Epilogue
Four years later
CIRCE’S HIGH SCHOOL graduation party is at Crissy Field—a park along the San Francisco Bay with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background—her choice.
She wanted Sally to be part of the celebration, and my dog is happiest these days lying on a blanket in the grass, tail wagging whenever a child approaches.
I sit beside her as the party kicks into high gear, one hand resting on her side.
The fur grew back, but I can still feel the bumps where she had stitches.
It’s a tactile memory of the worst of times, when hope seemed to have vanished, but was still there, like a secret I had to rediscover.
Sally’s entire face is white now, her paws and ears as well. I sent a photo to Viola last week—I now help with her books and fundraising. We talked about the joy Sally has given me, and vice versa.
It’s incredible how much life she had left in her, Viola said. When she crosses the rainbow bridge, don’t wait, bring another unwanted dog home. It’s what she’d want.
I can’t let myself imagine that moment but know Sally is forever embroidered on my heart. When the time comes, I will adopt another senior dog, in her honor.
Now, all around us, teenagers hug, high-five, joke, and laugh, over the moon that they’ve graduated and are one step closer to independence.
Circe was accepted at School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
It’s the number one photography college in the country.
Who knows whether that passion will continue—who she is at this moment and who she’ll become will change, down to every atom in her body.
I no longer care about what career she chooses, just that she finds something that makes her proud and a level of independence, so she has options, doesn’t end up sitting on a curb calling a celebrity therapist for help, or desperate for any friend, instead of being and finding true ones, and trusting herself.
I watch Circe, Char, and Emi dance to the bluegrass band Bruce somehow got permission to have play in the public park.
He also hired several food trucks—La Cocina, Billy Bob’s Southern Comfort, and Veggie Lovers’ Delight—and had Circe’s favorite bakery create a dessert table with every kind of cookie; strawberry rhubarb, blueberry, and apple pie; tiramisu; cheesecake; carrot and chocolate cakes; and decadent sundaes with loads of real whipped cream, chocolate, and caramel sauce. He’s a generous man with his child.
“Hey, Penn,” Val says, as she wanders by with Yahida, their hands clasped.
The soft-spoken physical therapist has a beautiful smile, full lips, and ringlets of dark curls.
I’ve heard that they’ve been dating for about eleven months.
Emi was over last week for a movie night with Circe—we watched Lars and the Real Girl.
When the credits rolled, she shared that after she leaves for college, her mom and Yahida plan to move in together.
“Are you going to join in?” Val asks with a nod at the band.
“In a bit,” I say. Yahida pulls her toward the music. They sway together in floral peasant dresses, arms around each other’s waists. Who ever thought Val would wear a peasant dress?
Bruce walks over, squats down, gives Sally a scratch behind one of her ears. Interestingly, his allergies have vanished. He now has a black Labrador.
“Having a good time?” he asks.
“I am.” Our divorce took thirteen months.
In the end, Cameron kept us in mediation, was able to wrestle enough money for a small safety net, child support until Circe is twenty-one, and three years of spousal support, and I acquiesced to fifty-fifty custody.
Turns out Bruce wanted something more than Mackenzie.
Bruce had to cover both of our lawyers’ fees.
Was our settlement fair? No. That’s my truth.
But we’re co-parenting and cordial. I no longer hate him, but I’ll never forget.
“We did well with Circe,” Bruce says.
I meet his gaze. “Yes.”
Bruce’s hair has gone completely gray. The IRS audit was stressful and lasted eighteen months, but he was ultimately cleared of any crime.
Circe says he’s now on the dating apps after settling with Mackenzie, who took him to court for emotional damages.
Do I feel a little schadenfreude about Bruce’s situation?
Yes. But I also hope he finds what he’s looking for.
Two things can be true at the same time.
Kiki flops down beside me in an off-the-shoulder pale-pink sundress and gives Bruce an annoyed look. She still holds a grudge against him and makes sure he knows it. My ex quickly takes off.
