Epilogue - Blue
My experience with flying had always been in first class.
My family always had the best seats. When we went to Europe or Asia, we had those lay-down seats and our own flight attendant.
This had been very posh, and a far cry from the premium economy seats on Delta that the four of us had as we flew out to Santa Monica. At least to me.
In contrast, my traveling companions seemed well pleased with our seats and the free sodas and small bags of pretzels, so I held onto Wolfe’s hand and didn’t say anything about it. Those first-class seats were part of my old life anyway, so I didn’t need to think about them anymore.
Jack and Morgan’s wedding had been a whirlwind swirling around me. Other people did the planning; all I had to do was show up and be Jack’s best man at the courthouse in Hysham. Which was easy, so easy, especially since he was shining with happiness during the whole ceremony.
I caught Wolfe looking at me as he stood at Morgan’s side, and there was a light in his eyes that told me what my heart already knew. That he wanted a ceremony just like it for the two of us. That he wanted to love me forever.
I wanted to love him right back.
That Wolfe wanted to sacrifice his snowmobile to pay for the trip to Santa Monica made me sad because I knew the machine (that he’d only ever used the one time, to go into town rather than talk to me) represented how he thought his life would go once he’d settled in his cabin along the banks of the Yellowstone River.
That he’d be self-sufficient, that he could remain alone in his cabin. That he wouldn’t need anyone. Ever.
He’d been betrayed by his family, just as I had been betrayed by mine. Selling the snowmobile meant moving beyond that and into his own future, where his family would have none of his energy or time; not even the memory of them would exist.
Gus Odell had turned this sad plight around and made selling the snowmobile feel different. The raffle raised a lot of money to begin with. The young couple who’d won the snowmobile seemed very pleased, and I sincerely hoped they’d get a lot of use out of it.
We ordered the lace master before we flew out to the coast, and then Wolfe and I picked the charities where the remainder of the raffle money would go: the women’s shelter in Billings, the fund for the new Grange, and the no-kill animal shelter in Hysham.
The lace master would arrive after we returned, and my plan was to encourage Wolfe to make what he wanted to make, and to never work with plastic gimp threads again.
My other plan was to get a job to help bring in money that would go to support us, rather than mooching off of Wolfe’s generosity and his love for me.
Maybe I could shovel horse manure at Gus Odell’s ranch. Maybe I could work at the coffee shop, though they probably wouldn’t have enough work for me to do.
Wolfe’s suggestion was that I start a Patreon account and write about the weather and the happenings in town. I told Wolfe he was out of his mind, and I wasn’t a writer, anyway.
Mabel loved the idea when she heard about it (which, of course, she did), and thought I should do spotlight articles about people’s pets, with the focus being on what Mister Rocket was up to each day.
Morgan, who’d also heard about it, suggested I write posts about the history of the town, starting with the lives of Oralee and Toby Malone. Then I could write about how the Grange burned down and the town’s efforts to rebuild it. And how he was donating the land because he was generous like that.
Jack told me to write about what I wanted to write about.
So, with all of that input, I decided I would consider it.
I’d never been to Santa Monica. Before, while riding the trains with my fellow boxcar boys, it had only been a spot on the map, a place to get to. A faraway dream. Star, of course, had chosen the location as a goal, rather than just a destination.
In his mind, as I had learned, certain events, such as our arrival in Santa Monica, needed to be accomplished with ceremony, with rituals turning the act into a symbolic shift inside our souls.
Or at least that’s what Star told us one night as the boxcar rumbled along the rails and, because Jack had found a six-pack of beer, we were slightly drunk; the words flowed from Star’s mouth as he braced himself against one wall and looked out the open boxcar door and watched the rain trying to get in.
I didn’t humor Star in this. Rather, I believed him. So did Jack. We both dutifully wove our personal stories and mentally sketched out how we would feel once we arrived. Star had wanted to see dolphins gamboling in the waves. Jack had been focused on eating that hot dog with his toes in the sand.
I wanted to stand with my feet in ocean water because salt kills evil.
I wanted to watch the sun go down and promise myself I wouldn’t cry about my family anymore.
That what they did to me wouldn’t matter anymore.
To paraphrase Stephen King, I wanted to stand at the edge of the Pacific Ocean, a place with no memory, so I could build new memories. So I could build a new life.
By the time I arrived on the beach, and walked away from the others, and took off my flip-flops and stood there with my feet in the cool water, actually stood there where I’d envisioned myself standing, it felt surreal.
It felt like I was floating above the surface of the rippling, sun-sparkled water.
It felt like my soul was racing toward the sun, leaving everything I had ever known or ever been far, far behind me.
I tasted the water, licking it from my fingertips. It was bitter, like tears.
This was it, then. This was my ritual. This was the moment when everything changed.
I’d always imagined the everything-changed part would happen right away, in an instant, making a sound like the snap of fingers.
But then, as I wiped my eyes on my bare forearm, I realized that the changes had already been happening.
I’d been making them long before I arrived at that spot, with the waves lapping my ankles as the sun went down, painted like an orange-flavored push-up from Dairy Queen.
Behind me, on the beach, eating hot dogs and watching the same sunset as I was watching, was my new family. They’d found me, in spite of me. Jack, my fellow boxcar boy. Morgan, who loved Jack and, it seemed, loved me, at least by association. And then there was Wolfe.
He was watching me, looking out for me. Jack must have told him about the ritual. Wolfe was patient, silently waiting for me to finish what I needed to do. I had the feeling he would wait for me forever. For as long as it took. For me to step away from who I’d been and to step into his arms.
