Epilogue
Remi
Many Years Later
Benson finds me in the art studio, scant light filtering through the windows from the early morning sunrise. There’s a continuous soft patter on the metal roof above, almost covering the sound of his footsteps as he draws near.
Warm arms circle around me, beard hairs tickling my cheek. “You let me sleep in.”
It’s an accusation that has me smiling. “You must have needed it.”
He hums, the vibration a rumble at my back. Another rumble follows, this one distant thunder.
“Rain clouds,” Benson says beside my CI. “Your favorite.”
“One of my favorites,” I amend, twisting to see him better. “I’m looking at another.”
Benson’s eyes draw down to mine, a small smile lifting his lips. “Will rain ruin the party?”
“Are you kidding? Not a chance.” I reach up enough to tap his lower lip. “Where’s my morning kiss?”
Those lips lift again, and Benson leans down to fit his mouth to mine.
My eyes slip shut, the soft familiarity of him as comforting as the rain currently pattering against the roof or the beat of my heart.
It’s there every morning to greet me. To remind me this life is one I have the fortune of sharing with him.
When he draws back, warm brown eyes hold mine.
I can’t quite help myself. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”
Benson shakes his head, trying his best not to smile as he leans down to aggressively nuzzle his facial hair against my neck. I laugh, shoving him away. But I steal one more kiss before we part.
“You take care of the boys while I start the coffee?” I suggest.
He nods, stopping to glance at his collection of figurines displayed lovingly on the wall beside the door, a few of my canvases opposite.
The ceramic animals are placed on narrow shelves, the display a wooden piece my dad helped me create some years back.
He did most of the actual construction and staining, but the flowers along the sides were my idea.
They’re wildflowers, pressed flat, preserved beneath a coat of varnish. They’re the ones Benson first gave to me, but certainly not the only ones I’ve collected. I’ve framed others, positioning the various stems and petals like art of their own.
In all these years, he’s never stopped leaving them for me. Small gifts to let me know I’m on his mind. We never needed paper to make our partnership official. Never needed a marriage certificate to prove we belong together. Although we did consider it.
In the end, we had a small ceremony to commemorate our decision. Our families were there. Friends. A field of wildflowers and a crown Benson made for me from dandelions.
It was perfect, and I haven’t regretted it once.
I run my fingers over the back of Benson’s neck, squeezing gently. With a smile, as if his mind had strayed along the same path as mine, he continues down the stairs.
The boys are waiting near the dining room door at the back of the house, tongues lolled out of their mouths in their excitement to get outside.
I shake my head as short nails scramble against the floorboards, each dog vying to be the first onto the deck.
Benson clicks his tongue, a sound I nearly miss.
I wouldn’t miss the dogs’ reactions, though.
They sit, practically vibrating as they do their very best to be patient for their dad.
I chuckle as Benson opens the door and Grizzly, the clumsier of the two chocolate Labs, trips over his own feet.
Sunflower beats him to the grass, the brothers sprinting madly through the rain as the dairy cows watch on.
They may be goofs, but they’re smart as all get out and not the least bit threatening to the animals here on the ranch.
A good part of that has to do with Benson’s training, although he’d certainly discard the credit.
Benson follows them outside, standing on the covered deck as the rain falls like a sheet beyond him. The ranch is wide awake, despite our late start.
Tearing my eyes off the man I love, I head into the kitchen, not entirely surprised to find my mom at the small table inside. A pot of coffee is already brewed, a mug in front of her. “Morning, dear.”
“Trespassing?” I tease, grabbing a mug for Benson.
The ranch house, in particular the dining room, is still communal for a good portion of the day, but my family has respected the no visitors before 5 a.m. rule I set down years ago for Benson’s and my privacy.
I appreciate it, and I know he does, as well.
“You remember what today is?” my mom asks, not bothering to defend her presence at six in the morning.
“Of course. It’s the unveiling of Dad’s statue.”
“Don’t laugh,” my mom says, trying to sound stern amongst her own amusement. “Your father has spent years on this carving.”
“And not let a single soul see his progress. Did you see the size of the tarp he covered it with? I’m fairly certain it’s bigger than the dining room.”
“And we’ll all love it,” she says firmly. “And tell him as much.”
I hum, adding a splash of homemade creamer to Benson’s mug. “See you at the unveiling.”
My mom coughs a laugh as I exit the room, heading toward the deck. It’s muggy outside, although warm, seeing as it’s July. Benson is sitting in one of the rocking chairs now, looking out toward the mountains. I join him, passing his coffee over as he gives an appreciative thanks.
The clouds are a deep lilac this morning, ringed by pink from the sun’s early rays. Every once in a while, light scatters across the grass, sending sparks of gold to dance amongst the green. Soon enough, the rain will lift, leaving a world drenched in color and life.
I never get sick of it.
“This is my favorite, too.”
Benson’s words are soft but spoken clearly. I glance his way, finding him watching me.
“The rain?” I ask.
“You when it rains,” he clarifies. “You look at peace.”
I tuck my leg onto my chair, facing him. “Do you know why?”
He nods, setting his mug on the table beside his chair so he can use his hands.
Some words are simply better expressed that way.
‘Because you find color where others see gray. It’s hiding in the shadows, along the edges of the clouds, in the raindrops falling.
You see a lot others don’t. You’ve always appreciated the storms, Remi. They’re the reason.’
Smile crooked, I lift my own hands. ‘The reason for what?’
‘For the wildflowers. For the memories we make. The tough days allow us to appreciate the good. You taught me that better than anyone else.’
