Epilogue - Bede

T he snowfall was faint, a suggestion of white, but it limned the air with frost, and sketched a white ring around the sun, which was still shining even though it was snowing because that was Wyoming.

Wyoming in the middle of October was different than Wyoming in August or even September. In fact, the entire state was a fickle mistress who did what she wanted, when she wanted it.

You bowed to the weather and obeyed the seasons. And, as Bede hefted the axe over his shoulder, tightening his shoulders before bringing the axe down to split the round log he'd stood on its end, he knew he'd never been happier in his whole damn life.

At the end of summer, he'd gotten his certificate, a thick, sheet of parchment paper tucked in a fancy envelope. He'd been presented the certificate at the closing ceremony in September, held in a white pavilion in the woods, elegantly arranged with bunting and colorful native flowers like cornflowers, and primrose, and wild bergamot.

Every parolee from each part of the program sat in folding chairs, while all the team leads had stood in a row, a receiving committee of sorts.

Then there'd been a few speeches—Royce's had been way too long and had mostly been about flowers in bloom—then Micah, the counselor, had handed out the envelopes of certificates.

Along with the rest of the parolees, Bede had gone down the row of team leads and gotten a handshake from each and every one. They'd shaken Toby and Owen's hands, as well. It had felt like high school graduation, a ceremony that Bede didn't remember very well because he'd been drunk at the time.

Galen had been at the end of the line of team leads, and Bede had just about been blinded by the pride in that smile. And undone by the fact that Galen had risen on his toes, and added a quick kiss to Bede's cheek, right there in front of everybody.

Then there'd been beer to celebrate. Ice cold beer from a pony keg, served in red Solo cups, just like it ought to be.

In the learning next to the pavilion, a buffet had been set up worthy of any football game or rugby match, complete with hot wings and celery strips with blue cheese dressing to dip them in. There was also mac and cheese, and Galen's favorite chocolate cake for desert.

Gabe had brought out a very nice, very large bottle of Jameson 18, which he poured generously into those Solo cups, and that's when the ceremony had turned into a party.

Beck had brought his Sucrets box full of joints, and had passed them around like a proud father would at the birth of his first son.

Bede had looked at Galen.

Galen shrugged and said, "You are your own man."

So Bede had taken a joint, the smallest one he could see, lit it up from Beck's joint, and enjoyed the slow slide into total relaxation as he smoked.

The team leads had looked the other way, at first, then Royce, of all people, had given in and shared a joint with Jonah. Bede might have been drunk, might have imagined it, but Royce and Jonah had actually shotgunned that joint, which brought catcalls from Beck and put an expression on Gabe's face that said, I think this is getting out of hand .

But that was okay because it was the end of summer, and it was important to mark the occasion.

When Bede had finished his joint, he threw away the last stub of it, a fold of paper with a few ashes, and reached out to take Galen's hand.

"The future starts now," he said, feeling poetic vibes down to his soul.

They'd already packed their stuff into Galen's truck, which had been stored up at the guest ranch and which now sported a set of brand new and very sturdy truck tires. Then, with Galen in the driver's seat, and Bede riding shotgun, they'd driven to the farm.

The windows had been open and the music had blared, with the Black Crows singing about change in their pockets and about free milk and a cow. The sun had been shining, as it always did. Overhead, in that bright, brassy blue sky.

Once they settled in the farmhouse, there'd been a ton of chores to do on the farm. A shitton, in fact.

Because they owed money to Leland Tate, Bede threw himself into working from sunup to sundown. Every day of the week. Galen was at his side, every minute.

Together, they fixed the fence line. Bought goats. Weeded the lavender, prepping the beds for winter with bales of straw. They got a new door for the shed over the water pump. Put in a new screen door for the house.

Between all of this, they'd made love. Lots of love. Indoors, on the new mattress that Bede had insisted on. Outdoors, on a blanket on the grass. And after, they'd watched the stars come out.

Today, Galen was on an errand to Cheyenne, because if they were going to start raising goats for milk, they needed the best freezer to store the milk in.

Galen also wanted to buy enough wood to build a store that they would put near the main road. Galen's plan was to sell from the store come spring, which Bede thought was crazier than crazy.

"We can't stay out there all day and sell honey and shit," he said.

"We won't stay out there all day and sell honey and shit," Galen had said quite patiently. "Customers are going to take what they want and then they'll leave money in the box. Sure, Saturdays we can be out there, but most days, it'll be self-serve."

Bede did not explain that people were crooks because even if, in his old life, they were, though in Galen's life, and in Bede's new life, they were not. At least not in this part of Wyoming. Maybe not even in the whole state.

His job, before Galen returned, was to chop wood, a cord of it, to be exact. He was just about halfway through it when the dark blue Amazon van showed up, trundling up the long driveway that curved from the main road.

"Hey, there," said Bede, gratefully putting his axe down, laying it carefully on top of the next log. He pulled off his gloves and went to meet the driver, a woman with short-cropped purple hair and an earring in one ear who was always on time and never messed up a delivery. "Is it here?"

