Epilogue
One Month Later
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve driven my new SUV into town. Up and down the driveway, sure. But into town? I’m still very much a work in progress.
Driving has been a slow progression for me, but I’m doing it, though it takes me triple the time to get anywhere.
I move at a snail’s pace. Both hands firmly at ten and two, ten miles below the speed limit, every mirror checked at least twice before changing lanes.
Gone is the woman who flew through traffic on a wing and a prayer.
There’s still a lot to get used to, but my courage is on a slow, steady trek upwards.
Turning off Edgewood Lane, I drive through the rusted iron gates of the cemetery and follow the narrow road, passing row after row of stone monuments. Some ten-foot-tall pillars, and others a modest granite.
This is my first time coming alone, though Liam and I came together once before.
Rolling to a crawl, I veer onto the edge of the grass and shift into park. Shielding my eyes against the late morning sun, I orient myself, looking for the oak tree Julie rests beside.
August sun beats down on me as I cross the grass to the headstone, etched in elegant font, that reads:
Julie Ann Rivers
July 19, 1996 – November 8, 2023
Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.
I trace her name and the dates with my eyes. She was so young. Too young.
Nestled in the small concrete vase is a bundle of wilted, sunburnt daisies.
Liam brought them three weeks ago for her birthday.
I could tell he was having a day. He was quiet, and not the shutting down kind of quiet.
The quiet I’ve learned to recognize that’s heavy with grief.
Where he struggles to focus and his mind wanders to a place I can’t follow.
After restlessly pacing the porch a good forty-five minutes, he finally looked at me and confessed it was her birthday.
Like he was afraid it would bother me that he wanted to acknowledge that.
Knowing how a ride calms his nerves, I suggested he head into town, grab some flowers, and spend the afternoon with her.
We’ve agreed that keeping her memory alive is important. For far too long, Liam kept their memories under lock and key, and he now sees how unhealthy that was.
Two weeks ago, he asked me to join him for a visit to the cemetery. It was the first time we’d done this together, and Liam’s nerves were apparent in every move he made, from his thumb drumming against the steering wheel to him asking me three separate times if I was sure I wanted to come.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” I told him.
Once here, I made a point to give him privacy by taking a seat on a nearby bench while he talked quietly to Julie. And when he came to stand in front of me, taking my hand to pull me to my feet, there was a noticeable difference in his face.
That evening at home, I suggested he put a photo of her on the living room shelf, right next to his poetry books.
He positioned it just right, shifting it an inch left then an inch right while telling me the story behind it.
It was taken on the first day of her marketing job at the law firm.
In it, she’s framed by the front door, wearing a white blouse and black pencil skirt.
Her hair is cut into a sleek blonde bob, and she’s wearing what looks like a placating smile.
I could almost hear Liam on the other end of the camera.
“Just one more pic, Jules. I’m proud of you.”
The thought makes me smile even now.
But standing here by myself, the silence of the cemetery feels intimidating and I struggle with where to begin.
I never fooled myself into thinking this visit would be easy.
On the contrary, I knew it would be one of the hardest conversations of my life.
Thinking back to my visit with Liam, I remember how he talked to her like she was here.
Like he was chatting with someone over lunch or a beer.
Gathering my courage, I swallow and just start.
“Hey, Julie,” I say softly, like I’m talking to a friend who is merely asleep.
“We haven’t officially met. I’ve kinda had some roadblocks.
” Absentmindedly, I rub the scar hidden beneath my hair.
“I don’t know what I think or believe about the afterlife, but right now I’m choosing to believe you’re listening to every word I say. I hope you are.”
I pause to take in a ragged breath around the lump forming at the base of my throat. This is so much harder than I expected. Closing my eyes, I take a series of deep breaths and focus on the birdsong in a nearby tree to collect myself. I can do this.
Peeling my lids open, I focus on the center of one of the daisies.
“I want to thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion, but I press on.
“You loved him so beautifully while you had him. I’ve never met a man who deserves it quite as much as Liam does.
