Epilogue
Camp’s hand squeezes my knee, making me realize it’s bouncing. “Sorry,” I say, shifting on the bleachers of the stuffy gym, fanning myself with a program.
“Hope that fancy new gym is a few degrees cooler than swampy balls,” Scotty says from next to me.
“Ha. Ha,” Camp says, adjusting Hank on the bleachers next to him. Over his shoulder, Mave smiles at me, winks, and hands both boys a cookie from her purse.
“You good?” Scotty asks, linking her arm in mine. “This is a big fucking deal.”
I wince. “Scott, language. This is a school event, for God’s sake.”
“Didn’t stop me when I was an actual student, not going to let it stop me now.”
I roll my eyes but smile. Scotty is Scotty, forever.
Graduation is an event in Ledger. The people just show up, whether they know someone graduating or not.
My parents walk in, home for a few weeks from travelling around Florida, and gesture to seats in the front near my brothers—whom I haven’t seen in months. I smile and wave before they sit. I watch them fall into easy conversation with the people next to them, old friends I recognize, like most people in this town are.
“You haven’t come by to see your friends lately,” Scotty says, now using her program to fan herself while also wafting air from the collar of her shirt—printed with Lyra’s face on it. “You good?”
I steal a look at Camp, who’s mid-conversation with his dad but shoots me a wink, before looking back to her. “Yeah, I’m good. I don’t, uhh, think I’ll need them anymore.”
Her eyes widen, but she’s also smiling. “Really?” She presses her lips together. “Good.” Then, “The podcasts?”
“Or the podcasts.”
She stops fanning herself, slinging an arm around me.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she shouts, “June Cannon is a real grown-up girl making her own decisions!”
When I smack her arm, she laughs.
“You’re happy,” she says.
“I’m happy.”
We fall into silence as we watch the steady stream of people walk through the door. Stopping for small talk. Hugging family members. Most laughing. Some crying.
Out of uniform, in dark pants and a mint-green polo, in walks Ford.
I stay quiet, but I don’t miss the way Scotty reacts. Her eyes on him, tension shoots off her like bolts of lightning in a storm.
“I’m not an asshole like you that finds it necessary to shout personal business, but you know that we need to talk about that, right?”
She resumes fanning herself, like nothing happened. “Nothing to talk about.”
“Junie,” Mave says from behind me on the bleachers, tapping my shoulder. “Did you tell Scotty about my sex party? It’s next week, you know!” She grins, proud, looking over my shoulder to Scotty.
“No, Mave. I didn’t—”
“I’ll be there, Mavie,” Scotty cuts in from beside me, making Mave shimmy her shoulders. “And so will our little Joo. She’s sheltered.”
When they both giggle, I swat Scotty on the arm.
On the stage set up in the middle of the gym, Gus takes the mic. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, our graduates will be entering the gymnasium any minute, so if you can please find a seat.”
“I’m not sheltered,” I whisper-hiss to Scotty as the last people scurry to find seats.
She rolls her eyes and swears under her breath, fanning herself with the program again.
When the school band starts playing instrumental music, Scotty’s off my radar. Camp interlaces his fingers in mine, but all I can do is stare at the doorway. Tears forming before the first kid even appears.
Then, he’s there: in a hunter-green cap and gown, big smile, and tassel swinging wildly as he walks. Someone’s son crosses the threshold to the next chapter of life. A child turns into a man right before our eyes.
The line files out. One after another. One hundred and seventeen ants in a line, marching toward their future. They walk across the back wall of the gym to form a line in the center, walking toward the front and the seats that await them. And then I see her, Lyra, walking with a proud smile. Her hair, for the first time in years, is its natural sandy blonde and hangs down her back.
No longer in control of my body, I release Camp’s hand from mine bring my hands to my mouth, standing as I watch her walk. Trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory. Her. Trying to commit her to memory.
Lyra used to do this thing where she’d run out onto the playground, getting right to the middle where she would stop. Timid, she’d turn back, searching, almost frantically so. Waiting to see me. For me to wave at her before she’d run out of sight and play.
Now, in this stuffy gymnasium, she’s a young woman, walking down a graduation aisle, head high. She knows I’m here, in the bleachers on the sidelines, but she doesn’t need to look. Doesn’t need to see me. All these years later, the tables have turned. It’s me craning my neck to see her and waiting for her wave.
