Chapter 8 #2
“They’ve got grandbabies now, you know.”
“I’ve seen ‘em,” he said proudly. “The girls. Matilda’s gonna teach ‘em how to run the world.”
“She already thinks she does.”
They both laughed, the sound bright, timeless.
And then the light began to shift.
Not darker.
Just… farther away.
Betsy felt herself being pulled gently, not with urgency, but with tenderness—like a tide drawing her back toward the waking world.
She turned to Billy, gripping his hands.
“Will you be there?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “The moment you close your eyes, I’ll be holding your hand. You won’t have to take a single step without me.”
Her tears spilled freely now. “I’m ready.”
“I know you are.”
“Promise me they’ll be okay.”
“They already are.”
He kissed her knuckles, pressed one final kiss to her forehead.
“I’ll be waiting. Right here. Always.”
And as her dream began to fade, as the golden field drifted into soft gray…
She whispered one last time—“I’ll be there soon. I’m coming home, Billy.”
* * *
It was the kind of day Jonestown would talk about for years. The sky stayed cloudless and sweet, the breeze carried the scent of lavender and barbecue, and the Jones family—fierce, loud, loyal—stood at the center of it all, wrapped in joy like they’d stitched it into their blood.
The wedding ceremony had been magic.
Baron had looked calm as ever in his deep navy suit, but Bryce swore he saw his brother’s hands shaking when Penny stepped into view.
Penny floated down the aisle like a woman who finally understood what it meant to be safe—flanked by Esther and Matilda, the women who’d shaped her, and held her, and helped her grow.
Brent stood beside Baron, not even pretending to hide the tears on his face.
“She looks like a damn goddess,” he whispered.
Baron didn’t blink. “She is.”
Their vows were simple and true. Not flashy or practiced, but raw and real. They’d weathered storms most couples would have crumbled under. This? This was their sunrise.
But it was the reception—under strings of glowing lights and stars so close they felt touchable—that turned the day into something unforgettable.
The Jones family land had been transformed into a celebration of legacy.
Long wooden tables overflowed with food and laughter, wildflowers tucked in mason jars, and the kind of joy that danced barefoot through the grass.
Toddlers played tag between folding chairs.
Teens slow-danced like no one was watching.
And Matilda, dressed like a walking sparkle explosion, moved through the crowd like she ran the show. Because she did.
Brent helped Mara settle their daughter—chubby-cheeked and newly walking—into the little shaded nook they’d set up just for the babies. She immediately plopped onto a playmat and started babbling at a stuffed rabbit like she had urgent news.
Bryce slipped an arm around Nora Mae, their own daughter cooing from the bassinet beside them.
That little girl—long eyelashes, serious eyes, a head full of dark curls—had changed their world the moment she arrived.
A miracle born through surrogacy, loved beyond measure.
Nora Mae had arranged every tiny detail of the reception’s nursery space.
It was half garden, half fairy tale, all mama magic.
“She already runs this family,” Bryce murmured, brushing a kiss to his wife’s temple.
Nora Mae smiled. “Good. Somebody needs to keep y’all in line.”
And then—chaos walked in, late and loud and wearing lipstick.
Lexi.
Nora Mae’s younger sister, balancing two diaper bags, a wild toddler named Zadie wearing fairy wings, and a baby girl strapped to her chest in a leopard print carrier. She looked like a war goddess who hadn’t had a hot meal in three days.
“Zadie!” she barked. “Do not run—ZADIE!”
The tiara-topped toddler launched herself forward like she was breaking out of baby jail. She would’ve taken out the dessert table if someone hadn’t stepped in.
That someone was Sheriff Luke Roeder.
Broad shoulders. Calm eyes. Hands like safety. He caught Zadie mid-flight with a laugh and handed her back like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You always enter a party like a Marvel character?” he asked.
Lexi, panting, adjusted her carrier. “It’s called single-mom swagger. Look it up.”
“I’m impressed,” he said, tipping his hat.
“You should be terrified,” she shot back, then paused. “And you are…?”
“Sheriff Luke Roeder.”
Lexi looked him over like he was a surprise on the clearance rack she suddenly wanted. “Huh. Good jawline for a man who reads Miranda rights.”
“Good mouth on a woman holding a baby and a juice box grenade.”
They stared at each other for a long beat.
And then grinned.
Penny leaned into Baron’s side, watching from across the lawn. “Well. That’s going to be the talk of brunch for the next six Sundays.”
Baron chuckled. “Should I intervene?”
“Absolutely not. Let them suffer.”
As the sun dipped low, the party shimmered into something sacred. Music swelled. Fireflies blinked. Laughter never stopped.
Baron pulled Penny into his arms for another dance. Matilda yanked her glittery sneakers off and spun barefoot in the grass. Bryce slow-danced with Nora Mae while their baby slept in the crook of his arm. Brent lifted Mara’s hand to his lips and kissed it like no one was watching.
But someone was.
They all felt her.
The quiet space where Betsy should’ve been.
Her absence was a song woven into the wind.
There’d been a chair set for her, near the dance floor, with a glass of sweet tea and a bundle of lilies. The spot remained untouched, but not unnoticed.
Baron looked toward it more than once. So did Bryce. And Brent. Esther had said she wouldn’t cry—but she did, just for a moment, as the music carried them all forward.
They’d buried their mother just six weeks before the wedding.
Betsy had held on as long as she could. Long enough to watch Brent become a father, Bryce cradle his daughter, and Baron bring Penny home for good.
“I’ll rest when I know my boys are okay,” she’d whispered, not long before she passed.
And now?
She was resting.
Because up above, just beyond the shimmer of fairy lights and stars, she stood arm-in-arm with Billy Jones—who looked like he hadn’t aged a day since he left this world. His arm around her shoulder. Her head resting against his.
They watched their boys laugh.
Watched their grandbabies thrive.
Watched a family bloom from all the seeds they’d planted in love.
“Well,” Betsy whispered, her eyes shining, “look at our babies.”
Billy smiled. “They turned out alright.”
Betsy grinned. “Better than alright. They’re home.”
And below, in the soft gold of the evening, the Jones family danced on.