Epilogue
A TRUNK ’ S WORTH of suitcases clogged the mudroom of our Rhode Island house. Rome wasn’t super helpful on detailing December weather in Sicily. “Y’know. Pants, I guess. No winter stuff.” Not exactly pinpointing a month-long wardrobe, so I decided to pack more than I needed.
Rome came lumbering inside from the garage through the mudroom. He paused when his eyes identified the outlier in the group of suitcases. He pointed to the suspect, a meager black bag on four wheels. Unassuming. Hidden. But traitorous in numbers.
“What’s that?” Rome asked. “Is that another bag?”
I pretended like I didn’t know. “Um, maybe? Not sure. Should we go through all of them?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re only gonna be gone a month. And the house has laundry. You really don’t need to bring your entire wardrobe. Besides, we can buy clothes when we’re over there anyway.”
Rome grabbed the first two suitcases and wheeled them to the door that he toed open. I followed behind and grabbed a couple. In the garage, we loaded them into the trunk of his car. Mine sat in the other bay.
The end of October had been a busy month for us.
I recovered just in time to clean out my apartment and move half of the stuff into Hiroshi’s guesthouse and the rest to the Rhode Island home.
I had yet to visit the Florida place, which would come in a few months when we traveled down there for spring training.
Hiroshi threw a big end-of-season party just before Halloween, something I didn’t quite understand until Rome explained how the camaraderie worked with the Riders.
Rome had returned to playing in time for the division series against, of all teams, the Brooklyn Brawlers.
Joe escorted me to the games I could attend and, despite not being able to jump up, I cheered on my man as loud as my lungs would allow.
Rome had scored the winning home run. The crowd went wild.
The speakers boomed “Roam” at volume eleven.
His return during the first game had been equally well received.
Despite all the commotion and fanfare and general BS, the fans didn’t care. They still loved their Romo.
But the Riders lost the league championship.
Rome played his heart out and I was so proud of him.
He took it well, though I had nothing to really compare it to.
He promised me they’d make the World Series next year.
So, before their long break until spring training, Hiroshi had everyone back over for a grand get together to celebrate what he considered a great season despite the turmoil.
The last of my legal issues hit on October thirty-first, as if the universe knew that I needed to start fresh in November when my lease ended.
Ricky was formally charged, found guilty, and imprisoned, with an unnecessary (but really, necessary) restraining order set against him.
Rome ended up pressing charges, too. And so, Ricky forever departed from our lives when the bailiff ushered him out of the courtroom.
I didn’t give him a second thought when I left the courthouse on Halloween.
Rome and I went back into the house to get the last of the suitcases.
As he closed the trunk, my phone chirped.
I pulled it out to read a text message from Paola wishing us luck on our flight and to send plenty of pictures when we arrived.
I sent back a heart and then a selfie of Rome and I kissing right there in the garage.
In only a few short weeks, Paola became one of my favorite people.
When the dust settled, we offered her a position within the Moretti Foundation.
A high position, in fact. Someone to help me identify candidates and scout families in need.
She took the role with maternal ferocity, as if she could save all the sick babies in the world.
It had been one of the single greatest accomplishments of my life—getting the opportunity to work beside a woman of integrity such as her.
We walked into the house to verify all the luggage was out. “Will you check the lights upstairs?” Rome asked. “I want to make sure everything is off before we leave.”
“Will do,” I said as I jogged up the stairs and went room to room.
Our flight would leave in about two hours.
Devin was meeting us out there in two weeks to officially spend Christmas with the Moretti clan.
More importantly, the budding romance with Rome’s cousin, Elena, would undoubtedly be in full bloom.
The two took to each other like fish to water after she came over to help me with some physical therapy.
Rome became worried suddenly—he pictured me and his mother turning into scheming matchmakers for the single Morettis.
All the lights were off on the second floor. On the first floor, I couldn’t find Rome. I went to the kitchen to grab us some waters for the road. “Hey,” he called out from somewhere I couldn’t see. I fished through the pantry for a snack.
“What’s up? Where are you?” I hollered back.
“Remember when I said I’d do something for your anniversary? Twenty years, cancer free?”
I had been looking at the sugar content on the label of some cookies. I lowered the package and grinned. Yes, I remembered him saying he wanted to do something for me. That was months ago. Nothing had come of it. I figured he’d forgot. Or maybe our trip to Sicily would be it?
“Yeah, I remember,” I said, then laughed. “You didn’t do anything, though!”
“Ugh, I know. Sorry about that.” His voice was closer now. He was behind me. I found a package of peanut butter crackers. Those would be good.
“Don’t worry about it. Life came at us pretty fast,” I said. Peanut butter crackers it was. I always enjoyed them. Started to turn around…
“Sure did. That’s why I got you this.”
Rome. On one knee. A small black box in his hand.
Peanut butter crackers went crashing to the floor. Crushed. Broken apart. Just like my emotions in that moment. I covered my mouth with my hand.
“Alex Edwards…”
An un-lived life flashed through me like lightning.
A dozen scenes played through within only a single beat of my heart.
An old Rome, tall, white hair, sitting beside me on the beach.
The two of us palling around a baseball hall of fame.
Sixty years of Christmases and Thanksgivings and all the beautiful holidays we had yet to share.
Simple moments. Sharing a glass of wine. Making love beside the fire. Attending baseball games for new players.
“… will you marry me?”
Some people would call that a decision point. After all, there were two choices; only two ways to answer. Perhaps a crossroads for some. Turn left? Turn right?
But I didn’t need a direction. I had made plenty of wrong turns on the highways of my life.
Too many dead ends to count on all those backroads of my youth.
All the freeways of cutting corners, the boulevards of bad choices.
Every avenue, every direction, and all the mud I would ever need on my tires.
I shouldn’t have been so surprised as I stood there covering my mouth, wide eyed, staring at a ring made of polished gold. There were no more turns to make. No more streets. No lefts. No rights. Just what lay directly before me. Because, in the end…
“ Yes , Rome. Yes, I will.”
… all roads led to him.