20. Epilogue

Epilogue

Kane

Forty-Three Years Later

W aves crash against the shore like a song, the sound funneling through the open window of my kitchen. So much salt fills the air that I can taste it, the familiar flavor of the ocean breeze after a storm. I lean forward in my chair, closing one of Marcus' old novels and setting it onto the coffee table. My eyes drift over to him, the forest green urn staring back at me.

"He looks good next to Dickie," Clara says, shakily gripping her cup of tea. Judah grabs her hand, carefully steadying it as she takes a sip. Even though Clara has aged, her skin wrinkled and hair cut into a grey and white bob, they bear so much resemblance. He looks exactly like her, actually. Blonde hair and eyes so green you'd swear they're gemstones. Except his nose. That, he got from Derrick.

"He does."

"Daddy, can we go play in the play room?" a small voice asks. Judah looks to his children, Isla and Imogen.

"You'll have to ask Grunkle Kane. It's his room, after all."

I roll my eyes, waving off the girls to go play with their Barbies and Godzilla action figures. "Oh quiet, Judah. You know that room is more theirs than it is mine."

Judah smiles, helping Clara set her tea down onto the table.

"They should still ask," he says. "They're like little twin tornados every time they go into a room."

"So were you," I reply coyly, and Clara lets out a loud laugh.

"It's true," she says. "I think you might have been worse."

Judah laughs, shaking his head. "You just say that because I was your child, and they're your grandkids."

Clara twirls a finger in the air like an invisible siren. "Bingo."

A tired chuckle slips through my lips, and I lean back into my chair, sighing.

"Before I forget," Judah says, pulling himself up from the couch. "I have something for you. I found it in the back room at the store."

My brows raise interrogatorily. "Are you taking care of her?"

Clara leans across the table to lightly smack me. "Oh, shush Kane. You know Judah loves that place just as much as you."

Judah nods, and I release my accusatory glare, raising my hands up in acceptance. "Alright, alright. Just making sure."

"I just have to run out to the car. I'll be back," he says. When he closes the front door behind him, Clara leans in closer to me, now boasting her own skeptical stare. I frown.

"What, Claire?"

She shrugs. "I just want to check in on you. After Derrick passed, well…" She sighs softly. "I just am worried about you."

"You should worry about that grandkid of yours who keeps shoving crayons up her nose," I grunt. Clara laughs, the wrinkles around her nose deepening.

"Why does she keep doing that? Judah never did."

I tilt my head, squinting my eyes as if I'm trying to see a distant memory. "Didn't you?"

Clara's brows weave together in confusion. "What?"

"I swear I remember you getting a lollipop stuck up your nose in the first grade."

Clara pauses for a moment, letting her eyes wander to the ceiling as she tries to recall the memory.

"You know, I think I did."

"Here it is," Judah announces, plopping back onto the couch. He sets something onto the coffee table, a faded light blue book. I stare at it, confused as to why there are empty spots on the cover and spine, where the title should be. I continue to analyze it, knowing that for some reason, this book is familiar. And the moment my fingertips rub against it, I immediately realize why.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, my voice weak and shaky.

"The back room," he repeats. "I've never seen it before, but it just appeared there, in the desk drawer. I didn't know what it was, so I opened it, and— Well, I figured you should have it."

I reach out, placing my weathered hand onto Judah's and squeezing it softly. "Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you for finding it."

"We'll be back Sunday, Sugar Kane!" Clara calls out, stumbling over the loose tennis ball that popped off her walker. Judah catches her, helping her into the car before waving goodbye to me.

"Love you, Uncle Kane!" He smiles. "Call me if you need anything!"

I nod, watching as the car pulls out of the driveway, and disappears down the road. When they are no longer in sight, I close the front door, hobbling over to my chair. The wood creaks, the seat rocking as my weight piles against it when I sit down. I reach out for the novel I had been reading earlier, but my eye catches onto that blue faux book. It's worn, just like me. Small scuffs settled into the cloth, indents pressed into the hardcover. I pick it up, set it onto my lap, and take a shuddered breath as I open it.

Just like I remember, it's filled with letters. Little, ink-smudged notes from decades ago, still bearing the same love I've felt all these years. I remember the last one I put in here: the lost gesture that brought us back together. Marcus continued to write me letters, only, I couldn't find the box. So I hung them on the fridge, and placed them in picture frames, and stapled them together like my own personal collection of sonnets. But I missed this box, and the letters inside.

As my aged fingers dig through the notes, my eye catches on one that stands out from the rest. There is no dust, or ink smudges. The creases appear crisp, and new. And the paper… Well, it's exactly like the stationary Marcus used until his passing last month. Beige and blue watercolor, a thick and textured feel. I pick it up, pressing my glasses up the bridge of my nose to get a better look at it.

Tears well in my eyes, and I shakily press the note to my chest, looking over at Marcus. I didn't think that I'd ever make it to this age, much less outlive him. He always had so much life in him, even during his last days. But despite the fact that it's never been easy for me, and regardless of how much I miss Marcus, I'm grateful I stayed until the end. Because I got to do it with him.