Epilogue
Hannah - twenty months later
“I met my wife on the day of her wedding.”
Rowan lifts a single brow pointed straight at me. He winks.
I scan the tables of our hundred or so closest family and friends gathered to celebrate our wedding day. Amused chuckles smatter through the crowd illuminated under the faint glow of the cafe lights strewn between the pines on the property between our home and Tess’ cabin.
“How long have you been waiting to use that line?” I quip.
He lowers the microphone and leans in, words coasting over my ear. “Six years, eleven months, and four days.”
Everyone’s attention remains on the two of us positioned in the middle of the rented dance floor. My husband plants a swift kiss on my cheek but doesn’t pull back right away.
“You’ve been counting, soldier?” I whisper back. “It’s like you’re obsessed with me or something.”
“Or something.” Another kiss, palm splayed around my waist as he lugs me into his side. He turns back to the crowd, face bright and eyes so blue I can’t look away.
Microphone back to his lips, he goes on.
“Nobody could have predicted what lied ahead for us. The twists and turns life would take to bring us back to one another.” His throat bobs, voice growing thick.
“The trials and losses we would endure. Or the healing we’d navigate together and the love we’d find in the trenches of it. ”
I didn’t have Mom to help me put on my dress or tuck my veil into place.
But I had Tess, Kristen, and Bri. There was no dad to give me away, but I had Artie and Tom to walk me down the aisle, Richard to officiate the ceremony, and Cecil to do the father-daughter dance with.
It’s been a hard-fought road to get here—good days bookended by really bad days, tears shed in therapy week over week.
But I’ve found some of the best people in my entire world in those trenches.
The joy you only find on the heels of hope.
Rowan pauses long, expression flickering. I take his hand in mine, rest my chin on his shoulder. He kisses my forehead.
“Days like today,” he says, “are a stark reminder of the pivotal moments in our lives where grief, hope, and joy collide. And it’s somehow heartbreaking and inspiring and beautiful all at once.”
Face soft, he lazily peruses my features as though it’s just the two of us out here—another typical Saturday night under the stars where he tells me how beautiful I am and how much he loves me.
When he speaks again, he’s only looking at me. “I made Lydia James a promise before she died.” My heart skitters, tongue feeling heavy. “A promise to love her daughter hard and to love her well. For the rest of my life.” The right side of his mouth tips. “And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
“Here, here,” Dubs hoots from the head table, champagne glass lifted high. “Now kiss the girl!”
I register a chorus of agreement from his former squad mates and new police force buddies somewhere in the crowd. Rowan smiles against my mouth as I yank him forward by the lapels. “You have some explaining to do, husband.”
He laughs, dipping me low for a camera-worthy kiss. Cameras flash and cheers erupt all around.
I’m hauled up to my feet with a big smile, full heart, and a head reeling for answers. Guests begin to filter onto the dance floor as the DJ kicks up the music.
I pull Rowan off to the side, poking him in the shoulder when we find a pocket of space to talk in private.
Before I can begin my interrogation, Richard appears, looking too all-knowing for my liking. “Thank God I don’t have to hold on to this secret any longer. The suspense has been killing me.”
The two men exchange a bro-handshake, back-clap thing which feels at odds with the generational gap between them.
I see Rowan every single day. We’ve lived together for the past several months since construction on our house was completed.
I see Richard almost as much with my job at the hospital.
I consider him a close friend now, someone always up to talk about Mom with.
But these two men are making scheming eyes at each other like everything’s been one big lie.
“Somebody needs to start talking,” I order.
Richard tips his head to Rowan. “He’s the one with the phone. I was only the middle man.”
Rowan presses his thumb to the bridge of my nose. “Cute, but you can stop doing the clinchy thing with your face. It’s all good things, I promise.”
I dart a glance to Richard. The guy gives me nothing, just looks at the phone Rowan’s pulled from his pocket like don’t look at me. Before Rowan can explain, Richard squeezes my shoulder once and disappears into the crowd, leaving us alone again.
Nerves buzz over my skin. I eye Rowan’s blacked out screen, a little anxious to find out what he’s been hiding from me.
“I texted your mom before she died.” I shake my head ready to argue. He knows I went through her phone after she passed. “And you didn’t see the messages because I asked Richard to delete them.” He swipes over his screen, tapping around a bit before he offers the whole thing to me. “But I didn’t.”
I turn the phone over in my hand and begin to read.
Rowan
Richard tells me the coast is clear and that you’re awake.
I’d prefer to do this over the phone but I know it’s hard for you to talk. I hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to ask over text.
Lydia
I won’t help you hide a body if that’s what you’re about to ask. But I do know of a decoy coming available soon.
Rowan
I promise not to tell your daughter you offered up your corpse to help me cover up murder.
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. I miss her so much, death jokes and all.
Lydia
Good man.
I’m listening…
Rowan
I’m in love with Hannah.
It started the moment I first saw her. She ran toward me on that sidewalk and I thought she was the most radiant thing I’d ever seen. I don’t know if I should call it love at first sight, but it was…something.
Then she showed me her heart and it was like my whole world clicked into place.
Your daughter makes me believe in the kind of fate that says I was made for her, she was made for me, and someone upstairs has just been playing the long game in bringing us back together.
Hannah is kind and witty. Her laugh is so cute it makes me stupid. She’s selfless and kind. Compassionate. Smart. She’s a fighter and she’s strong. So damn strong.
Just like you.
I hate that the two of you are there and my mom and I are here when the only place I want to be is wherever Hannah is. But I promise I’m gonna get back to her as soon as I can. You have my word.
