Chapter 21
Life went back to normal after that.
Better than normal, actually. The fear was gone. The guards stayed, but they were less visible, more like family now. We went back to going out to dinner, to taking the kids to the park, to traveling, to living.
Lily started kindergarten, making friends, bringing home drawings and macaroni art that we taped to the fridge. Jamie started preschool, too, a loud, rambunctious little boy who was always getting into trouble, always making us laugh.
Clara’s foundation grew even bigger, opening schools in Africa and hospitals in South America. She traveled a lot, but I went with her when I could, and when I couldn’t, we talked every night, falling asleep on the phone together. We never went more than a week without seeing each other.
The company hit record profits, but we gave most of it away. We built a new wing at the children’s hospital, named after my mother. We funded a hundred scholarships a year for kids who’d lost their parents. We built a community center in the poor part of the city, with after-school programs and job training.
My father turned seventy-five, and we threw him a big party, with all his friends and family. He gave a speech, saying that the best thing he’d ever done was build the company, not for the money, but because it had brought me to Clara, and given him the best grandkids in the world. Everyone cried.
Uncle Martin turned sixty, and we threw him a party, too. He was happy, healthy, still running the local charity programs, still the best uncle anyone could ask for. His little boy was four now, running around with Jamie and Lily, getting into all kinds of trouble.
Daniel and his wife had another baby, a boy, and we were the godparents again. Our families spent every holiday together, Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter, all of us crammed around the big dining room table, eating too much, laughing too loud, making memories.
Marcus and his wife had another baby, a boy. Max the golden retriever died that year, old and full of years, and we all cried, even the kids. We buried him in the garden, under his favorite tree, and put a little stone there with his name on it. We got a new puppy a few months later, a little golden girl named Daisy, who was just as crazy and sweet as Max had been.
We never heard from Vanessa again. She was in a maximum-security prison, far away, with no chance of ever getting out. Liam was still in the psychiatric unit, getting better, slowly. He wrote us a letter once, apologizing for everything, saying he was sorry he’d let his jealousy and hate destroy his life. We didn’t write back. Some apologies weren’t enough. But we hoped he found peace, someday.
Rico sent us a photo of his family every Christmas, and we sent one back. He was doing well, running his own mechanic shop now, coaching his kids’ soccer team. He’d turned his life around, and we were happy for him.
Life was good.
May you like
It was full, and happy, and full of love.
And then, on our fifth wedding anniversary, Clara gave me the best gift of all.
