Epilogue #3
He listened well, watching his daughter with a glow that outshone witchfire. He never let his hand leave hers, never missed a chance to crack a joke to make her laugh or ask a follow-up question. He proclaimed Talula’s cocoa was the best he’d ever had.
“You sure there’s no sorcery in this?” Dr. Jones teased, a cocoa mustache hanging over his actual mustache.
“Just the usual magic.” Talula ducked her head bashfully.
“Ah.” Dr. Jones playfully tapped the side of his nose. “I know what you’re talking about.”
Then Dahlia started asking her dad questions. For advice, for stories, for jokes. Her father, with his booming laugh and exceptional storytelling skills, happily complied.
Talula just watched, seeing all the beautiful flickers of Dahlia in her father, and vice versa. Dahlia was lit up like she’d swallowed a sun, her love a blazing beacon that could send warm, sparkling light across a thousand universes. And her father was a perfect reflection of that joy.
But the clock ticked on.
When they had thirty minutes left, Talula reached for Dahlia’s shoulder to break the news as kindly as she could. But Dahlia read the look on Talula’s face as easily as she could read her watch.
“Dad, we…don’t have much time left.” Dahlia blinked, sudden tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Honey.” Dr. Jones looked at his daughter like she hung every star in the universe. “Any moment with you is worth a lifetime of waiting.”
Dahlia let the tears loose, and Dr. Jones pulled her into his lap as if Dahlia were seven instead of twenty-seven. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Dad,” Dahlia sobbed.
Talula turned away to give them a moment. When time would not allow for any more mercy, she cleared her throat. “We have one more thing to do, sir, if you’d like to see some more magic.”
“Better than grand-theft poultry?” Dr. Jones joked, his cheeks damp.
“Much better.”
“I’d like that.”
They went to the Joneses’ backyard, to Dr. Jones’s at-home archaeological dig site.
Talula called her earth affinity, pulling back the layers of ground by the peppercorn tree.
Then, she pulled out a leather-bound tome.
It was a book she had recognized immediately at a Paris bookstand.
But this version had been filled with blank pages. Until Talula had started writing in it.
“What language is that written in?” Dr. Jones watched, his side glued to Dahlia’s.
“Jinn. Sort of.” Talula winked at Dahlia. She called her time magic.
The book began to age. Pages wrinkled, the cover ossified, the lettering thinning until Talula held something ancient in her hands—an artifact and a piece of the future.
She bundled up the book in archaeologist’s-daughter-approved wrapping to keep it safe.
Using her air affinity, Talula gently lowered the book into the ground.
She pulled the soil over the book, locking in place the snag in the fabric of time and space.
In a few months, Dr. Jones would uncover his most confounding find.
He’d place it reverently in the hallowed halls of Jones Junk, counting down the days until he could show it to his daughter.
Then it was time to go.
At the entryway, Dr. Jones snacked on one of Talula’s memory cookies. He hugged his daughter for the last time, giving her a big kiss on each cheek.
“Thank you for everything,” Dahlia said.
“No, sweetheart, don’t thank me.” Dr. Jones’s voice broke. “The best thing I ever did or could ever do in this lifetime is be your dad. Thank you.”
Dahlia let out another sob.
“Come on, none of that,” Dr. Jones hushed his daughter. “This is a gift. All time is a gift.”
He locked gazes with Talula, who was standing awkward and mostly fatherless in the corner. He raised an arm and, without hesitation, Talula leaned into the best dad hug of her life.
“Thank you for taking care of my daughter,” he said. “You both take care of each other, hold on to the love, and everything will work out just fine.”
“Yes, sir.” Talula hiccuped, crying wholeheartedly herself.
“Call me Sully.” Dr. Jones ruffled her hair. “Now go on. Have beautiful, magical, loving lives. That’s all I could ever ask for.”
“Okay, Dr. Jones,” Talula said through tears. “Sully.”
Talula held Dahlia’s hand, standing side by side so Dahlia could spend every single possible second looking at her dad. He waved, smudging his glasses as he wiped away tears. Blue magic limned the women, sparkling as time and space began to bend. Dr. Jones watched, awed and proud.
“I love you, Dahlia,” he said. “And tell that Simon he needs to relax.”
Dr. Jones and his daughter laughed, an assortment of damp broken chuckles.
Then, Talula and Dahlia were gone.
Then, they were back.
Talula and Dahlia curled up on the couch in the Blue Moon basement. When their tears finally ran dry, Dahlia tucked herself snugly into Talula’s side.
“I remember he called me out of the blue that day,” she murmured. “He was in such a good mood, saying how proud of me he was. We talked for hours. I never knew why. But I was so glad he did.”
Talula kissed whatever she could of Dahlia as another round of sobs overtook her. Finally, Dahlia asked, “So, who’s going to tell him?”
“Tell who what?”
“Tell Simon that my dad says he needs to relax.”
They were laughing again, the relieved, desperate laughs after bottomless grief.
Dahlia squirmed herself upright to look at Talula. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I wish I could have given you more time with him,” Talula said, still fighting back tears.
“I got the time I got. It was more than I ever thought I’d have.
” Dahlia framed Talula’s face with her hands.
“Now all I want is time with you. All of it, all the time in existence. I want you to conjure it for me so we can spend every moment of it together. Because you’re the love of my life, Talula Esmerelda Xanadu Sahar Beatrice Morgan Smith. ”
“Dahlia Juliet Jones,” Talula said helplessly, tracing Dahlia’s face with her eyes. “I could conjure every minute past, present, and future, every second that ever will be or ever was, and it still wouldn’t be enough time with you.”
Dahlia looked adoringly at Talula. “So. What do we do now?”
Talula stood and pulled Dahlia up from the couch. “We follow your dad’s advice. We love, we live, and we make the most of every second.”
“We go on our road trip and stop at all the fruit stands,” Dahlia said.
“We hit every ridiculous roadside museum and take pictures next to giant yarn balls,” Talula countered.
“We dance on bars and fight assholes as necessary.”
“We suffer no fools and kick ass.”
“We look into getting a special handsome shepherd friend for Simon so he stops waking us up so early.”
“We finally show my mom how to use the remote control.”
“We see our friends every chance we get.”
“We do nothing at all and love every moment of it.”
Dahlia’s eyes sparkled, her dimples just for Talula. “Do you think we have time for all of that?”
Talula, bathed in the Volta’s blue glow, her heart alight, her future unfolding with all the ease of a book opening, pulled Dahlia into her arms.
“Always.”