Epilogue
I am a summer creature, as that’s when I was born, and nearly a year later, Amelia found me and made me hers. But fall, she always said, is the superior season, and I know I’m lucky to have lived long enough to spend this one with Miguel and Amelia Mae.
She, Fiona, and Walter have rented a small house on the other side of town, which she claims is just the right amount of creepy.
It’s also down the street from her new friend Ruby, who happens to be quite clever herself and doesn’t think Amelia Mae talks too much.
They’re over here all the time. At Miguel’s encouragement, Amelia Mae even goes up to my Amelia’s office sometimes to work on her stories.
Walter follows me around like I’m his hero, and while I won’t say he’s made me a dog’s dog, I have relented and taught him a few new tricks.
Our house feels like a home again when they’re in it. And something tells me that one day soon, they’ll stay for good.
The medicine doesn’t work, not the way Miguel’s hoping it will.
I’m not in terrible pain, but my hips stick at their hinges and my chest is heavy and I’m tired all the time.
That’s all right because Amelia Mae pulls me around in her old plastic wagon.
I raise my head to the sun and close my eyes as we roll along.
I smell the crisp air and the earth preparing to go dormant before it begins again.
I hear leaves crackling beneath the wagon’s wheels.
And, of course, I listen to Amelia Mae.
She tells me all about Carrie as well as her own stories but skips Pet Sematary—a mite too dark, she declares.
Her tales are gory, but no one ever dies, even if they deserve it.
As she explains, it’s actually best if they just live on and suffer.
“I’m going to call my bookstore ‘Unhappy Endings,’ ” she says with a devilish grin as we pull up in front of the rainbow window one chilly October afternoon.
“The whole store’s gonna be filled with Stabby Peeps. Isn’t that perfect, Harry?”
Oh, but it is. I suspect my other Amelia will be very famous one day.
At home, my bed is still beside the bookshelves, and Miguel has moved the urn and all the rainbow books back to the bottom shelf so I can rest my head near them.
He helps me outside to use the bathroom and brings me bowls of the special food he cooks himself, and all of it is magically delicious. Amelia would be so very proud of him.
Fiona regularly goes to the bookstore with Miguel, and she’s spent the night a few times when Jonathan’s been in town and could watch Walter and Amelia Mae, because even she can admit that being alone overnight is an unreasonable amount of time.
Miguel’s different with Fiona than he was with my Amelia—and yet he loves her all the way.
They are content, which means I am, too.
The days are slow; the days are fast. Some are as clear as a blue September sky, while others are so foggy, I’m not sure I was really there. But every day is the best day other than the ones I had with my Amelia, because we are together.
Then one morning I awake, and I know, just as she must have, that it’s time.
I don’t want to go. I’d like to keep watching Miguel be alive in the truest sense of that word.
And sunny Fiona and cloudy Amelia Mae: I’ve barely begun to enjoy them.
I want to see who Dane and Miriam become as a couple—although I imagine it is who they already are, yet somehow even better.
There are so many tomorrows that I won’t be a part of.
I’ve been here a good long while, and that’s a gift.
But I understand now why my Amelia said it’s never, ever enough.
Miguel seems to know, too, because he rises early and remains at my side, leaving only to bring me some water and my food, which I can’t manage to eat more than a bite of.
He asks Fiona to bring Amelia Mae to our house, and she lies beside me and tells me the story of how we used our magic to help her mom and my Miguel see that there’s nothing less complicated than being with the one you love.
And then Miguel takes her place and tells me the story of everything.
Of a sparkling woman he spotted in a bookstore and instantly fell in love with, even though he thought that only happened in books—and how, miraculously, she loved him back, despite the fact that he wasn’t the kind of man she wrote about.
But as he would later learn, he was part of every story she’d ever written.
Of the dog she discovered at the shelter one summer day and how nothing—not his relentless leash-pulling or barfing on the rugs or repeatedly running away and making her cry—could keep him from being her very best friend.
Of her dream to fill the world with books, which made their dream into a real place where readers could find their own happy endings.
Of the adventures and heartaches and triumphs of their life, which they shared with me and each other for as long as they could.
Miguel’s stopped talking now and is resting his hand gently on my head.
And I know that I am safe, and I am loved, so I let my eyes close once more.
Suddenly, there she is—my person, my love, my Amelia. She is standing across a grassy field that stretches forever, and she is calling me.
“Harold!” she says, and her smile’s as brilliant as the sun itself. “Come on, boy. Run to me!”
How can I not, when I’ve waited so long to see her again? And finally, she’s here. Right on time.
“Amelia!” I bark, tearing through the grass. “I love you I love you I love you!”
“I love you, too, you nutty dog!”
Even from here, I can feel her warmth on my fur, and I blink and blink as my eyes fill with tears.
“Aww, Harold. It’s okay,” she tells me. “I know you’ve been through so much. You’ve been such a good boy.”
Yes, yes, I have.
“And you still are. I’m so incredibly happy to see you.”
I am, too, and my tail nub’s wagging, wagging, wagging. Oh, how wrong I was about ever after!
“I’ve been waiting for you, Harold,” says Amelia as she kneels and opens her arms. “So, come here so I can scratch your ears and rub your belly and give you the absolute biggest dog hug of your life. Then we’ll go run and play and spend the rest of time together.”
“Harold?” I can hear Miguel now. He’s farther away, and that old familiar tug to help him almost makes me open my eyes again.
He must sense that I am caught between duty and desire, because his voice drops to a murmur.
“It’s okay,” he assures me. “It’s okay. Thank you.
You saved my life day after day, Harold, and I’ll never forget that. I love you.”
I love him, too.
Of course, Miguel’s already aware of that. And now we both know that he’ll be fine. That he is fine. I’ve done my job; I’ve fulfilled my purpose, which is the most any of us can wish for.
So, I say goodbye—but only for now. Because one day in the far-off future, Amelia and I will greet him in the field that stretches forever.
Then I begin to run as fast as my legs will take me.
For my person is calling—
And she is my happy ending.