Page 32 of The Last Road Trip

Relief flashes across his face and his shoulders ease.

“Don’t get me wrong though, I don’t forgive you,” I continue, talking straight through his false moment of hope. “What you did—drugging me, and treating me poorly—will never be forgiven.”

His face settles into neutrality, the hope gone as quickly as it appeared. He nods once, accepting my words without argument. That’s a first for him.

“I know,” he says. He stares at the grass, his shoulders hunching. “The girls won’t take my calls. My brother won’t even look at me. I’m completely alone, Harriet. Even at work, I’m a pariah. I kept the job, but I lost everyone’s respect.”

He finally glances at my fiancé. I notice a flicker of raw envy crossing Buck’s face before it settles back into defeat.

“I see the way you look at him,” Buck says, his voice barely a rasp. “I’d give anything to go back to the days when you looked at me like that. Before I ruined everything.”

“Frankly, Buck, I don’t care and I’d like you to leave now,” I say, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. “I don’t care if the no contact order has expired. This is a private moment for my family and me, and you’re not welcome here.”

Since I don’t care why he’s here, I don’t bother asking. Maybe he wanted me to take him back, or he’s doing some sort of redemption arc. Whatever the reason, he can take it and—excuse my language on such an otherwise lovely day—shove it straight up his ass.

“Sorry. I won’t bother you again.”

“See that you don’t,” I say.

Before he walks back the way he came, his brows knit in what appears to be hurt. It may be vindictive, but I’ve felt how he’s feeling for the entirety of our marriage; he can feel that way now. That’s on him.

The gate clicks shut behind him. I straighten my shoulders, ready to move on with my day. Aside from thinking about my girls, I doubt I’ll be thinking of Buck again.

Kwemby is the first to talk after Buck leaves. “You okay?”

“Yes. I’ve already moved on and have no interest in doing whatever it is he wants me to do.”

Kwemby reaches for my hands, his palms warm against mine. “You were amazing. I’m in awe of how you didn’t get sucked right back in. Rather than bend over backwards to make him feel better about how he treated you, you stood up for yourself.”

I squeeze his fingers, feeling the strength in his grip. He watches my face for another moment, his eyes careful on mine, then does something completely unexpected. He wraps both arms around my waist and lifts me clean off the ground in one smooth motion that leaves me gasping in laughter. Once he puts me safely back, he kisses me deep and unhurried, his hands firm at my waist, his chest broad against mine. It’s a real kiss, the kind that makes my stomach flip and my toes curl.

From behind us comes the sound of the twins breaking into applause. I’m only dimly aware of any of it. My world has narrowed to where Kwemby’s mouth meets mine, to the careful pressure of his hands at my waist, to the warm solidity of his chest beneath my palms. I kiss him back with everything I have.

Chapter 20

Kwemby: Epilogue

Minutes After Their Wedding

We’ve officially said “I do.” Harriet’s my wife.

We are at our wedding reception, where hanging string bulbs glow overhead like small, perfect stars. I stand at the edge of the dance floor, my tie loosened, my jacket hanging from a nearby chair. Across the room, Harriet moves between tables, stopping to thank guests.

She sees me watching and smiles, then crosses the floor to me, eyes never leaving mine. The music shifts into a low acoustic number.

I step forward to meet her, one hand coming to rest at her waist.

“Hi,” she warmly says.

“Hi yourself,” I reply, leading her into a simple box step.

We move together across the floor, her steps matching mine.

I’ve waited for this moment for thirty long years. I stayed through her marriage to Buck, through the birth of the twins, through Christmases and birthdays and the particular milestones of a life built in parallel to mine. I stayed in her orbit because I couldn’t bear not to be, even when it hurt.

At a nearby table, Harriet’s daughters watch us with soft smiles. Truly being twins, they raise their glasses in unison as we glide by.

We move through a slow turn. She stumbles a step, but I steady her with a shift of my grip. From it, her balance returns immediately. She laughs in a way that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. My fingers tingle with the urge to keep her close.

“Sorry,” she says. “These are new shoes.”

“No apology needed.”

The song ends on a long, sustained note that seems to hang in the air between us. A loose strand of hair falls across her face, catching on her eyelashes. I brush it back with two fingers, my touch careful against her skin. She leans in slightly at the contact, her cheek coming to rest near my jaw.

Harriet looks up at me, her eyes careful on mine. “What are you thinking?” she asks, her voice low enough that only I can hear.

I could tell her the truth—that I’m thinking about the last half of our life, about growing older together. That I’m wondering if the girls will visit for Christmas, if we’ll take that trip to Maine we’ve been talking about, if the diners will survive without me checking in three times a day. That I’m intensely hoping that she’ll never regret choosing me. Instead, I kiss her, because a kiss encompasses everything.

“I’m thinking,” I say, each word certain, “that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“Me too,” she says, and squeezes my hand.

THE END