EPILOGUE

HE ASSUMED THAT THE CHANGE IN HIMSELF WOULD BE AUTOMATIC. That he would be better or worse, but at least different. But like other travelers to different places, he soon decided that what belonged to Brackston must forever belong to Brackston and even his memory of the whole thing would have faded like a summer tan had Chandal let it. It became too easy to say “that time in the mountains.” Ron actually found himself starting to tell the story to friends one night. It was in a tiny silence between words that he felt drawn to look toward Chandal. Her huge eyes met his in a kind of shock. He stammered, lost his place and trailed off.

Later at home he found her standing by the bedroom window staring out at the pool where the lights had first appeared so long ago, and wordlessly he went and put his arms around her.

“About tonight,” she said after some time.

Still he said nothing, knowing she could feel him nod against the top of her head.

“I don’t like talking about it to people. It’s a kind of pretending that the whole thing was, oh, an adventure rather than—the way it was. Just pure black hate. Just looking into the eyes of pure black hatred. And I won’t forget it. Not again. I keep telling myself, Ron, that maybe the whole thing couldn’t have happened if—if I hadn’t let myself forget the way it was back in the brownstone. And again in the carriage house.”

“Del—”

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe it wouldn’t have happened this time.”

He met her gaze. “Maybe.”

“I keep watching Kristy’s face. Sometimes I can’t take my eyes off her for hours at a time. I watch the way she plays with her dolls. I look for signs that she’s—” Her voice broke.

“She isn’t, Del. She got through it okay. I know she did.” Gently, he added, “I watch her too, you know.”

“I wasn’t sure. But I’m glad.” She took a deep breath. “There were always things you wanted to know. Things I never wanted to talk about. I can’t tell anyone else. But now I want to tell you. Tonight.”

He tasted fear, the familiar dry acid taste of it on his tongue, but he managed a bit of a laugh.

“What’s funny?”

He hugged her tighter. “It’s the second half of our wedding ceremony, Del. The half I always felt got left out. I guess I’m ready. But you know that if you share this part of yourself with me, you’ll never get rid of me. You’ve got me for life.”

“I’m counting on it,” she said.

As she began to talk, he could feel the light coil of amazement inside of him that bounced up a slight smile to his lips. And he thought, even I. Even after all this, I have to fight to believe.

In that moment he understood how private is the destiny of each man and so amazing that words can barely pass the lips to describe it. He gazed at his wife and felt privileged to understand her halting words, her pain.

And around them were their own silent promises. To themselves and to each other. We will remember this time. We will remember.

And in the stillness of night, it was peaceful in its own special way.