We would make new lives together. It would take courage. We’d have to work hard. Winters in Montana were brutal. But I wouldn’t long for summer, for warmer days simply because it was easier. I wouldn’t long for anything, as long as Wolfe and I were together.
Winter or summer. Cold days or hot ones . For richer or for poorer. That was my future. My family could go fuck themselves, and I swore that I wouldn’t think about them anymore. I probably would, but I wouldn’t linger on them.
Wiping my eyes for the last time, I took a deep breath, glanced at the small disc of sun sinking into the dark waves on the far horizon, and turned around. There was Wolfe. Hot dogs eaten. Hands in his pockets. Eyes focused on me like I was the most important thing in his whole world.
He made me feel that way. Significant. Loved. Just by the force of his attention.
I went up to him and hugged him tight, my arms around his neck.
“I love you,” I said, my heart leaping with joy, the sense of everything being surreal fading with the warmth of his body against mine. “You are everything to me.”
And then Wolfe said something so astounding, it took my breath away.
“I love you, Blue,” he said, the words coming from deep inside him. “You could have died when you fell from that train, but you didn’t. And someone else could have found you, but they didn’t. I found you. And I’m keeping you.”
I wanted to be kept. I wanted to be held. I wanted us to argue and make up afterward. I wanted to sit beside Wolfe in his workshop and help him create online listings for his handmade rawhide bosals, and I wanted to share his joy when the orders came.
The money would never actually roll in from these sales because those kind of hackamores took a long time to make. But that didn’t matter because Wolfe would be doing something he loved doing, which was, after all, the entire point of being alive.
Cupping my face in his hands, Wolfe kissed me soundly and said, “I tell you what. Those hot dogs aren’t going to hold me. I need real food. How about you?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling, kissing him back. “Coffee for breakfast and pretzels for lunch? No way.” I looked over Wolfe’s shoulder at Jack, who was helping Morgan to his feet. “How about dinner?”
“Fuck yeah,” Jack said.
“Fuck yeah,” Morgan echoed, laughter beneath the words.
Slowly we walked up the mesh grate path to the road, and stood as a group looking at the hotel which, any way you wanted to look at it, was a fine establishment.
But after the long journey to arrive, the last thing I wanted to do was sit inside a posh restaurant (which would have amazing food) and feel cut off from the rest of the world.
Maybe Jack sensed what I was feeling, for he came up and brushed my shoulder with his.
“There’s a little diner there, right on the beach,” he said. “Do you see it?”
I saw it. There was an outdoor patio that was set back from the road. There were umbrellas and lights strung from the poles, and every seat on that patio had a view. And every seat was full.
Behind me, Wolfe clasped my shoulders and kissed my neck, and whispered, “Let’s try our luck.”
Luck was with us. By the time we got to the host station, the young man, who wore eyeliner and a nose ring and who looked amazing, like he was auditioning for a part in a movie, looked up at us and smiled.
“Good timing,” he said. “Table for four?”
“Yes, please,” Jack said, sharing his winning smile.
We sat at a table in the corner and looked at our menus beneath those sparkling lights, feeling the night air grow cool around us as the sun went fully down and twilight expanded.
The food we ordered was simple: burgers, club sandwiches, piles of nachos that we shared. And it was amazing. Maybe because we were hungry and the ocean air made everything taste so much better. Or maybe it was because we were together.
Tomorrow we would plaster those printed posters for Star all over Santa Monica.
Maybe we’d get arrested for defacing public property.
Maybe the posters wouldn’t last very long, or they would get covered over by other posters.
Maybe Star would never see them, even if he did one day decide to pay Santa Monica a visit.
I truly didn’t know if we’d ever find him, but if we did, I knew the town of Hysham would welcome him with open arms.
In the meanwhile, I had Jack and Morgan. And I had Wolfe who, as he licked the salt from his lower lip, leaned close, dipping his chin, his eyes flashing as though he were about to share a secret.
“This is the best night of my life,” he said.
“It’s mine too,” I said, and meant it.
“It’ll always be like this,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’ll help you,” I said, a bit breathless, my heart beating fast. “We’ll make sure of it together.”
He reached for my hand. Our fingers entwined, palms growing warm, and for a long moment we sat like that, looking into each other's eyes. Each day would be like this, this I knew in my heart.
“I want to propose,” Wolfe said, somewhat suddenly. “But I don’t have a ring.”
I took the strip of paper that came around the paper napkin and silverware bundle, and folded it in half, using the gummy strip to make it into a circle, and handed it to him.
“I’m ready to say yes,” I said. “Only do hurry because I’m not sure how long the sticky part will stay sticky.
He blinked hard, as though to hold back tears, but nothing could have held back the brightness in those eyes I so loved.
“Will you marry me?” he asked, quite softly.
“Yes,” I said. “Of course I will.”
I held out my left hand, and he slipped the paper ring on my finger, pressing it tightly to my skin so it would stay on.
“Yes,” I said again, and rose from my chair to kiss him.
Jack and Morgan clapped, and a gentle round of applause rose from the people seated at the tables around us. The lights twinkled in the crisp sea air, the smell of salt all around, a whisper of the winter that awaited us in Montana, where our lives would grow together, entwine together.
We might not find Star while we taped our posters to light poles, but we would find him. One day. Some day.
I kissed Wolfe again, smiling, and then sat down, not even pretending to be calm because my heart was racing and my whole body was full of joy. Joy I deserved and which I would share with Wolfe as long as there was breath in my body.
The End