Sally rolls over for a belly rub and Kiki giggles and tickles the old dog’s tummy. “You’re the best girl,” she says and gets a kiss on her wrist in return.
I nod at the crowd dancing. “Val looks in love.”
“I think she is,” Kiki says.
“I’m glad.”
Val and I never found solid footing. I couldn’t allow a woman who put my child in such harm’s way back into my life, either.
Kiki and I see each other for coffee loosely once a month.
I eventually told her about my past. We recognize similar wounds in each other and share different but traumatic pasts.
That gives us a connection. We’ll never be as close as I once thought we were, but my idealized version of friendships was an illusion. At least what we have now is real.
“Gotta dance with my kiddo,” Kiki says and sprints off to find Charlotte and hold her close before she flies away to Provence to work as an au pair. Chris is already by Char’s side. He and Kiki decided to stay together. They seem happy.
My daughter bounds over in a white jumpsuit, sparkles on her cheeks, blond hair swept into a messy topknot, green eyes impossibly bright. She kisses Sally on the nose and gets a lick in return. “What’s up?” I ask.
“What if I don’t like living in Chicago? Or the classes are too hard?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Circe nibbles her lower lip. “Won’t you be lonely without me?”
Light illuminates that deep well inside where the truth resides. So that’s what this is about. “There’s a podcast we used to listen to. The therapist, who was only sometimes right, told a story about a mother bird and her babies. Do you remember it?”
Circe shakes her head.
“You want to hear it?”
She rubs her quivering chin. “Okay.”
“There was a flood. A mother bird’s nest, high in a tree, was threatened by the rising water.
She had three babies, and one by one she worked to carry them to safety.
The first chick said, ‘Thank you so much, Mommy. When I’m grown, I will return and take care of you.
’ The mother bird dropped that chick and let him drown in the water. ”
“Brutal,” Circe says.
“She went back for the next baby, who said, ‘Thank you so much, Momma. When I’m grown, I’ll spend my entire life working hard so that I can pay you back for all your sacrifices.
’ Again, the mother dropped the baby and let her drown.
Halfway across the water, the third baby looked up at her mother and said, ‘Thank you for saving me. I promise to do the same for my own chicks one day.’ The mother bird carried that baby to safety.
She raised her, then pushed her from the nest when she was ready to fly. ”
Circe swipes at her eyes, caught between a laugh and a cry. “I did not expect a story about bird filicide. So, is the message that I can never come home?”
“Any time you want,” I reply. “But you have your own life to live now.”
Circe hugs me, then takes off to join her friends.
I watch her wave to Luc as she runs past. He’s at the water’s edge, in tan cargo shorts and a blue T-shirt, throwing Frank’s favorite ball.
We took different paths after Aletheia was destroyed.
He bought a van, traveled across the country with Frank, stopped to do volunteer work at schools and farms, ride his mountain bike, and hike in national parks.
He also spent time with his nephews and talked to his brother about their parents and choices.
Along the way, Luc worked on how to separate the past from his future.
To let go of the things he feared or imagined he wanted for what made his life worthwhile.
I went into therapy to understand my relationship with Mama J.
She loved me, in a messed up, addict-addled way, tried to toughen and protect me.
That left me with faulty core beliefs and wounds that’ve healed but, like a bone once broken, still ache now and then.
In the end, though, when it mattered most, Mama J let me go …
but she was there for me in the frigid waters where her ashes are scattered during those last moments with Aletheia.
After I finally put my mother to rest, I tackled the needs that led to Aletheia’s creation and how to come to terms with the guilt.
Aletheia hurt a lot of people. We did. Some survived relatively unscathed.
Others, like Wess, were lucky to avoid jail time.
Sexting in California, minor to minor, is a “wobbler” offense.
Meaning that Wess could’ve been charged with a misdemeanor or a felony.
Kids sext, that’s just a fact, and rarely get charged.
But given the circumstances, irate parents, and media attention, the law stepped in.
Our DA chose to charge Wess with a misdemeanor, plus two years of community service.
He avoided the sex offender registry, which would have ruined his life.