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We have a beautiful life.
I don’t know how long it will last. We live a day at a time, grateful for each miraculous moment. My heart still knows I could lose him—the odds may never be in his favor. We sometimes share a knowing glance like we’re getting away with something, and it’s only a matter of time before this blissful bubble pops.
“It’s a good day to go to town. I think we should use that picture of us by the waterfall for postcards,” he suggests as if it’s not a big deal.
I don’t cry, but I want to. It’s a huge deal.
We have not contacted family or friends for eighteen months. When we departed, they knew it could be a long time before they’d hear from us, and they knew it could be the last time they saw Price. So I’ve left it up to him whether or when we contact family.
This is no longer our escape; it’s our life. And he’s ready to share it.
“Thank you for loving methismuch,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.
Our fingers interlace.
’Til death do us part, my love.
Scottie
The weeds win.They always win.
I should surrender to the weeds. Perhaps they have a greater purpose.
“Nope. I won’t surrender to you. You’re no good,” I mumble to myself, yanking another little bastard from the soil of my raised-bed garden while Penelope’s wavy brown hair blows in the wind as Koen pushes her on the tree swing.
It doesn’t last long. Miss Busybody wants out to play in the dirt.
Minutes later, rocks crunch beneath Koen’s boots as he approaches me with mail in one hand and three-month-old Cedar Henry Sikes cradled in his other arm. “Promise not to cry?” he asks. “If you cry, Penn will cry. And Henry will cry because you two are scary when you cry. So …”
I sit back on my heels, pulling off my gardening gloves and wiping the sweat from my forehead. “Are we being audited?”
“Worse than that. We need to rename our son. It was all for nothing.” He smirks, handing me the stack of mail.
“What are you talking about?” I thumb through the pile of junk, stopping on a postcard.
“No. I said no crying,” Koen says.
I shake my head a half-dozen times, trying to control my emotions, but I can’t.
“Here come the waterworks.” Koen chuckles, squatting next to me.
I hug him, forcing him to balance with Henry in his other hand. Resting my chin on Koen’s shoulder, tears covering my cheeks, I smile and stare at the postcard from Costa Rica.
“Are you done cry—” Koen starts to speak.
“Shh … stop interrupting the universe.”
The End