My breath puffs out. ‘Is that so?’
His lips twitch. ‘You’re very wise…for your age.’
I bark a laugh that has Sunflower cocking his head. He lumbers back our way, Grizzly not far behind. ‘The sass, Grandpa.’
Benson pushes out of his seat, grabbing hold of me before I can make a run for it. One knee on my chair, he presses me backward, his hand on my jaw and his mouth on mine causing every ounce of fight to leave me in a rush. I welcome his kiss, my grip in his shirt holding him close.
He waits until I’m well and truly drunk on his mouth to lean back an inch. “This so-called grandpa still has some moves.”
“He sure does. Feel like showing me?”
I don’t notice the extra presence on the deck until it’s too late. “My God,” Colton complains, tugging his hat down over his eyes and turning right back around. “Y’all are shameless.”
Benson crawls out of my chair, wincing as he straightens his knee.
I bite my lip at his warning glare. “Didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking it,” he argues.
Noah is next to round the corner, likely having arrived with his husband. He looks from Colton, who’s shielding his eyes, to Benson and me. “Were y’all fucking?”
I throw my hands in the air. “On the deck?”
Sunflower reaches us then, shaking out his soaking wet, muddy coat. A collective groan rings out, Grizzly stumbling up the deck stairs to do the same.
“They’re your dogs,” I remind Benson.
“They’re only mine when they’re misbehaving.”
I shoot him a grin.
The rain lets up as the rest of our party arrives, the entire family gathering bright and early for the unveiling of our dad’s wooden carving, at his express request. Lawson and Oakley bring homemade cinnamon buns.
Jackson and Ash prepare fresh coffee and lemonade for everyone.
And Colton and Noah decorate the deck, hanging paper streamers for the rather strange and mysterious affair.
As for Benson and me? We helped my dad wheel the monstrosity into place yesterday, although I still have no clue what’s under the tarp.
Not so strangely, my dad is the last to arrive. He looks from the streamers to the rest of us, Mom included, before raising an eyebrow. “We ready?”
My mom, both amused and exasperated, says, “It’s your show, Hank. Whenever you’d like to begin.”
Dad waves us down the deck stairs, waiting until we’re congregated on the grass to stand before the tarp. I swear even the dairy cows are watching with bated breath, curious what this is all about.
Hank Darling clears his throat. “Over five decades ago, I met this beautiful woman who gave me the world.”
“Oh, damn it,” our mom says, her smile wobbling.
“None of us would be here today without this woman. Our family? All of this?” He waves a hand to encompass us. “It’s because of her. And that shouldn’t be forgotten. So I give to you…our Darling family tree.”
With that, he tugs the tarp to the ground.
“Holy shit,” Jackson intones.
The carved wooden statue is remarkable. It stands five feet tall, a detailed marigold, from stem to petals. I step closer, noticing names etched into the flower. Our names.
There’s the six of us: me, my parents, my brothers.
Our partners, Benson included. Children: not only Wendy, but various horses and pets we’ve had over the years.
And further out than that. Walter, Noah’s uncle.
Louise and August, even, our honorary family.
And there’s space for more names. For more family.
Our mom has her hands planted on her hips, her eyes undeniably wet as she looks at her namesake, the marigold, holding all of us together. “For Christ’s sake, Hank. How am I ever supposed to top this?”
He looks befuddled. “It’s not a competition, Mari.”
She shakes her head.
‘Look,’ I sign to Benson, giving him a little tug to join me in front of the flower. I point out the petal holding our names, including Grizzly, Sunflower…and Mouse.
Benson runs a finger over the late rodent’s name, his other hand resting over his heart. Over his empty pocket. I give his shoulder a swift kiss as someone lets out a disgruntled complaint behind us.
Glancing back, I see Jackson on his ass in a pile of mud formed from the recent rain.
Sunflower is running off, which tells me the dog likely tripped him on accident.
Ash tries to cover his laugh, but Colton doesn’t even bother.
He clutches his knees, cackling at our brother’s expense until Jackson throws a handful of mud his way.
His aim is true, and Colton rears back, a wet splat decorating his already mud-splattered shirt.
I grab Benson’s arm, the two of us moving out of the way as a mud fight breaks out.
Oakley gleefully grabs a handful, chasing after Lawson, who looks resigned but still tries to fend his husband off.
Ash doesn’t even seem bothered when a clump flies his way.
Grizzly barks, hopping around the mayhem, and our mom sighs so loud I hear her over everybody else.
All the while, the grass glitters in the sunlight, raindrops scattering light beams every which way over Darling Ranch.
It’s a kaleidoscope of colors. Every hue imaginable.
Laughter ringing in the air and joy on faces covered with bits of mud.
Memories dancing at the edges of my mind, of days just like this, of emotions earned over a lifetime.
I meet Benson’s gaze, the smile in his eyes a mirror of my own. He lifts his hand, a single sign with so much meaning I ache, the same way I do every time he offers it. ‘I love you.’
My laugh is happy, my heart the same. ‘Love you, too, Ben.’
He smiles as he traces my face with his gaze, his hands moving fluidly in question. ‘Wildflowers?’
I close my eyes for only a beat, tipping my face up toward the sun. When I look at Benson, I see it.
Not just the mountains standing tall in the distance. Or my family surrounding us on all sides.
It’s purple, gold, and green.
Shooting stars.
Spring beauties.
Wildflowers. A life covered in them.
I wrap my arms over Benson’s shoulders, his lips, when I greet them, tasting of home.
“Yeah, love. Wildflowers. More than I could ever count.”
The End