Epilogue
One year later
They say jump and the net will appear. It’s scary advice to give to anyone, and scary advice to take, but I suppose that’s where I put my faith when I made the decision to give up my life in Cincinnati and move to Lost and Found.
So much has happened since last September when the Callahan family agreed to sell me Mabel’s cottage at a very fair price, grateful that a trusted friend was happy to give the place the love it deserves.
Since then, I’ve painted most of the rooms and all the wooden cabinets, keeping a warm modern-cottage vibe, and I’ve had the exterior repainted the same soft yellow but changed the trim to gray to match the gray composite decking I updated the porches with.
The shed and garage were painted to match, though I still—to my shame—don’t go in the shed, and won’t until the day Matt assures me it’s somehow magically become snake-proof.
Now the place holds the charm I expected when I first pulled up—complete with snapdragons of every color—and the only thing I’ll never update or replace are Mabel’s clouds.
They’re whimsical almost to the point of seeming silly at times, but they still lull me to sleep like nobody’s business, and remind me of the woman I try to honor every day working with the lost and found.
Last fall I followed through on putting the lost and found on display.
Turns out that in addition to the Last Chance Café, Melva owns several of the empty buildings on Main Street, and when I came to her with my idea, she told me to pick one and do whatever I wanted to it, rent-free, as her thanks for reviving interest in the town.
And so, with a little stripping of original hardwood floors, painting of original tin ceilings, and the moving in of some display cases, by Christmas the Lost and Found Lost and Found was born.
In it, I showcase the best of the best—the oldest items that may not ever find homes, like Sarah Hawkins’s tiny Bible and other historical treasures.
People love looking at these pieces of simple, everyday history, even when they’re under glass for protection, with photos and text added to the display where beneficial.
I also put on display the more interesting modern items—however much I can fit in at any given time.
Visitors like seeing the things I’ve posted on social media and enjoy thinking that if they look long and hard enough, maybe they’ll discover something that once belonged to someone they know.
Entry is free but we heartily encourage donations to help us defray costs since, seriously, despite how it might seem sometimes, I’m really not made of money.
And it was earlier this spring when I really began to be concerned about that—how long I can subsist this way without going bankrupt—but that’s when the net appeared.
That’s when enough short pieces about the lost and found had circulated around the country that a major network approached me with a proposal, offering me a generous paycheck for a weekly piece featuring a lost item of my choice, to be run on their national evening news, and their morning show as well.
And then ... well, even more magic happened.
Now that the world has discovered Lost and Found, many people are happy to make the trek.
We get day-trippers by the dozens, and road-trippers work us into their routes.
In addition to the Last Chance, which does a healthy business every day and is packed on weekends, Main Street now boasts a bakery, a sandwich shop, and—my favorite—a pizza parlor, which even delivers within a five-mile radius, which means Matt and I have started having Pizza Fridays.
And not only that, but the pizza even comes with a movie! Because ... more magic.
When people discovered how much I’ve hungered for the movies and TV most of them can stream, they started sending me DVDs of their favorites! Matt bought me a DVD player and, voilà, I’ve come flying back into the early days of the twenty-first century!
But back to the changes in town. Mr. Freeman’s store has so much business that he’s hired part-time help, and Melva’s taken on additional cooks and waitresses. Word is that we might even get an ice cream parlor next spring!
There’s a farmers market in the Piggly Wiggly lot every Saturday May through October, too.
Saturday visitors can bounce from the Lost Valley Vineyards to the lost and found to the farmers market to one or more of the eateries in town, and in addition to finding it a quirky way to pass the afternoon, they’ve learned they can actually survive the day without internet and post their pictures when they get home.
Speaking of the winery, Jo got back last October after the passing of her sister and was happily surprised to find me still here. We continue to be good friends and my daily walk still leads to the tasting room most days—no matter how busy I’ve become.
Now I’m suddenly a woman who runs a local attraction with a part-time staff of three, keeps the lost and found moving online (with an office and storage behind the display room now, thank goodness), and records five minutes of high-quality video to send to the folks in New York every Friday morning.
One of the most exciting parts for me: I’m back on the air, doing what I love—what I’ve always loved—just in a new and more meaningful-to-me way!
Whatever I feared I might be giving up by walking away from WRTB has come back to me tenfold, maybe even a hundredfold.
The network is kind enough to allow me to keep a string of my videos running on a TV in one corner of the lost and found with a few chairs for those interested enough to sit and watch.
Are there moments I get frustrated with running to Brandywine or the Piggly Wiggly to do the technical parts of the job? Sure. Do I now sometimes feel like I have too many tasks on my plate and find myself wondering what happened to my quiet, lost summer from last year? Absolutely.
But I love my work, I love what I’ve been building here, I love that the whole town and its residents are benefiting so much, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Predictably, people do keep sending us lost items, but I’ve quit discouraging that online—that which we originally didn’t want is now our bread and butter.
If Wi-Fi ever comes to Lost and Found, well, that might make life, and my job, a lot more convenient.
Or ... it might just make things feel a little too busy.
My house on Riverside Drive sold quickly, and Nancy and Bob were heartbroken to see me go.
They even made a day trip to the lost and found and bought a case of wine from Conrad.
Nancy says she loves telling everyone that she knows the lost-and-found woman on the news.
She also couldn’t stop raving about my hair.
Which is to say that—so far anyway—I’ve kept it relatively short. It’s cute, and cool in the summer. And though people tell me it makes me look younger, the odd part is how little I suddenly care. Age is something I’ve quit noticing about others, too—it matters less and less every day.
Today is Saturday and the museum is hopping.
