Chapter 25
Time has a way of speeding up as you get older.
The days blur together.
One birthday follows another.
One holiday melts into the next.
DJ turned ten.
Then twelve.
Then sixteen.
He got his driver’s license.
We went through the whole thing all over again.
The beat-up Honda.
The driving lessons.
The heart attacks every time he left the driveway.
He was a good kid.
Great grades.
Great athlete.
Great with people.
Just like his dad.
Just like his grandpa.
He had his first girlfriend.
David cleaned his gun on the porch again.
DJ rolled his eyes.
“Papa,” he said. “You did that with Dad. You did that with Uncle Jake. You did that with my cousin. Can we please just skip it this time? I know the speech. ‘If you hurt her, I’ll hunt you down. I know people. Blah blah blah.’ I’ve heard it a million times.”
David tried to look stern.
But he was smiling.
“Fine,” he said. “But the offer still stands. If you ever need someone to disappear… I know people.”
“Got it, Papa,” DJ said, laughing.
Leo and Emma had another baby.
A little girl.
They named her Eleanor.
After Judge Whitfield.
The woman who’d changed all our lives.
Who’d seen the truth.
Who’d given us our lives back.
She was five years old now.
Spitfire.
Smart as a whip.
Beautiful.
She had my eyes.
And Emma’s smile.
And Leo’s stubbornness.
She called me Nana.
And she called David Papa.
And she had him wrapped around her tiny little finger.
He’d do anything she asked.
Tea parties.
Dress-up.
Watching Frozen for the five hundredth time.
Whatever she wanted.
“Papa’s girl,” he’d say, grinning, as she braided flowers into his hair. “What can I say?”
That year, we celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary.
Thirty years.
Half a lifetime.
More, really.
We had a big party.
All the family.
All the friends.
All the kids whose lives we’d touched through the foundation.
Hundreds of people.
All there to celebrate us.
Leo gave a speech.
He was thirty-five now.
A successful engineer.
A husband.
A father.
A good man.
He stood up.
He held his glass.
“Thirty years,” he said. “Thirty years of my parents being married. And people always ask me… what’s their secret? How did they do it? How did they stay together through everything? Through the hard times. The terrible times. The times most people would have walked away.”
He paused.
He looked at me.
At David.
“And I’ll tell you their secret,” he said. “They never gave up on each other. Never. When things were at their worst… when the world was falling apart around them… they held on tighter. They chose each other. Every single day. They taught me what love really is. It’s not the big moments. It’s not the weddings or the anniversaries or the speeches. It’s the small stuff. It’s holding hands when you’re scared. It’s saying you’re sorry when you’re wrong. It’s forgiving when it’s hard. It’s showing up. Every day. Even when you don’t feel like it. Especially when you don’t feel like it.”
He raised his glass.
“So here’s to Mom and Dad,” he said. “To thirty years. To thirty more. To the best parents, the best grandparents, and the best example of love anyone could ever ask for. We love you. More than you’ll ever know.”
The room cheered.
I cried.
David cried.
Everyone cried.
And then we danced.
All of us.
Four generations.
Spinning.
Laughing.
Loving.
And for a moment…
Just a moment…
I swear I felt Helen there.
Not angry.
Not bitter.
Just… watching.
May you like
And maybe, just maybe…
She was finally at peace.