When she pauses. When she turns to look—I’m already waving. The only parent standing, Camp wraps his hand around my leg and squeezes as tears fall straight down my face at the sight of her. She laughs, waves back, then turns toward her seat, me still waving as she goes.
I get it then, why Mave and Dustin always stand and wave at us like idiots when we drive away. Because they know how fleeting it all is. The ache that comes with every goodbye and lingers until the next hello.
I sit, wiping my eyes. Camp’s hand finds my knee and the expression on his face lets me know that he feels what I feel. His thumb captures the fresh shot of tears before he kisses my forehead.
“You did good, J,” he says.
I sniff. “ We did.”
“We did.”
“God, nothing’s even happened yet. You two will never survive this whole thing,” Scotty groans from next to us.
I dig my elbow into her side, making her grunt, as the assistant principal finishes his welcome speech. “And now, this year’s valedictorian address from Miss Lyra Cannon.”
Applause fills the gym, Camp cupping his hands around his mouth for a loud, “That’s my girl!” Once again, emotion stunts my speech. The lump in my throat prevents me from doing anything but clapping.
Lyra steps up to the podium and unfolds a paper before smiling at the crowd.
“Good afternoon, parents, teachers, and fellow graduates,” she starts, slight echo around the packed gym. “Based on my GPA and the fact I’m standing here, I’m officially the smartest person we all know.” In her pause, Scotty cackles. “But we all know that’s not true.” She grins as a soft laugh rolls across the gym. “Sure, I worked hard, have a good GPA, but there are so many other factors that we don’t think about. Like, for example, the fact that Stephen Nickols can take a computer apart and put it back together but had no desire to do homework in any class other than science.” A few graduates chuckle, punching Stephen in his skinny shoulder while he shoots his arms into the air with a loud yeah! “Or, there’s Maggie Fisher, who makes the best cookies anyone has ever tasted—after my Nan, of course”—Mave giggles behind me—“but somehow made it through our entire senior year without actually doing a single math problem.”
Maggie stands, does a curtsy, and sits back down.
“And, of course, let’s not forget the entrepreneurial spirit of Danny Griffen.”
Our unknowing edible dealer tips his graduation cap and earns a knowing chuckle from most of the gym, even his dad Billy, especially Camp, and shockingly Scotty. When I shoot her a look, she shrugs.
“All that to say, sometimes the ones that we need to look to, those that know so much more than us and save us over and over again, aren’t the ones giving the speeches. They aren’t the ones at the top, receiving accolades, they are something else. Something quieter.”
I look at Camp, smiling at him as I nudge him.
“Daddy’s girl forever,” I whisper to him as she continues.
“Sometimes,” Lyra continues, “our heroes are standing right in plain sight. Living an ordinary life that we might mistake for simple”—at the word, I look back to Camp, and he nods, squeezing my hand in his—“but that’s where we’re wrong. Because while some of us are focused on big dreams, perfect GPAs, and graduation speeches, the ones who aren’t are far from simple. Some heroes, I’ve learned, are the ones that sacrifice one thing—many things—to be great at something else—even if it’s not showy. Even if nobody notices. Day after day after day, they just do this thing. Sure, I get to stand up here because I worked hard and got good grades, but I’m not the one who people will run to when their computer breaks. Not the one that will be delivering cookies at the end of a hard day. Not the one . . . sorry, Danny, I’ve got nothing.” She laughs, so does he, and so does everyone else.
“In this life, though I’ve only had practice for seventeen years, I’ve learned that while the people who stand up here in the spotlight can do amazing things, so do the people that don’t. The ones who clap from the sidelines and cheer for everyone else.”
She pauses. Gaze searching around, stopping when she finds me.
“Mom,” she says, voice cracking as I stand—once again the only one in the gym doing so. “You have spent your life teaching me how to be selfless. How to give and give and give. You give compliments and smiles. You give time. You once gave a peep show to the senior class in a ridiculous bathing suit.” I laugh through my tears along with the entire senior class. “Thank you, for showing me that not all heroes wear capes. That the real superstars don’t always win awards and get name recognition. Some are just there, loving everyone around them and taking care of the little details that nobody else wants to. The sole reason that others can shine like stars is because people like you create a sky for us to shine in.”