He’s such a good man, Julie. But you already know that. ”
I kneel and pluck a blade of grass, twirling it idly between my fingers. “Little by little, he’s opened up about you, but I need you to know I don’t mind. I would never ask him to stop missing you. You are part of him.”
A tear slips past my lashes, falling down my cheek as I reach a finger to trace her name on the cold granite. Another tear chases the first, and I brush it away and blink up at the sky, pushing out a long breath.
“I know you worked so hard. Right up until the end.” My voice cracks.
“But I need you to know, I will do everything in my power to take care of him. We’re in this together, okay?
We love him together. I’ll make sure he eats when he forgets.
I’ll hand him his helmet and bike keys on the hard days.
I’ll sit with him in the dark when the grief comes back, because it will come back.
And that’s okay. So, wherever it is you are, take care of him from there, yeah? ”
The lump in my throat wins for a second time as fresh tears track down my face. Tucking the hem of my dress under my thighs, I shift until my back rests against the headstone and let myself feel it all. Profound grief for a woman I’ve never met. And gratitude for her role in Liam’s life.
I don’t know how long I sit here in the stillness. I’ve said what I came to say, but I’m not ready to leave just yet.
The sudden squawk from a crow breaks the reverie, and I blink, coming back to the present to check the time on my phone. I didn’t expect this visit to be as healing as it’s been, but I better get going. I told Liam I’d meet him at the bar.
“Thank you, Julie,” I whisper, resting a palm against the top of the headstone. “I’ll be back soon.”
Standing, I brush loose dirt from my legs and backside and quietly walk to my car.
Driving into town, I pass Jackson’s diner, where I spot my mom’s unmistakable silhouette through the front glass, taking a customer’s order.
I smile at the sight. She’s not 100 percent.
Not even 80 percent healed. That would be impossible in this time span.
But she’s a universe away from the timid, bird-like woman she was mere months ago.
For now, Singing River is quiet, though I’ve been warned it won’t be long before white tents and food trucks flood Main Street.
The annual Riverfest, the largest event the town hosts.
It’s an all-evening affair, culminating in a street dance that’ll keep the bar packed late into the night.
Liam slipped out of bed before I woke to help Sheila get things ready.
Today is also his birthday. I only discovered it because he left his driver’s license lying on the kitchen counter a couple weeks ago.
He tried brushing it off when I brought it up, but I wasn’t having it.
If my birthday is worth celebrating, his is too.
Like he said, every year we’re alive deserves a celebration.
As I walk toward the bar, I pause on the sidewalk, letting my gaze drift over the familiar storefronts: Old Town Tavern, Olivia’s florist, the record store, Henry’s barber shop, Main Street Books.
My town. Filled with my people.
From the corner of my eye, a flicker of white catches my attention.
It’s a dandelion, turned to seed, nearly identical to the one I made a wish on close to a year ago, on a day much like today.
The girl who blew seeds into the wind hadn’t the faintest idea how much her life was about to change.
They say every seven years your body becomes something new, regenerating every cell until you’re entirely new.
I didn’t need seven years. I only needed this one.
I kneel at the flower, then hesitate. This time, I let the dandelion be, to grow in the crack. Maybe some other person will come along, heavy hearted and searching, and need that wish more than I do. Besides, I’ve got everything I could ever think to ask for.
The interior of the bar seems darker than usual while my eyes slowly adjust from the glaring summer sun.
Through a few blinks, the bar reveals itself piece by piece.
The same karaoke stage I sang on back in the fall.
The same taxidermy animals, marble eyes watching me from their perch.
And the same familiar smile from Sheila to greet me.
At the sight of her, my face splits into a smile and I head her way.
“Ready for the festival?” I ask, leaning against the polished wood of the bar. She’s scrubbed it so thoroughly it shines under the lighting above.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. It’ll be a busy evening. I’m just glad Jackson has your mama’s help at the diner so he can give me a hand here tonight. You know how he likes the tips.” She pauses to pull glasses from the sanitizing bay and sets them on the drying mat. “If you’re looking for Liam, he’s—”
But a tune breaks her off. A harmonica, playing something fun and upbeat.
“I think I found him.”
Sheila gives a wink, and I follow the tune.