"One box for Mr. Bede Deacon," she said, handing it to him as she stood next to the open door of her truck. "You sure do get a lot of deliveries, Mr. Deacon."

"I like new things," he said, which was true.

What was even truer was the fact that he'd been on a desperate hunt for the perfect china mug. Not just perfect, but the exact kind that someone might use when drinking coffee in a diner. White, sturdy, with curved handle just the right size for your fingers.

He'd already ordered three sets, but those turned out to be fancy, or thin, just wanna-be-but-ain't kind of mugs. He'd sent those back and now he held in his hands another chance at getting it right.

"Thanks," he said, waving at her as she got in her van and drove off. Then, unable to wait, he took the brown box inside the house, making sure to wipe his boots on the mat before he stepped inside.

He placed the box on the kitchen table, which, draped with a red-and-white checked oilcloth, looked exactly as a farm table should look. Cozy. Dependable. Big enough for a large and happy family to sit around while they ate supper.

There was no large family, but they were happy.

Bede loved living with Galen more than he'd even dreamed of, and shared meals at that table were quickly becoming a staple of their lives.

He'd been alone at lunch that day, having a sad bachelor meal of leftovers, but Galen was due back for dinner, so Bede opened the fridge and brought out two steaks to warm to room temperature.

Then he got a knife from the drawer and sliced open the tape on the Amazon box. First carefully, then quickly, then the inner box was in his hands. He squinted at the images of the four white china mugs.

Would he be fooled again by false advertising? Would he ever find the perfect mug for Galen?

The cardboard box was lined with paper straw, and inside that was a squat, compact box that had pictures of white mugs on it.

Bede pulled out the box, and then opened it carefully, in case he was disappointed again and had to send the mugs back. Again.

Pulling out the first mug, he almost didn't want to look, but there in his hand, was the perfect white china mug. His fingers fit around the curve of the handle. The lip was wide enough to be sturdy but not so wide as to make the coffee spill when he drank out of it. The white was a deep white, a satisfying white.

Galen was going to love the mugs.

Bede took them all out, disposed of the box (because they were a recycling kind of household), and washed each mug lovingly at the sink. He dried them with a fluffy kitchen towel, then placed them on another towel on the kitchen table. So Galen would see them when he came home.

Bede puttered around, putting salt and spices and oil on the two hunks of steak, and those he put on a plate, covered with a bowl, and went outside to chop the rest of the cord of wood. He worked hard enough that he didn't need a jacket, and was finished just as he heard the rumble of Galen's truck coming up the long drive.

Taking a moment, he posed with the axe. Stopped. Rolled up his sleeves, the way Galen liked them, and posed again. One gloved fist on his waist, the other gloved fist on top of the axe handle. His chin in the air the way he imagined Paul Bunyan might stand.

He didn't have blue ox named Babe, but he did have Galen, driving fast up the drive, then screeching to a halt at the gate to the yard. Galen slammed the truck into park, turned off the engine, and before the engine could even start to ping as it cooled, he was through the gate and into Bede's arms.

"Gah," said Bede as Galen squeezed the air out of him. But he didn't really mind and squeezed Galen right back. "Did you get the strawberries?" he asked.

"There were none," said Galen. "But I got frozen strawberries so maybe you could make your coulis with that?"

"I could be persuaded," said Bede, but he had been on board since the moment Galen had suggested it to him. "Leave the groceries and come inside."

In the cool air, the groceries would keep, even the frozen strawberries. Bede laid the axe against the fence, opened it and pulled Galen behind him, tugging off his leather gloves at the same time. The screen door opened easily now that it had been repaired and swung quietly shut behind them.

Bede didn't even have to point to the mugs. Galen saw them and hurried to the kitchen table, picked up the first mug he came to, held it to his cheek, and crooned a sweet love song, both to it and to Bede.

"You found them," he said, his eyes half-lidded with love.

"I did, my sweet," said Bede. "I hope you got more pods for the Keurig, otherwise we'll be drinking hot water out of those things."

"I did," said Galen, nodding as he turned over each white china mug, one by one. "Hazelnut, vanilla, and regular."

"And?" prompted Bede.

"And lavender espresso, of course." With a smile, Galen put down the mug he held in his hands and sashayed over to Bede. There, to hug him close and whisper against his mouth, "Did you ever doubt me, my love?"

"It helps having it confirmed," said Bede with a mock growl. Then he wrapped Galen in his arms, and kissed him hard, and then soft, absorbing Galen's breath that felt like a whisper on his skin.

"The steak is coming to room temperature," he said. "Shall we go upstairs in the meantime?"

"What about the groceries?" asked Galen, drawing back, his arms on Bede's forearms, but it was easy for Bede to see that Galen was only pretending to be shocked that they would be so casual with their foodstuffs.

"Fuck the groceries," said Bede, almost roaring, but it was only for effect, because he planted more kisses on Galen's face, anywhere they might land, and hauled Galen under his arm and up the stairs to their room.

The steak could wait. The groceries could wait. Hell, the whole world could wait while he made love to the most amazing man in the world.