And I know I already said it, but it bears repeating. I love your daughter so much it hurts.
Lydia
Tell me something I don’t know.
Rowan
I have a feeling that’s impossible.
I swat at my wet cheeks, eyes blurry. More texts sit below but I read through Rowan’s love confession one more time.
Before we’d said the words aloud to each other, he made sure my mom knew.
I told her too, lying beside her at the end.
Mom died knowing I was loved and in love. The real kind. The kind you can’t fake.
Strong, broad arms wrap around my middle. Rowan has shifted behind me, bearded chin resting on my shoulder to read along with me.
Lydia
Was there a question somewhere in there?
Rowan
I’d like permission to marry your daughter.
I can’t say if it’ll happen next month or even next year but there’s nobody else for me except her.
Lydia
On one condition…
Rowan
Anything.
Lydia
Love my little girl hard and love her well. For the rest of your life.
Rowan
I promise to love her as hard and as well as you have. Until my last breath, I swear it.
Lydia
Good man.
I tuck a soft sob behind a hand and hiccup, “You stupid, stupid man.”
“Uh oh.” Rowan plants a kiss in the crook of my neck. “You may not wanna read what she said next.” But his finger is already scrolling for me.
I blink through the wetness clouding my vision.
Lydia
One more thing.
Rowan
Don’t get greedy.
Lydia
Kiss my grandbabies for me.
Rowan
Consider it done.
Water laps gently against the dock under the weight of Rowan’s steps as he makes his way over. Hair mussed, his white collared shirt is untucked, top buttons undone. I imagine his tie tossed aside somewhere between our kitchen and here.
He holds out a steaming cup of hot chocolate. I tug the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket up past my wrists and take the mug between both hands. “Thanks.”
The last of the wedding vendor staff rolled out with their trucks about an hour ago and our guests have probably all made it safely back to their homes.
Rowan and I have our own dock now, outside our back door.
The plot of land we built on sits about fifty yards from the cabin where Tess lives.
Separated by a sea of towering green pines, you can make out the pulse of light from the television at my mother-in-law’s place from here.
Bri’s silhouette can be seen on the couch, Dubs plopped down beside her.
Judging by the late hour, I suspect Tess is already asleep.
“I thought Dubs was staying in the camper?” I ask, nodding toward the cabin.
When we renovated the lake house and added on the second bedroom, we also overhauled the old camper standing sentry in the woods on the opposite end of the property.
Gutted and redesigned the interior, stabilized the structure, installed a power line.
We even cleared out a few trees to make it easier to get to.
It’s become an alternate guest room of sorts when we have visitors and the extra bed at Tess’ cabin is occupied.
Rowan grins over the rim of his cocoa. “I mean, his things are in the camper. But Bri isn’t, so…”
“Wherever Bri is, Dubs follows.”
He clicks the warm liquid down his throat. “Exactly.”
I huff a quiet laugh, silently wondering if Bri will ever give Dubs a chance beyond the snarky little friendship they’ve formed over the past couple of years.
Rowan throws an arm over the back of the two-person rocker and tousles my hair. “Stop trying to make sense of it, runaway. The BriDubs math is never mathing.”
He urges me closer and I slide over, sinking into the crook of his shoulder. My hand finds his under the moonlight. I twirl his silver wedding band around his finger.
“We did it,” I say.
“We did it.” Rowan tips my head and finds my lips in a long, deep kiss. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.”
A steady creak hums beneath us as we push off our feet, setting the rocker in motion.
The mountains are our favorite kind of quiet tonight. Water smooth like silk, moon casting a cone of light over its surface. The sky dotted with stars and an array of hazy clouds. Wind sweeps through the trees, and I fill my lungs with the crisp mountain air that tastes like home.
All of our favorite people are here. Not just the friends and family we celebrated with tonight, but the ones we’ve lost. They’re here too.
Norm’s Adirondack over on Tess’ dock. His folded flag on display beside his son’s on the mantle at the cabin.
The chessboard generations of Shaws have learned on—the one Norm and I spent hours hunched over in the years before he passed—now sits in our living room.
Mom’s bright red front door. Our contractor looked at us like we were crazy when Rowan pulled it off the bed of his truck.
I never thought to remove it when I sold the house, but Rowan came up with the idea at the last minute before the papers were signed.
Seeing it at the end of our winding drive when I get home feels like a warm hug at the end of a long commute.
The damaged wood planks from Mom’s living room where Maddy and I spilled our nail polish are here too. Rowan plucked them up and repurposed them to build the very rocker we’re sitting on.
Maggie’s needlepoint that hangs in our hallway, first thing I see when I step through the door.
And every Saturday night, under these same stars, the breeze sends me soft whispers of Mom’s laugh. I smile more than I cry when I hear it now.
I used to think hope was a tangible thing. A date on the calendar, a new year’s resolution, a task you add to a checklist. Something you see up ahead, a goal to chase after. Those things are all well and good, but you can’t hold them. They don’t hold you back.
What I know now is hope isn’t finite. It’s not limited by time or reach or capacity.
Hope is a lot like love. It’s strong. Unwavering.
It doesn’t relent when life gets hard. Its roots run deep so the strongest of winds and highest of waves can’t overcome it.
And the weight of it makes even the most vulnerable of ships safe in the storm.
You cling to it and its heels dig in—immovable. Unshakeable.
Hope feels a lot like the arms wrapped around me in bed every night, the hands that tip up my chin when my mind goes somewhere dark to remind me I’m not alone—that I’m safe.
Hope is an anchor. And sometimes, that anchor is your person.
THE END