Epilogue
Erin
Three years later
“Stop, Dixie!” Matilda sprinted up the hill, her hand snatching at the grass, trying—and failing—to grab the leash for the chocolate Labrador bounding ahead of her. “Naughty girl!”
That dog wasn’t stopping for anyone. She was free.
Eventually, Dixie would wear herself out running circles, or she’d want attention from Callan.
For him, she’d sit patiently, wait for pats, and be a “very good girl” so she’d be allowed to trot along beside him around the farm.
I was convinced he sneaked her treats from his pocket.
For anyone else, though? Dixie was a lunatic. Lovable, but a dopey loon.
Panting, I waddled up the hill. Unlike my first pregnancy with Matilda, which I carried about like a pert little basketball, this bump crushed my lungs.
Breathing was impossible. I couldn’t wait for the restless boy in my belly to finally drop so I could make it up the stairs without pausing halfway.
Although I was quickly learning that need wasn’t exclusive to stairs.
I stopped on the hill and gulped in some air.
Just a bit further…
Callan was waiting for me.
Sun poured through the leaves, his copper hair burning that little bit brighter in the afternoon.
His shoulder casually slumped against the old elm tree where Lila and I had sat together so many times as kids.
Life hadn’t turned out like we’d whispered about at thirteen.
I wished she were still there waiting. I had so much to tell her.
“Ez!” Callan’s brows were heavy with worry as he bolted down the hill. “You should’ve told me you were on your way!”
“W-why?” I wheezed. “W-would…you have…” I tipped my head back to glance at the clouds blotting the orange sky. Breathing shouldn’t be this hard. “Carried…me…up?”
“Yes!”
“In your…dreams… Look at me. I’m huge—”
I shrieked when Callan scooped me up in his arms. The weight disappeared from my poor, swollen feet.
I wasn’t complaining. Snuggling into Callan’s chest, I listened to him huff and puff to the top of the hill, my nose stuck to his neck.
Freshly shaven. The sweet smell of soap and cologne. It was one of my favorite spots.
“I’m glad you lug all those heavy boxes around,” I said. “You’re very strong.”
Callan grinned down at me. “You’re lighter than a feather, Mrs. Wolcott.”
“I appreciate you lying to me, husband.”
He didn’t deny that maybe I was a little heavier than usual with his oversized baby boy stuffed in my belly. He just conveniently changed the subject. “I like it when you call me husband.”
I kissed his jaw. “I know.”
At the top of the hill, he carefully tipped me out of his arms and onto my feet. A gentle tug and a swish, and my sundress was neatly rearranged. His lips briefly pressed on my belly before he stood up.
“Now,” I said, fishing in my bag for the hat Bronte had demanded he wear for the photoshoot. “Don’t be angry, okay…”
Callan’s eyes narrowed on the sand-colored Akubra in my hand. “I’m not wearing that.”
“Cal…”
“Don’t you ‘Cal’ me when you’re fluttering those pretty eyelashes. No one’s wearing a hat for these photos.”
Matilda grinned up at him. “Auntie Bron said I can wear my new hat.” With an exaggerated pout and a pop of her hip, she twisted around to model the pink cowboy hat pulled low over her eyes. “See, Daddy?”
The grin that exploded across Callan’s face was as dopey as the dog.
His heart swelled ten sizes bigger when Matilda called him that.
It was “Good night, Daddy” after he finished reading her bedtime book, and “I love you, Daddy” at random times when she snuggled in his lap to watch TV, her eyes drooping as she soothed a lazy finger down the longest scar on his face.
The words were easy for her to say now, but her eyes had filled with so much guilt the first time she’d said it at dinner almost two years ago.
“What’s wrong, little buccaneer?” Callan asked softly.
“Daddy say Matilda no allowed.”
Jeremy had scolded her at the park when she’d excitedly told everyone who’d listen that she was lucky because she had two daddies. His face had turned to red, hot thunder. Even though he had no one to blame but himself, he’d never gotten used to another man taking his place.
Callan leaned over the table and whispered, “There’s no rule that says you can’t call two people Daddy, but you can keep calling me Cal if that’s what you want.”
Her bottom lip jutting out, she held up her ginger bear. “Can he call you Daddy?”
Callan nodded. “And I’ll call him Captain.”
“But he Cal.”
“What about if I call him Captain Cal? I don’t want your mummy getting confused.”
Matilda grinned. “Okay.”
Soon, she was brave enough not to have her little bear say the word, and she happily chirped that Callan was her daddy. It wasn’t like Jeremy bothered to remind her of his broken, selfish rules anymore. He wasn’t around.
I wiggled the hat in my hand again to encourage Callan to take it from me.
His eyebrow lifted. “I want a hat like Til’s.”
Matilda giggled. “You can’t wear pink, Daddy.”
“Says who?” He playfully lunged for her hat. “I think I want to give this hat a go—”
Matilda squealed, and in a fit of giggles on the wind, she tore off down the hill with Dixie bounding after her.
“Stop stalling by being adorable. The photographers are on their way,” I said. “Bronte wants you to wear this hat for the photos.”
“Why do we need to do this dumb photo shoot?” Callan grumbled. “Who’s even looking at our website?”