I blow her a watery kiss; she clears her throat.
“From my mom, and many of yours, may we learn to be givers, caretakers, and lovers of life. May we be dreamers. May we spend our life working hard but loving harder. Even when life takes from us and crushes us. Even when we mess up. Even when we think nobody sees.”
Scotty’s hand wraps around mine, her eyes as wet as my own when I look down at her. I can’t make fun of her; I can’t even breathe.
“Mom, you’re my hero. Thank you for being you so I can be me. When I grow up, I want to be just like you. Thank you.”
She steps from behind the podium, gives an exaggerated bow, and the gym erupts with applause. Women around the bleachers dab their eyes, but I cry hardest of all. Because there, in front of everyone, my daughter sees me. All of me. All my parts and pieces. A life spent seemingly doing nothing is suddenly validated.
When I sit, Camp pulls me to him. “ Mama’s girl,” he whispers in my hair. “Mama’s girl.”
“We did good,” I tell him, wiping my final tears.
“We did good.”
On a steadying exhale, I turn to Scotty, who’s wiping her own eyes. “Now that I know Scotty has a heart, I guess this adds to the list of things we will be discussing at our next chat.”
When she groans, I laugh.
“You know, you could have warned me you were going to get so mushy, you little shit,” Scotty says, hooking an arm around Lyra’s neck in the parking lot. “I mean, I would have skipped the eyeliner or something.”
Lyra laughs, brown eyes sparkling. “Well, you know, had to make it memorable for dear old Mom here.”
“Trust me,” Camp says, hand finding the small of my back. “You absolutely did. I don’t think she’s ever cried that much at once. Actually, she might need water.”
“Very funny.” I smack his chest. “It was beautiful, Lyra. Thank you, I . . .” My voice catches, and she saves me from myself, pulling me into a hug.
“I love you, Mom,” she whispers.
I stay quiet out of fear of weeping and instead hold on to her for as long as she lets me. Over her shoulder, my eyes land on a familiar face. A young woman—standing at the edge of a group around a graduate—with a toddler at her feet and a baby in her arms. When she gives me a tired smile, I recognize her from the lake. The one whose tears lead to mine.
I return the smile, her eyes go to Lyra, and something like hope fills her face.
Like maybe it’s all worth it.
It’s Nick’s call to Lyra from somewhere in the crowd that pulls us apart.
“Go,” I say. “Have fun with your friends. Your party starts at five, make sure you’re there or your entire guest list will start a revolution.”
She smiles, gives everyone another round of hugs, then goes to be with Nick. Nick, who she told me last week, she had sex with. She cried when she told me, overwhelmed with emotion, but by the end of our conversation, she was laughing. She trusts him the way I trust Camp.
“Now what, Joo?” Scotty asks.
“Now,” I say, squeezing Camp’s arm as a smile curves my lips, “I got that job that Irma told me about. One weekend a month we’ll travel to somewhere in the state—all expenses paid—and I’ll take photos for the magazine.”
Hank barrels into me, hugging my knees and making me oomph!
“You and Reed should team up,” Scotty says, smirking at Camp.
He drops his head back with an incredulous laugh. “You know, Scotty. If I didn’t love ya, I’d hate ya.”
“Oh, Campy, don’t be silly. There’s no fun in that.”
“Reed is in Colorado for some art show,” I tell them before giving Camp a wry smile. “But maybe when he gets back . . .”
He shoots me a look, but his eyes are smiling before he chases the boys across the parking lot, stopping to talk to some fellow teachers and graduates. While Scotty and I stroll arm in arm, her gaze goes somewhere ahead of us.
There, across the parking lot, Ford opens his truck door, eyes locked on Scotty.
“You know, Scott, you told me you’d stop hating Ford if I ended my divorce charade with Camp.”
She whips her head toward me, hazel eyes narrowing. “Bitch.”
I bark out a laugh.
I open my mouth; she holds up her hand.
“I hate you.”
She grins. “I know you don’t.”
I sigh. “You’re right. Unfortunately, I love you like I love Camp and the kids and even Thor.”
“To forever and back?”
I drop my head on her shoulder, watching Camp with the boys ahead of us. “And then some.”