Epilogue #3
She became passionate about helping revive not only parts of Shady Valley but also the other towns where she was starting building projects.
About building not only wealth through her real estate development but enriching the lives of the people who lived there through developing public parks, community gardens, bike paths, sports courts, and orchards in areas where fruit trees could easily grow. The plans just kept growing.
And because those things cost more money, her investors were happy because it meant more ways for her to wash their cash.
She’d been working on layering those infusions of cash as well to protect herself and our future from any scrutiny from the government through stock portfolios, bonds, private equity investments, trusts, and retirement accounts.
I wouldn’t pretend to understand any of it but I knew by the way she slept increasingly better as time went on that she felt as close to certain as possible that nothing could ever be found out and traced back.
“It’s my wedding gift!” Zayn insisted. “You can’t pay me back for your wedding gift.”
Zayn sounded borderline offended by the prospect.
“In that case, thank you so much for getting this all set up for us. It’s absolutely perfect. I can’t think of a better way to spend the next few weeks.”
I couldn’t either.
And by the time we got back from the road trip to California, our home should have its finishing touches done and be ready for us to move in.
Just in time, too.
Because while we hadn’t told anyone, and while there were no obvious signs yet, we’d already gotten a jump on the family planning thing.
Six months from now, we were going to be a family of three.
Lula - 16 years
My grandmother had a lot of favorite phrases. But one I really remembered her saying a lot was, “If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.”
Raff and I had been very clear about our family planning. We wanted two kids.
We had a lovely baby boy about six months after our wedding. And we fell in love with him, with us, with this new family we’d built for a year and a half before we decided to start trying for our last child.
And got pregnant with twins.
Nine months later, we had another son and our little girl.
Our family was more complete than we’d planned, but we were happier than we thought we could ever be.
I’d always known Raff was a caretaker. I mean, he’d been taking care of me for years. Even when I insisted I didn’t need it. But watching him take care of the kids was incredible.
Like I’d told him years ago, I knew he would be good with them thanks to his laid-back nature, his patience, and his observation skills.
When I was completely lost trying to figure out why one of the kids was crying, he was right there with understanding and a solution.
Then, when it was handled, a hug for my overstimulated self.
He could always talk down a tantrum, convince an overtired kid to go to bed, or handle the random injuries that sent me into an anxiety spiral.
He was a constant source of fun, the creator of belly laughs, the first one to suggest a fort get built in the living room or mud gets played with in the backyard.
I mean, I’d needed to hose him down like a dog no fewer than five times before I let him back in the house after playing in the yard with the kids.
He was, for them, what he’d always been for me: a source of joy, love, understanding, and fun. He was never harsh or impatient or too busy to listen to them tell a story or ask a thousand questions in a row.
Of course, he was also the enforcer of bad habits.
Ice cream for breakfast. Late-night-movie-watching.
Taking the kids out of school early to go to an amusement park.
And maybe I’d find those things frustrating as the slightly less fun parent, but I forced myself to see those things through their eyes.
In doing so, all I could think was that the kids would look back on their childhood with nothing but joy.
That was the goal, wasn’t it? I just made sure on ice cream breakfast days that lunch and dinner were very healthy.
That the kids got to bed early the next night after staying up late.
That schoolwork never suffered from the occasional short day.
There was lots of fun for them, but also balance and structure.
The work I’d been doing for years gave me everything I hoped it would. It gave us money for private schools, extracurricular activities, travel—so the kids saw how much there was to the world—and funds for their future needs: cars, college tuition, weddings, whatever they needed.
It also gave me a lot more free time these days. No more late nights in a windowless room at The Bog. I worked from home during projects, so I was always around if the kids were sick or had time off.
As for Raff, well, within two years of us getting together, he had pretty much retired from doing the trips across the South. The club was always growing. There were plenty of others to take his place.
You’d think that too much time together would be toxic. But we thrived. Did he occasionally interrupt my workday with random trips out to get food or to bend me over the desk? Absolutely. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“Mom,” my oldest called from the doorway of my office—previously our ‘flex room’ since my original office became a bedroom for our surprise twin—where I’d been doing some work, but a lot of reflecting as I stared out the window.
“What’s up, bud?” I asked, shutting my laptop lid.
“I know what I want for my birthday.”
That was still three months away. But he’d always been a kid who planned ahead.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“A chuckwalla.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Where is your father? Rafe!”
He came up behind our son, a smile tugging at his lips. “You rang, love?”
“Did you put him up to this?”
“Up to what?” he asked, brows furrowing.
I knew, for work, Raff could be a good liar. But the Rafe I knew and loved and built a life with absolutely sucked at it. He seemed genuinely confused.
“Tell your father what you want for your birthday.”
Our son, confused, looked over at his father. “A lizard.”
“Nope. No, tell him what kind of lizard.”
“A chuckwalla.”
Rafe threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, shit. That’s good. Your mom hates those things,” he explained to our son.
“I don’t hate them. That one just… scared me.”
“When did you see a chuckwalla?”
“When I took your mom to Joshua Tree. Maybe it’s time for another family vacation,” Raff suggested. “Take this one out to see the chuckwallas before we decide if we want to add something new to the family.”
We had the small, fluffy dog we’d once discussed. But our daughter had a set of tiny bunnies who were free to roam in her room. Our other son had, since he was little, an obsession with fish. So he’d asked for his own tank two years before. He and his father had been carefully maintaining it since.
I was actually surprised it took this long for our oldest to figure out what kind of pet he was interested in.
“Sounds good,” our son said, turning and walking out. Likely off to tell his siblings about the future trip.
“Hey, it could be worse,” Raff said as he walked into the room and moved behind my chair.
“How’s that?”
“He could want one of the lizards that eats bugs.”
“Bugs?” I asked, lip curling.
“Yep. Lots of them eat bugs. Fat, juicy caterpillars. Black soldier fly larvae—which are basically maggots. Or, for the bigger ones, roaches.”
“Oh, like hell. He can have his chuckwalla. So long as he doesn’t let it… run around the house and freak me out.”
“Well, let’s go visit them first. And make sure it isn’t a passing interest. We could use to a get away.”
“We can’t go to that same guesthouse.”
“Why not?”
“There’s too many of us. They only have the two suites.”
“Yeah, but the living room couches pull out. The boys can crash there. They won’t mind. And we can have our outside tub,” he said, hands massaging my shoulders. “And moon-gazing bed. On the other side of the building from the kids.”
“Okay. I’m sold. But we’re going to have to stock that fridge this time. Those boys have hollow legs lately, I swear.”
“Grocery bill has tripled this year,” Raff agreed. “So, when do you want to go?”
“Well, the kids are out of school in six weeks. Any time after that works for me. We’re gonna need a pet-sitter.”
“Luckily for us, we got a giant family we can inconvenience with that task.”
There was a soft knock at the door just as Raff leaned down to press a kiss to my neck.
We both let out a little sigh. We were used to the interruptions. But never immune from the frustrations surrounding them.
“Yeah?” Raff called.
“Daddy,” our daughter said, shooting her father a smile that looked a lot like his—charming, open, a little lopsided.
“Princess?” Raff replied.
“Do you want to make jewelry with me?”
“Absolutely, I do.”
“Is this a daddy-daughter playdate, or can I make jewelry too?” I asked.