“Everyone.”
“According to…?”
“Bronte.”
“Did you have to do a photoshoot?”
I nodded. “We took some shots by the cottages so our guests would know the friendly face responsible for their breakfast baskets.”
That dragged a brief smile out of Callan. “Did you do any poses?”
“Maybe a couple.”
“Dumb poses? Is Bronte going to make me stand in some stupid position like last year?” His finger curled over his chin, and he pretended to look solemnly over the valley. “Like that?”
I darted my eyes away. “Um…”
Bronte had planned even more shots that would make Callan scowl. Walking through the fields with Dixie trailing behind and shaking hands with workers—things he did naturally but was uncomfortable pretending to do with a photographer barking at him.
The photo Bronte wanted of him lounging over the front portico of the big, grand house built two hundred years ago was going to earn her an eye roll for sure.
Not that she’d care. She’d worked up a whole storyboard.
The family shots under the old elm, he’d love.
The rest, he was going to complain about—just like last year when we’d taken a round of photos to update the website after our wedding.
“Bronte said updating the photos is important for the family’s branding and to build the idea of connection,” I said, still trying to encourage Callan. “She just finished that course in marketing—”
He groaned. “I’m with Mim. Bron needs to be banned from any more online courses. Now that she’s finally finished her renovation and is busy running her own place, maybe she’ll forget about the photo shoots…”
“She…may…”
Callan’s eyes narrowed.
“But your parents won’t. They can’t wait to take this year’s family shots.
And I won’t forget about it, either.” Grinning, I nudged my shoulder into his arm.
“I think the photos are important, Cal. People want to know about the man who runs the farm. And I love that Matilda and I are part of the history of this place with you.”
“I love that, too.”
“No regrets?”
“Yeah. The same one I’ve always had.” His arm slung around my waist, and he pulled me closer—which was hard with the big bump in the way. “I wish I’d told you I loved you sooner.”
“Do you still?”
The short bristles on his jaw grazed my skin as he peppered kisses on my neck. My protest for him to stop was half-hearted, and he knew it.
“It’s not like my feelings are a secret,” he murmured. “That baby in your belly tells people what we get up to.”
My cheeks heated. “Cal!” I swatted his back.
When he emerged from the crook of my neck, his eyelids heavy, he had a lazy smile for me.
“You know it’s true.” His palm curved over my stomach.
“What about if we have another baby after this, Mrs. Wolcott? We’ve got six bedrooms upstairs…
We’ve got plenty of land… We could build an extra wing… A whole extra house…”
“Let’s see how we handle this baby before we start planning extra houses.” I wheezed out a grunt when a sharp kick pummeled my insides. “He agrees.”
Callan’s eyes dropped to my bump. The outline of a tiny foot was just visible through the cotton stretched over my belly. Mesmerized, he traced the edges. “I can’t wait to meet you, little guy.”
Callan was so sweet and so loving. How had I gone my whole life never noticing how his country drawl softened in special moments like these? Maybe I had to survive the worst relationship to appreciate the very best one of all.
Sometimes, not often, I sat on Matilda’s bed, the porcelain unicorn in my hand, the wind chimes outside her window tinkling as I watched the clouds floating over the valley.
I replayed my marriage to Jeremy those days.
Some of our time together was good, but the warning signs were always there, only thinly veiled by his smug smile. I’d simply chosen not to see them.
The woman I’d become was the part that surprised me.
I was the thinker, the person who dived last into the river, but when Jeremy gave up on me, I never hesitated to stand up for myself. He’d underestimated me.
The fragile shell of my ex-husband called one last time. Reluctantly, I’d accepted taking Callan’s phone when he’d passed it to me, urging me to talk to Jeremy.
“Erin…” Jeremy hiccupped on a sob. “Erin, please. Tell the investigators you were with me those nights. Tell them—”
“I won’t lie for you, Jeremy.”
“This isn’t a fucking game, okay? They’re revoking my medical registration.
What am I supposed to do now? I spent my entire life training to be a doctor!
Tallulah’s threatened to go to the media…
” Ragged breaths shuddered down the line.
“Jesus, Erin. The reporters are going to call me a predator. What will Matilda think when she grows up and sees what they write about me?”
Sighing, I said, “I wish you’d thought about Matilda the night you made your choice,” and I hung up.
I didn’t hear from Jeremy again after that.
A mutual friend mentioned bumping into him on a vacation up north.
“He puts on a brave face…” the friend said. “But he’s fallen so far…”
Apparently, Jeremy worked at one of the tennis outlet stores on the coast. He’d said to our friend that he had a girlfriend—younger than him, of course—but the stories of him enjoying an early retirement in a lavish house with a boat on the canal were lies.
I got everything in the divorce. He had no house.
No boat. Maybe a car on lease. What little money he scraped a living out of wasn’t enough to pay for child support or fly down to see Matilda.
Sometimes, I wondered if he lay awake next to his latest girlfriend, questioning if those nights with another woman were worth losing everything he loved.
But only sometimes.
Other than those rare moments when I sat in Matilda’s room, I never thought about Jeremy. My life with Callan was too precious to waste any time on my ex-husband. I guess I had something to thank him for after all. He taught me that.
The End