EPILOGUE
KYLA
“Can I ride Spirit later, Mommy?”
I stand up, the paint brush and my hand coated in black paint. I swipe at my forehead anyway and hope for the best. The summer sun blazes overhead. At least there’s a breeze, but honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Maybe, sweetie. Let’s get a few more feet of this fence painted.”
I turn and look over my shoulder to where he stands nearby, painting. “What do you think, Cohen? Finish up for the day, grab dinner, and take a ride?”
When his eyes meet mine, my heart pounds in my chest. It does that every time he looks at me.
A year ago, when our truck broke down on the side of the road right in the middle of this beautiful farm, I never dreamed that one moment would forever change the trajectory of our lives.
Thank God it did.
The day that Laney’s father showed up and I realized that he had hired someone to follow us, I never dreamed that a few short months later I would be free of him and still have shared custody of Laney.
But Cohen helped us. He didn’t force his way into our lives. He just stood with me, held me, loved me, and gave me his quiet strength when I needed it the most. He knew I had to find my way back to myself, back to who I used to be, who I am.
John and I now share custody of Laney, and that entire situation is much improved, or as improved as it can be co-parenting with a narcissistic ex. We’re making it work.
Laney and I officially live in Cohen’s grandmother’s house, and he still officially lives in Lark’s Meadow, even if he is at our place daily. We are taking our time.
I’m working at the diner for Iris while I dust off my nursing degree, and I am finally making my dream a reality. I am preparing to open a direct primary care clinic in town.
We’re happy.
“How about we knock off now?” Cohen says. “I could use a cold glass of your tea.”
“Sounds good to me,” Laney says from her perch on the fence rail where she is kicking her pink boots back and forth as she supervises us.
“Okay, you both talked me into it.”
We pack up our supplies, and Cohen grabs the can of paint that we were sharing and the brushes in one hand, the other finding mine. I hold Laney’s hand as we make our way to a freshly painted and fully restored Large Marge. That was my birthday present from Cohen.
“We still need to get you a pair of boots,” Cohen says as he laughs at my paint-splattered tennis shoes. “Everyone needs boots on Roman Mountain.”
I laugh at Cohen’s joke, but deep down I know that we now have roots on Roman Mountain.