kiss. I thread my hands in his hair as he trails his mouth down the column of my throat. It’s then I notice the scene before me.
“Caleb?” I ask. “Did you bring a picnic?” Houdini is sprawled out on a green plaid blanket that blends into the earth. There’s a picnic basket and a bottle of wine poking out.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
And come to think of it, I am. Starving, in fact. I pull him over to the blanket as his hands trail to my waist, holding on to me before I slip out of his grasp.
“This is perfect,” I say. “I need to talk to you anyway.”
“Well, I need to talk to you first.”
“Nope. Me first.”
I pull him down to the blanket, and Houdini grumbles as he scoots out of the way. I dig into the basket, but Caleb stills me with a hand on my wrist.
“I really missed you.” He bites the scar on his lip, his gaze traveling nervously between my eyes. For all his confidence, it’s his vulnerability that defines the best of him.
“You know I was kidding, right? I missed you like crazy.”
“How could you not?” He chuckles. I push his shoulder, and he leans away before grabbing both of my hands. “But I did a lot of thinking while you were away, and I don’t want to go that long without seeing you again.”
“I don’t want to either. But you know I had to be there for my mom.
” It’s our first night together again; I don’t want to fight about the time apart.
The last few weeks were hard, physically and emotionally, and I felt our distance grow as the days wore on.
But I assumed it was because I was holding back, not because he was resentful of my time away.
I’ve been counting down to this day, when I could talk to him without the telephone diluting the impact.
“Yeah, of course. But there are some things I want settled, you know? We said we’d improvise, but it’s not working. We need to plan for some things, like—”
But I pull away and stand, pacing along the summit. Plan. Plan? He wants to plan? That’s the last thing I need to hear right now. Just when I have to tell him that our biggest improvisation is yet to come.
“Caleb, I really need to talk to you.” I turn my back to him because I’m a coward, apparently.
“Please, Eden, let me get this out.” His voice is fraught, which usually disarms me. But I am a live grenade, and there’s no putting my pin back. I’ve waited too long. Maybe I should have told him over the phone weeks ago to avoid my emotional distance from triggering his anxiety about abandonment.
“I don’t think we can plan, Caleb. We said we’d take this as it comes.
And I’ve done my best to be there for my mom and to be here with you, but this is the first time I’ve done something that mattered that I couldn’t do 100 percent.
And I’m sorry if I failed. I really was trying to make you happy—”
“Eden, look at me. I am happy. This has been the happiest year of my life. Shit. I’m screwing this up.”
“No, I am.” I pinch my eyes closed. I feel his hands on my waist, and he turns me to him. Before I lose my nerve, I blurt, “Caleb, I’m pregnant.”
The only sounds that greet me are the whistle of the wind through the trees and the whoosh of air from his lungs.
When I gather the nerve to open my eyes, he’s kneeling in front of me—face pale, mouth agape—and he finally says, “And I’m proposing.
” We stare at each other, missing a few blinks before he tries to speak again. “Wait, seriously? You’re pregnant?”
I nod. “And you were trying to propose?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really bad at it.” Tears stream down my cheeks and butterflies rush into my bloodstream, beating their little wings and heating me to a stupor.
He reaches for the neck of the bottle. “But I brought champagne.”
I laugh. “And I can’t drink it.”
Caleb catches me by the waist and tugs me until I’m kneeling in front of him. “We’re having a baby?” he asks again, his joy beating out shock until he’s grinning. He’s backlit by the sun, and a halo coats him in fairy dust, diluting every line, scar, and past heartbreak. He’s incandescent.
“I found out a couple of weeks ago, but I wanted to tell you in person.”
He brings a hand to my belly, covering my navel with a wash of warmth, settling the low-grade nausea that’s been chasing me all day. I lean into the touch. “You should have called me. While you were busy taking care of your mom, who was taking care of you?”
“You can take care of me starting now. I wouldn’t mind a piggyback ride down that hill.”
He kisses me then, both reverent and fevered. His hands slide to my hair, and mine wind around his waist. Between the sweet slide of his tongue and the firm press of his chest, it takes me a moment to play back those last ridiculous moments. “Are we getting married?” I ask against his mouth.
He freezes, pulling back enough to let me drink in the whiskey of his eyes. “I don’t think you’ve answered me. You left me hanging on bended knee.”
“I don’t think you asked me yet, actually.”
We grin at each other, and he inhales. “Eden Hawthorne, will you marry me?”
My tears fall from my cheeks to my collarbone, but I don’t bother wiping them away. His eyes are red rimmed, and iridescent.
“And have your baby?”
“And have my baby.”
“Hmm,” I tease.
He swats my ass before grabbing it and cinching us together. “Eden,” he grumbles.
“Did you ask Abby first?”
“Yes. She was supposed to be the diversion in this terrible proposal.”
“Ah. Well, I didn’t suspect it for a moment, so you can’t blame this one on her.” I sneak a quick kiss; his scowl is adorable. “Did you talk to my parents?”
“I did,” he says through gritted teeth.
“When?” I kiss him again. He’s surprisingly pliant even though he’s about to lose his shit.
“Answer my damn question before I take it back.”
He won’t take it back, but his growl does things to me. It probably has something to do with how I wound up pregnant, honestly.
“What was the question again?” I laugh against his mouth.
“That’s it.” He nips at my lip until I feel the pleasant sting of teeth, and he lowers me to the blanket, caging me in. It gives Houdini the opportunity to swipe his tongue across Caleb’s cheek. He bats Houdini’s muzzle away, and I dissolve into giggles.
“Of course I’ll marry you, Caleb Connell, and even have your baby.”
“And live happily ever after?” Caleb is an eclipse against the blinding sun, making me tear up at the radiance of the rays surrounding him.
I’m too giddy to care whether this joy will last months, years, or a lifetime. I have it now; I’m going to hold tight to hope while relishing the moment itself. “Is that an option?”
“It is,” he says. “I hear living happily ever after is just like dancing.”
“How so?”
Caleb grins and leans in to kiss me. When our smiles collide, we become a tangle of limbs, tears, and laughter.
As the sun baptizes us with summer rays, as the forest hovers over us as witness, and as the blessed land of Grand Trees wraps its cloak around our broken, battered souls, Caleb whispers against my skin, “The magic is in the attempt.”