EPILOGUE

When his mother left, not long after returning from Atlanta, she split the proceeds from the speedy sale of her old house right down the middle. Not because she needed the entire half—she would never grow out of her frugality—but because he wouldn’t accept a penny more. There were no arguments over her leaving, and only a few tears. Mary Alice had made up her mind, and though living through yet another departure made him ache, he knew this time was different. It’s not abandonment if both sides have the chance to say goodbye. This time they sent each other letters, not just empty envelopes. This time they talked on the phone, sometimes so often it made their new friends gently groan. One afternoon, hundreds of miles apart, they were both asked the same question (“Do you two talk once a day?”) and gave the same response (“At least”).

Michael changed so much of the old place once it was all his, but he didn’t knock down any walls. The bones, as they say, were strong, and he thought it disrespectful to break something that had done such an admirable job of holding on. With Josie’s help, from her design prowess to her surprising familiarity with every contractor and technician in the area, he finished the renovations in just under a year. When the trucks filled with pipes and wood and paint finally pulled away after months spent kicking up clouds of dust on the roads, parking at worrying angles on the lawn, and moving piles of dirt from one spot to another, Michael studied the view from a few yards away. It was exactly what he wanted, but still felt incomplete. Then it came to him. People. What the old place was missing was people.

He started attending church, even though he would never believe. He spent one night a week chatting with regulars at the Buckhorn, even though he would never drink. He became an English teacher when Mrs. Cowan had a stroke, even though he said he would never follow in his mother’s footsteps. For the first time, taking chances was paying off, and by the time he met Taylor, he was only a little surprised by how happy their relationship made him.

Mary Alice always drove down for his birthday, as the party was the most efficient way to catch up with everyone in town, but some months before his fortieth she died suddenly in her sleep. Taylor gently suggested he cancel the party, but grief made Michael even more dedicated to a celebration—a workaround to her will’s explicit prohibition of a funeral. The party would fall on his birthday, but they would celebrate her life. There would be more lights. There would be more music. There would be so much food and drink that he felt wasteful buying it all.

When one of Henry Kerr’s classmates threw him into the lake, dozens of heads jerked in the direction of the splash, only to slowly turn back after hearing the subsequent laughter. “Oh God, Mrs. Hall, I’m so sorry,” Henry said while bobbing in the center of the pond.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Ellie said from her chair on the pond’s edge, wiping her now-soaked legs and shaking her head as Gerald stifled a laugh beside her. “Those Kerrs always find the water, don’t they.”

The two of them were smiling at the sight of Henry’s friends following him into the water when Josie put a hand on both of their shoulders. “Sorry about the mess,” she said.

“Oh, don’t you dare apologize. It’s a party.”

“Can I get you two anything?” Josie asked. “I’m headed back inside.”

“I’m fine,” Ellie said.

“I’ll follow you in,” Gerald said, rising from his seat with a grunt. “Gotta use the facilities. Maybe get another plate of food if there’s some left.”

“Oh, there’s plenty,” Josie said, gesturing for him to walk ahead.

Ellie sighed as she looked at the now-empty chair beside her and wished Mary Alice would make a surprise appearance as the second ghost in her family to come back to life. But she knew it was impossible. She’d seen the body. She’d watched Michael sprinkle the ashes in the very pond she sat beside. It had been months since she was able to call Mary Alice and catch her up on everything happening in her life, and for Mary Alice to reveal everything happening in her own, but the urge came anyway. With no number to dial, Ellie just kept her eyes on the sky, her smile still holding on tight.

When Michael took a seat in the empty chair, he could read Ellie’s gaze like he’d written it himself. “I wish they were here, too,” he finally said, resting his hand on her shoulder and giving it an almost imperceptible rub.

Ellie kept her eyes on the stars. “Is it strange that I think they are?”

From above, the party was a shimmering dot of noise and commotion in an expanse of dark, rugged beauty. On the ground, it was one of those impossibly joyful moments that’s gone in an instant and feels like a dream. The sort of night you soak up with intention, one you can feel yourself committing to memory. It was only when Ellie had stopped expecting an answer to her question that Michael grabbed her hand and gave her one. No, he told her, it wasn’t strange at all.