Epilogue - NamidJayce

Epilogue

Namid

My life is different from anything I've ever imagined.

The past two years have been a whirlwind. Less than a month after I was attacked, Jayce, Ken, and I started to make plans to move away from our small town. Jayce reached out to Max at the gallery, and she connected us with a realtor. It had taken three months for me to fully recover, for Ken to find a buyer for the business, and for us to find the perfect home. When we saw the listing for six acres of land on the peninsula, half cleared for structures with a yard and a small pasture and half still covered with dense forest, we knew instantly. The main home is a three-bedroom, ranch-style house that we've furnished and repainted together. There are also two large shops, a shed, a chicken coup, and a small two-bedroom cabin scattered across the cleared acreage. Ken always paid me a salary, and he never charged me rent on the cabin, so with my small savings account and the sale of Ken's and Jayce's homes, the three of us had been able to buy the property outright without touching the money Jordyn had put away.

Our land is surrounded by a national forest, and there is a small, secluded strip of beach with fine grey sand and smooth dark rocks less than a mile away. Jayce and I walk there often, spending our time hand in hand, arguing over who can find the most interesting shell or rock or stick. Our home smells like the salt that rides across the ocean breeze and fir trees and grass and damp earth. The singing of birds and the chattering of squirrels and the shifting of pine boughs in the wind are the constant quiet background soundtrack as we go about our days.

We can't see the Aurora from here, but the stars are bright and brilliant on crisp, clear nights. Jayce and I built a small deck in the middle of the property, and on warm nights, we curl up together under piles of blankets and sleep under the stars. I don't often miss the swirling teal and gold and magenta skies that I've always known; with Jayce at my side, they ripple across my skin endlessly.

There are several small towns in a thirty-mile radius - seaside enclaves with tiny main street shops and bakeries that tourists flock to during the summer months. We've gotten to know the owners of small bookshops and bakeries and bars by name, and we walk along sidewalks and piers and park trails with interlaced fingers without a second thought. People smile at us as we pass by.

This place looks and smells and feels different from the only place I've ever known, but this is home .

Apparently, it's so common for artists to be reclusive or eccentric that the gallery's three owners, Max, Emily, and Troy, didn't bat an eye when we told them we wouldn't be attending the opening of Jayce's first solo exhibition.

Max, however, was insistent that we do something to mark the occasion, and after a relatively long debate, we landed on having the owners and their families over to our place for a mid-summer barbecue. I've met each of them and their partners a handful of times, and they've all been kind and understanding of the fact that I seem quite antisocial. They've always respected my need for space while still actively trying to make me feel included, and I've never felt any frustration or anger toward me or Jayce from any of them.

By having an outdoor barbecue at our home, we figured I'd be able to keep my distance or seek refuge inside our house for a while if I needed to. I haven't needed to. I've been outside for nearly two hours laughing and enjoying the company of nine people, and not once has one of their emotions strayed to something negative enough that I've had to step back. Emily's five-year-old is a tad challenging. I've never spent time around children, and his rapidly shifting emotions have come as a surprise, but it's not something I can't handle. Having Jayce nearby always helps. His emotions sink into my soul in such a way that they become my whole world. I still feel the emotions of those around us, but the overwhelming love that envelops me when he's by my side helps temper them.

The people who currently occupy our large grassy yard have spent the sunny afternoon enjoying good food and good company in celebration of Jayce's work.

Fifteen sculptures currently stand tall in the downtown gallery. The building's other two floors have been temporarily closed, and Jayce's work is the only thing on display. Each of them towers at least ten feet, with the largest nearing seventeen. Jayce has thrown himself into his art, and our new life has inspired him. I've taken some part-time, remote accounting work for a few of the small shops in nearby towns, but I spend much of my time laughing at Jayce's side or quietly reading in the corner of the old barn studio while he works.

Sky of Souls has already garnered critical acclaim, and the exhibition's opening night sold out in under a week. The gallery doesn't expect even the largest of pieces to remain unsold for more than a few days.

I don't know if the burgundy room in Ken's old funeral home had actually absorbed the intense emotions I always seemed to feel there. I still don't know if that's really possible. What I do know is that the steel that comprises Jayce's work has done just that.

Each of the sculptures triggers the same emotional reaction from everyone who sees them.

They are passion and need and gratitude and love .

They are US .

They are Jayce and me, public and proud and unashamed. Standing strong and tall for the world to see.

Jayce startles me from my revelry as he slips a strong arm around my waist.

"Do you think he knows?" The flood of emotion that runs through him contains traces of the grief he wore when we first met, but the emotion is small and soft and tempered by more love and happiness than it should be possible for one person to feel.

I don't have to ask what he means, and I can't help the grateful sigh that slips from my lips as I lay my head onto his shoulder. "He knows."

His lips brush my hair. "I think he'd be happy for us, with what we've done with the money, with the life we've built."

"I think so too, my love."

As we laugh and shift to the left to dodge the beanbag that has escaped Ken's grasp on yet another of his horrific throws toward the cornhole board, Jayce's grief fades. Those lost to us, Jordyn, Katherine, Jayce's parents, they're always here, but we choose to honor them with laughter and memories and stories about the way they were loved. While grief will always be a part of our lives, it's become a part we're thankful for as, in some inexplicable way, it brought us to one another.