In between ruminating about how much has changed since this time last year, I’m busy greeting guests and having photos taken with people excited to meet me—and I’m in the middle of answering an old man’s questions about the Hawkins Bible when Matt steps up to tap me gently on the arm.
“There’s someone here who wants to say hello.
” He’s smiling and I’m pretty sure I already know who it is, but despite that, when I glance over to see Grace, being pushed in a wheelchair by Daniel, my heart leaps in my chest.
I rush over, bend down, take her hand in both of mine. “Grace! I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Just look at you, honey. It’s good to see your face. And look at all that pretty hair you got now.” Then she glances around the room, taking it all in. “I’m so proud o’ ya for all you’ve done for our little town. I barely recognize the place. Ain’t been this busy since the seventies!”
“It’s not the same without you, Grace,” I tell her. “And Ophelia misses you.”
She squeezes my hand. “God bless ya for takin’ her in. That done my heart good.”
“I love her and can’t imagine life without her now.” And since Daniel has drifted away to talk to Matt, I can ask her, frankly, “How are you, Grace? How do you like life in Saint Louis?”
The way she pats my hand tells me she remembers our conversations about not wanting to go, but now she assures me, “It ain’t half bad, to tell ya the truth.
Do ya know that if we run outta milk, my daughter-in-law can drive right up the street, at any hour of the day or night, and get some?
And people bring pizza and other food right to our door!
So there’s somethin’ to be said for city life, I guess. ”
I smile, having also seen both sides of that particular coin.
“Overall,” she goes on, “I’m content enough. Woulda liked to stay in my little house forever, but things change. They just do. Ya cain’t stop it, much as ya might try.”
“ You’re telling me ,” I say, having learned that lesson myself.
Grace’s house is a rental now. And for not being online, it gets a surprising amount of business.
Sure, sometimes it’s Kevin and Patrick, like when Sydney and Jayden are already in my guest room, or vice versa.
And Grace’s family is staying there themselves for a few days, claiming they’ll come more often now that there’s more to do here.
But flyers at the winery, the Last Chance, and the lost and found keep Matt’s phone ringing—he and I manage the place for Daniel together, and Joy Lynn gets paid to clean it between visitors.
Speaking of Joy Lynn, she seems happier than she used to—likely because, between tips at the Last Chance and the cleaning job, she has a lot more income.
Some people are happy with simpler existences and I admire that she’s happy with hers.
She doesn’t request as many sad songs on the jukebox these days.
When the front door opens behind Grace, I look up to see Samantha come in with a friend. She’s a fun, sweet girl who thinks I’m the best thing since boy bands, and she, Matt, and I even took a beach vacation in June.
And as for me and Matt, well ... though the days are sometimes busy, the nights are still filled with wine and fireflies and kisses and .
.. more than kisses. It’s the longest, best relationship of my life.
Sometimes he hints that he wants to get married.
Sometimes I think that sounds like a nice idea.
But I’m not in a rush, and I appreciate that he’s an easygoing man who makes me happier than I’ve ever been.
Just then a young twentysomething guy taps me on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, but ...” He’s pointing down at the display case near the front door that holds the love letters of Andrew Chen and Millie Anderson.
“I can’t believe this—I mean, my girlfriend kinda dragged me here and I didn’t even know this place existed before today—but these are my grandparents. ”
My jaw drops. It’s all I can do to keep myself from grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.
His girlfriend stands behind him, beaming, while he looks stunned.
“Are you telling me,” I ask, “that Andrew and Millie got together in the end? After being separated by a whole continent and a father who didn’t think he was good enough for her? ”
The guy blows out a breath. “Yeah. But I mean, I never even knew they were apart. They’ve always just ... been my grandma and grandpa, you know?”
“Do you have any pictures of them?” I ask excitedly. “I’d love to see them.”
He whips out his phone and shows me an elderly couple—the man Asian, the woman white. They look utterly sweet, and I’m awed and a little breathless.
“You have no idea how happy this makes me. I cried over those letters. I didn’t think they had a chance. I’ve been heartbroken for them for over a year now.”
The guy smiles. “Well, now you don’t have to be.
And I can’t wait to give my grandmother these letters and get the whole story from her.
You don’t think about that kinda thing, you know?
Like where your family came from or how people got together, or that maybe they had actual . .. problems and stuff.”
His youthful innocence amuses me, but I know what he means. The lost and found reminds me every day that every life has always been filled with ... emotions, and that most of it all links back to love, of one kind or another.
Meeting this young man, who turns out to be Andrew Chen III, is a reminder to me that miracles happen all the time. Things that seem unlikely happen anyway. People defy the odds. And life usually works out the way it’s supposed to.
I never could have dreamed I was supposed to end up making a new life for myself in this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere.
But look at me now. I came here lost. And I stayed here when I found out what I really wanted, what filled my soul.
Sometimes we need new starts and don’t know it.
Sometimes we can serve the world better in a role we didn’t even realize existed.
I’ve learned that the road to anywhere begins with opening your heart.
Thank goodness I opened mine when I did.
After a ceremonial handoff of the letters to Andrew with much fanfare and photo taking—and a promise from him to send me pictures of his grandparents looking at the letters—Matt’s eye catches mine from across the room.
We know each other pretty well now and I suspect we’re both thinking the same thing.
We’re looking forward to the big dinner tonight at the Last Chance welcoming Grace home. But we’ll also be happy to head home afterward ourselves—maybe drink a little wine, look up at a few stars, and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Life, it turns out, is all about balance.
Sometimes you’re lost, sometimes you’re found, and sometimes you’re in that space in between, just floating in the clouds, trying to find your way.
And over time, I’ve learned the in-between space isn’t actually as scary as it might seem.
As Mabel once whispered in my ear, it’s the journey.