Epilogue – Thomas
The mason's invoice had a line item I didn't recognize, so I called the number and asked about it. The guy who answered gave me a ten-minute lecture on lime mortar and soft brick and didn't charge me for the education.
I approved the payment sitting on the tailgate of Declan's truck, in the sun, while the crew worked around me.
That was my life now.
Over the last year, the trust I’d funded had grown well beyond the Settlement House. Although I wasn’t involved in the management, I enjoyed watching it do good things for the community.
It issued a stabilization grant for a church roof in Germantown, paid apprenticeship stipends for four kids entering the trades, saved a porch in West Philadelphia that an engineer's report had wrongly called beyond repair.
The society pages no longer mention my name. Constance and Bennett are the only Montgomerys worth gossiping about now. That suits me better than the mentions ever did.
By every measure I was raised on, I'm a poor man. There’s no inheritance coming my way, no mansion sitting in the right zip code. By every measure I've learned since following Tara to Philly, I'm the richest I’ve ever been.
I have a beautiful wife who loves me for me. An historic, half-finished townhouse six blocks from the landmark building she saved. A crew that calls me Tom and treats me like one of the guys. And, most surprisingly, a baby on the way.
I watched Declan work with Matty, patient and unhurried, teaching him something new.
He didn't praise or berate. He showed the boy what to do, repositioned his hands, and let the work do the rest. I was grateful to Tara's brother for showing me how to raise a person.
I'd learned it at forty, standing on the receiving end of that same teaching, and it was a skill that would soon come in handy.
My phone buzzed with text messages from Bennett.
A photograph came first. A ballroom, chandeliers, my mother at the center of a benefit wearing the staged smile she kept for such occasions.
Then the messages.
Season opener. Her performance was flawless.
Board passed the last piece of your restructuring plan today. Stock's back over water. I'm taking full credit.
I replied to that one.
Take the credit. You earned it.
One last text from my brother.
Tell Declan I've been practicing with the mallet. He'll know what it means.
Consider it done.
I looked at the photograph longer than it deserved. My mother’s priorities were all wrong, and it took almost losing my wife to realize it.
The Montgomery name, the money and mansion, the full calendar of social events. They were all empty baubles designed to project success.
Now I knew what success really looked like. Calloused hands from a hard day’s work, a woman who saw the man under the dust, and a house that was a home because we were restoring it together.
My mother didn’t know what she was missing.
Back in Philadelphia, Tara had spent the day walking a new nomination with Marisol—a developer's hardship claim she'd already determined wasn't legitimate. Over dinner, she'd filled me in on the case, using her hands to make her points. Then she yawned, blamed the walk, and went quiet.
"I'll clean up," I said.
Her quick agreement told me what she didn't. In addition to giving her nausea, early pregnancy made her tire more easily.
She locked up and turned out the lights, gave me a kiss, and went to bed early.
I went to the kitchen and got out my field book.
The as-built was complete and had done its job. The building had passed inspection.
On a fresh page, I wrote a new title.
MAINTENANCE LOG
Element: cottage sash, north elevation.
Condition: sound. Two lights want putty before winter.
Action: scheduled with Declan's crew.
Element: townhouse balusters.
Condition: stripped, awaiting finish.
Action: oil, weekends. No rush.
Element: photograph on parlor wall.
Condition: hung straight.
Action: checked anyway. Will check again.
Element: boots, by the door.
Condition: dried and stuffed.
Action: repeat as needed.
Element: Tuesdays. Condition: standing appointment with the therapist.
Action: keep going.
Below the entries, the empty fields waited to be filled.
Back at the top of the page, I filled the date line with today’s date. And in the status field beneath it, I wrote the only word the document would ever need.
Ongoing.
If you enjoyed Thomas and Tara’s story, you might also enjoy His Broken Marriage Vows, another standalone second chance marriage grovel romance.