Epilogue #2
“Eleanor’s tragically short life leads to the same thoughts I consider when I look at the night sky and contemplate the wonders of our universe.
The same thoughts I have at this time of year when we love the ones we’re with and miss the ones we’re not.
The radical notion that life is both pain and sorrow, and also love and joy, and sometimes it’s difficult to tell them all apart. ”
I pause, looking over at Noelle. “This theater is the brainchild of my wife, Noelle. Her great great grandmother was Eleanor’s daughter’s dearest friend, and I think that if those two could see us now, they’d be as filled with joy as I am in loving her.
Noelle is my Christmas wish, my starry sky, and the woman I hope I never have to miss again.
” I clear my throat when I start to feel it prickle with emotion.
“I hope you come away from this exhibit the way I do when I look at her: with stars in your eyes and love in your heart.”
It’s late when the last guest leaves, and I’m ready to swan dive into bed. But we have one final thing to do tonight, and it requires boots and parkas and Noelle insisting she’ll drive. When we get to the Rolling Hills resort, it’s nearly midnight.
But they’re all there—every single one of my aunts and uncles, and all the cousins too, gathered in the entryway. Everyone came to town for the exhibit, and we all agreed we needed to do one more thing just for us before everyone goes their separate ways again.
“About time,” Enzo says as I limp through the doors.
“We’re the last ones, aren’t we?” Noelle asks, her arm hooked through mine.
“They didn’t have to close down a party,” I say.
“You sure you’re up for this?” I ask Dad after hugging him and Mom.
“Of course!” he says, a little defensively.
Mom and I exchange a grin. “That’s only the second time I’ve seen your father stay to the end of a party.”
“What was the first?” Noelle asks.
“The night of our wedding,” she says.
“Once every thirty years is my limit,” he grumbles as we all laugh.
Mom twists the ring on her finger. When we asked if she wanted to switch it out, seeing as it had such a tragic backstory, she was so opposed she was almost angry at us for suggesting it. We didn’t argue—she’d already outlived everyone who wore it before.
The whole family walks through the hotel en masse, surprising the few guests up this late.
Jack Kelly, Jude’s son and the hotel’s CEO for the past three years, makes a point of shaking each of their hands as we pass, along with the staff, some of whom—the long-timers, mostly—are teary-eyed. They tell the story with honor.
We file out the East Wing, past the spot where Eleanor Cleary lost her life, out the back door and across the grounds.
We follow the path, lit with pretty lampposts decorated with Christmas ribbons, up the stairs to the lookout spot up the hill.
There, we crowd around the statue we had commissioned last year of Eleanor and James, arm in arm, holding baby Clea between them.
Enzo walks among us, handing each of us a little sparkler.
My aunt Cass holds a photo of Grandpa John—a favorite from three Christmases ago, with Floof curled up on his lap.
Aunt Chelsea, my dad’s youngest sister, holds a photo of their mother, Shannon, and Eli a photo of Connie and her first husband, who died before she met John.
“For balance,” he says. “Since she and Grandpa were each other’s second loves. ”
“Did you know Grandpa suspected who Eleanor was all along?” Jack asks as we light the sparklers. “Dad said he traveled to Switzerland years ago. Visited the convent where Eleanor and James left their baby, but hit a dead end.”
“News to me,” I say, shocked.
“I’m not surprised,” Dad says. “Dad always talked about how Mom never knew her family. He would have done everything he could to try to find those roots for her.”
“I always thought he was just obsessed with a ghost story,” Cass said.
“There’s no ghost,” Dad says, scoffing.
“Not anymore,” Jude grins. “They stop haunting you when their earthly matters are resolved.”
Dad rolls his eyes, but Enzo and I exchange a quick glance.
I take Noelle’s hand.
“I love you,” I whisper to her as I lift my sparkler.
“I love you too,” she says, squeezing my hand tight.
But after a moment, both she and I and Enzo look to that spot where we saw Eleanor that day. I don’t know if it’s a trick of the light, or the lightly falling snow, but I swear I see a shadow dance across the wall. A face, this time with a smile.
Thank you for reading Wish For Me, the conclusion to the Quince Valley Romance series.