He growls low in his throat, his fingers flexing and curling into my thighs. His nose nuzzles down the length of mine, and then he captures my lips in a searing kiss, unfettered and unhindered. If we were still making notes about the ways I like being touched, this would go to the top of the list.
And now I can have it. I can have Levi and contentment and joy and gratefulness. I can have an endless supply of tomorrows, sunrises and sunsets, stars glittery like diamonds in a blackened sky, and the first blush of dawn pinkening iridescent dewdrops. Comfortable silences watching fireflies dance inthe dusk from the front porch and long talks on lined paper that start withDear Hayleyand end withLove,Levi. Surviving storms in the solace of each other’s arms and finding delight in the antics of a trio of kittens.
Endless possibilities lay before me, along with the priceless gift of time to explore them all. None of it would’ve been possible without this lovely, grumpy man in front of me.
Epilogue
One year later
“I can’t believe he’s doing this again,” I say to Evangeline and Martha, who are standing on either side of me, the library set to open in fifteen minutes.
Mayor Breckenbridge is smiling wide for the camera that Peggy Sue is pointing his direction, Cletus directly behind him. Apparently, our illustrious leader intends to have a full-page one-year anniversary write-up about the bookmobile in the paper. Some things never change.
Then again...
I let myself think back over the last year. Maybe not everything has stayed the same. I know I’ve experienced growth over the last twelve months. For one, Levi and I have learned together what a real relationship looks like. It hasn’t been all paper roses and rainbows. We’ve weathered our storms, but I also think we’ve both come out the other side stronger.
He may not be exactly thrilled about the expansion on his social calendar since Jack wrangled him into a board position for the newly developed Turkey Grove Small Business Association, but I also know he feels pride in watching hisneighbors start to thrive as they diversify their clientele and shore up their bottom lines. He’s also taken some advice from Trinity and listened to what she’s learning in her occupational therapy classes. Some of the strategies she’s suggested he try have helped him to cope more, but not all. He still has days when he gets overwhelmed by sensory input and needs to take some time alone to decompress.
As for me, I started going to therapy. And, as predicted, Dr. Brown has had a field day with my good deeds journals. She’s helped me work through a lot of the guilt I’ve been carrying around, along with feelings of unworthiness. I still like to volunteer and help people, but there are boundaries on my time now. I have standing volunteer hours each month with the animal shelter, the food bank, and the senior center, and I no longer drop everything to rush over if they call. I’m no longer compelled to keep a list of everything I do either.
There are other changes as well. Even physical ones. Like Levi sporting a similar scar on his abdomen that I have on mine. Turns out he wasn’t a match for me as a liver donor, but he did perfectly match a husband and father of three from Sweetwater. We’re planning a camping trip with them next month.
Well, we’ll see if it actually happens.
Because that’s another change, and this time not such a good one. My most recent lab results came back with some concerning numbers. I have to go in next week to run more tests, but the day I’ve been dreading may have finally arrived—my secondhand organ may be failing me.
I’m not alone, though. And hope isn’t lost. In fact, when my family found out how I’d been living in the dark about my future for so long, a riot almost broke out. Somehow Aunt Missy made her voice heard above everyone else, and I’ve had to endure her repetition of“If you’d only listened tome ...”more times than I can count. She’s right, though. I should’ve listened to her.
If I had, I would’ve known that every member of my family was tested years ago to see if they could be a donor match. Both my brother and father are, though my brother insists that he will be the one to go under the knife for me. He says it’s so he has something to hold over my head for the rest of our lives, which I absolutely believe is a motivating factor. But so is the fact he knows he’ll have an easier time recovering than Dad since Elliot is younger and in perfect health.
“You have the keys, don’t you?” Evangeline asks. “I say you end this now by simply driving away.”
“Here.” Martha shoves a pigeon stuffed animal into my hands. “I thought you could use a copilot. But whatever you do—”
I laugh. “Don’t let the pigeon drive the bookmobile?”
She grins. “Exactly.”
Just last week she’d had a whole day dedicated to Mo Willems. She’d even played some of his Lunch Doodles YouTube videos so the kids could learn how to draw a few of his characters. Now the children’s section is covered with pictures of Knuffle Bunny, Pigeon, Piggie, and Gerald.
“Let’s fly this coop, Pidgie,” I say to the stuffed animal, then fan my fingers out in a good-bye to my friends before I dig Cletus’s keys out of my pocket.
Mayor Breckenbridge doesn’t even notice as I make my way to the other side of the bookmobile and slide into the driver’s seat. The engine cranks easily—Cletus hasn’t had a single mechanical issue since his epic breakdown in Turkey Grove—and I can see Peggy Sue’s amused expression as she waves me off. Mayor Breckenbridge is as ripe as a tomato in the rearview mirror. I should probably feel ashamed at my rude behavior, but I can’t find it within myself. The mayor was delaying my departure, and my route today takes me to Turkey Grove. If his basking in the limelight wasn’t cut short, who knows how far behind schedule Cletus and I would be.
The two-lane winding road leads me farther from civilization. Autumn is hitting the area sooner than normal this year, the tops of the mountains already showing off their colorful array. It won’t be long until every tree is decked out in vibrant hues of red and gold. Like every autumn when I witness the change, the song from The Byrds pops into my head. I’m singing “turn, turn, turn” under my breath as I take a left off the main road and onto the dirt path that leads to the heart of Turkey Grove. My gaze scans the mountainside, looking for any sign of a rockslide, but everything is still and stable. I pass the last remnants of boulders that are evidence of the natural disaster that catapulted my own personal change in season.
“A time to every purpose under heaven.” I sing the lyrics that originated from the book of Ecclesiastes.
It takes another good ten minutes of driving before the hollow of Turkey Grove comes into view. I pull into the General Store’s parking lot, my brow knit in confusion. There’s usually at least one or two people waiting for me on scheduled route days, Levi at the head of the line to greet me. But the parking lot is deserted.
I kill Cletus’s engine, then climb down from the driver’s seat and make my way to the other side of the bookmobile to get started in opening him up for business.
“Special delivery.”
Jack’s voice has me turning around, a welcoming smile on my face.
He holds out an envelope to me, and I immediately recognize Levi’s chicken-scratch handwriting.
