Epilogue
EPILOGUE
TWO YEARS LATER: LANA
“ N ever again,” I said.
Beside me, Sam laughed. His hand found mine. We twined our fingers together and both sighed, relieved. Above us, the stars twinkled bright in the sky. Our first night in our new house, on our new deck, looking out on the span of our new private beach. Tomorrow, that beach would be teeming with people, the whole town come out to celebrate our next chapter. But tonight it stretched empty, white, and serene.
“What were we thinking?” I chuckled again. “A move and a wedding in the same week? Never, never, never again.”
Sam elbowed me gently. “What, were you planning on getting married again?”
“No way. You’re it for me.”
“You’re it for me, too.”
“The only way I’d ever do this again would be in a hundred years, in our next lives. I’d find you again, and we’d get married. But not in the same week we upend our whole lives.”
Sam leaned over and kissed me, and my stress drained away. His touch had the same power it had always had, to calm me and center me. To make me feel loved. I couldn’t wait for the morning, to tell him I do .
We hadn’t meant to get married the same week we moved in, but with delays in construction and one ill-timed storm, all our new starts had converged on this week. Last night, for the last time, we’d slept above the store. This morning, we’d come down not to open up, but to load our last boxes into Sam’s car. Wiener had come out to sniff for treats, and Sam had fed him one while I got Joe in his car seat.
“Good boy,” Sam said. “Who’s a good boy?”
Wiener had woofed, happy. Joe had cooed as well. He was also a good boy, learning to talk. His first word had been Gumpa , his name for Sam’s dad.
Speaking of Gumpa, the back door slid open, and he stepped out to join us in the warm night.
“Still sleeping,” he said. “He’s conked out pretty good.”
I craned around to peer past him, into the house. “I should go up and check on him. What if he’s scared? If he wakes up in a strange room and forgets where he is?”
“It’s not a strange room,” said Sam. “He picked the colors himself. And his toys are all there, and he’s got his night light. Quit hovering, Dad. If you’re going to sit, sit.”
Paul did as Sam said, pulled up a deckchair. He leaned all the way back and kicked up his feet. I hadn’t expected to see much of him after the first night we met, at a party at the Elkins Tower for the new CEO. Not Sam — he’d stepped into a part-ownership position, working mostly behind the scenes on big-picture decisions. His life was out here, and his furniture business. Paul had been short that night, at the CEO’s party, giving Sam the cold shoulder as he bid me welcome. He’d left us to chat with a knot of investors, and we’d barely seen him the rest of the night.
The change had come slowly, and it had started with Joe. I’d gone into labor three weeks early, with Sam out of town sourcing wood for a client. When he couldn’t get back in time, he’d demanded Paul go, and he’d ended up being third in line to hold Joe. I was first, of course, and then Mrs. Schneiderman, and then Paul took little Joe in his arms.
“He’s tiny,” he said. “Did they say what he weighs?”
“Six pounds, two ounces.”
“Well, we’ll fatten him up.” He gave Joe a tickle under his chin. “We’ll feed you up, won’t we? Who’s our big boy?”
Joe pulled a face at him and waved his chubby arms.
“He has his dad’s eyes,” said Paul. “He gets those from me.”
I’d guessed Paul would go home once Sam arrived, but instead, he’d followed us to Haverford. He’d stayed almost two weeks at the nearest B&B, and dropped by every morning to check in on Joe. In the evenings, he’d got roped into fishing with Chester and Rex.
“He was a terrible father,” Sam had said one night. “But as a grandfather… Joe could do worse.”
And now we were here on the eve of our wedding, the family together in our new house. Sam gave Paul a nudge.
“You all clear on your job for tomorrow?”
Paul huffed, but he smiled. “Walking the ring bearer down the aisle.”
“And?”
“Making sure he doesn’t chew on the ring.”
“Speaking of the ring bearer…” I got to my feet. “I’m going to check on him. Make sure he’s not scared.”
Sam got up as well. “All right. I’ll come with you.”
We walked through our new house hand in hand, the house we’d designed and had built together. It was a warm place, conceived with family in mind — a big, airy kitchen with a long dining table, the kind that would fold out to fit in more guests. A living room with big windows to let in the sun, and overstuffed couches for Joe to bump into.
We made our way up the stairs, quiet, tiptoe, muffling giggles when Sam’s shoe made a squeak. Joe’s door was ajar, faint light spilling out, and we crept up to look in as we did every night. Joe was sprawled on his belly with his legs sticking out, his red-socked feet thrust through the bars of his crib.
“Why does he sleep like that, with his feet sticking out?” Sam started forward, but I held him back.
“Don’t move him. You’ll wake him.”
“I’m not. I’m just…” Sam pulled his phone out and snapped a quick shot, then held the screen up for me to see. He took pictures of everything, whatever Joe did, and had glossy prints made for our family albums. We had Joe’s first step and his first bite of solid food, his eyes wide and startled, his tongue sticking out. We had him in the bath, bubbles up to his chin, and in the baby swing at the park. Now, we’d have him sleeping with his feet sticking out.
“I love you,” I said.
Sam frowned. “Me or him?”
“I meant you, but both of you. All this, our family.” I kissed Sam on his cheek. Joe stirred in his sleep. His little socked feet twitched, but he didn’t wake up.
“Dad’s right,” whispered Sam. “He’s pretty conked out. We should get out of here before we wake him.”
I lingered one more moment, smiling down at our son — taking in his pink face, his round, chubby cheeks. His shock of blond hair, so much like Sam’s. But he was growing up much more like I had, his bouncy chair set up in my shop. Most mornings, he’d be there, giggling through story hour, then Sam would come get him and take him to lunch. If it was a nice day, they’d go to the park or the beach. If it was raining, they’d go to Sam’s workshop. Joe had a playpen there, where he’d watch Sam work, and pretend to work with him, with his building blocks.
We crept back down the hall and back downstairs. Paul was in the kitchen, getting a snack. We waved to him as we passed him on our way back outside.
“Tomorrow,” said Sam, leading me to the beach. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”
I smiled. “Me either.”
“I feel like it’s my birthday and also Christmas. One more sleep left till I get my present.” He turned and kissed me, and took my hands in his. “It’ll be right here, the flower arch.”
I looked up, where right now was nothing but sky. Tomorrow, I’d look up and see swags of white roses.
“I made you some promises that day at my work.” Sam gripped my hands tighter, his blue eyes intense. “I swore I’d be here with you no matter what. That I’d spend my life proving you’re my everything. I want you to know, all that’s still true. I don’t see our wedding as our finish line. I see it as a start for us. For our life together.”
“I know that,” I said, and my eyes swam with tears. “You know I trust you, don’t you? I forgave you a long time ago. I have no doubts.”
Down the beach, a few late fireflies gleamed. Sam smiled at the sight of them, a sweet, happy smile.
“If one of those flew over here and landed on me, if this magic island gave me one more wish…”
“Yeah?”
Sam laughed. “I can’t think of a single thing I’d need to wish for. I’ve got it all — you, Joe, our family. Even Dad’s come around. I never thought I’d see the day.”
We turned to watch the waves crash over the beach, the ripple of moonlight, the glow of the town. The home we’d made for ourselves, the home we’d chosen. Sam had it right: this island was magic. But even more magic was the family we’d built. The family we’d keep building, the future in wait. I could see it all, kids and grandkids. A full life, and at the heart of it, the love we all shared.
“I love you,” I said.
“Love you more,” said Sam.
We stood hand in hand, and all was right with our world.
The End