Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
Evan lifts a sledgehammer and swings it like a bat. Or like he wants to kill a rabid bat. It connects with the wall with a boom. The drywall crumbles in chunks to the floor. White dust swirls in the air. I wave it away from my masked face.
“You sure Ozzy won’t get mad at us for this?” Evan asks before taking another swing. This hit breaks through to the adjoining bedroom with a huge crack, where light pours in from the other side. More drywall tumbles to the floor.
I step across the room, away from the dust and remove my mask to answer, “I think he’ll understand.”
I continue, “Besides, we only have four months to turn this into the bedroom of our children’s dreams.” I rub my belly and the two growing babies inside.
Evan sets the sledgehammer aside. Every time I mention the twins, he has to stop what he’s doing, drop to his knees, and chat with them. This time he lifts my shirt and kisses my bare belly. I watch him with an amused expression as he acts out. I wish my parents were this excited. Things have been better with my dad, but my relationship with my mom is still a work in progress.
“Tell me what you want, girls. I’ll do anything. A room for princesses? Mermaids? Unicorns?”
I clear my throat and adjust my stance with one hand on my hip. Reading my displeasure, he readjusts his words. “Or we can do astronauts? Dinosaurs? I know, fighter jets. What do you think? Tell me.” He places an ear to my skin and listens. I press my lips, trying not to giggle.
“They’re saying no to dinosaurs. Too scary. Unicorns—overdone. Princesses are okay as long as they are ninjas by night, and they prefer cowgirls over astronauts. Wait, hold on. They’re arriving at a decision... World travel? I love it. You got it, girls.” He glances at me with a smile.
I consider it. A traveling theme? I can already imagine sweet little vintage suitcases as shelving. A map of the world in soft colors painted on the wall. A complementary compass rose on the ceiling. Hot-air-balloon mobiles can hang over the cribs. It makes sense because these girls will be our greatest adventure.
“I like it but I think we’ll still need two vision boards. One for Stephanie and one for Ramona,” I say.
Evan stands to meet my eyes. His expression appears confused. “Stephanie?”
“Steph was responsible for getting us together.” I shrug and recall a faded memory. “And she may have made me promise to name our child after her.”
“She made you promise too?” He laughs.
“She was such a manipulator. Or a mad genius,” I add.
“She was both and wore them like a badge, and I can’t imagine a better way to honor her. Stephanie it is. I love it.” He kisses me, but when he pulls away, his face scrunches, “But let’s talk about that other name. I’m not sure about Ramona. In the endless lists of baby names you’ve been hounding me with, you’ve never mentioned that name.”
I try to keep my face plain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I love it.”
“Mrs. Wade, are you messing with me?”
Now I’m the one laughing because Evan’s tickling me.
“Stop, you’ll make me pee!” I gasp a cry as I hop around trying my best to avoid his assaulting fingers. My lack of bladder control is my one complaint about pregnancy.
I give in when it becomes too much. “All right, all right. I was joking. I was thinking of the name Ada.”
“I love it. Ada and Steph.” He beams and changes tactics. He kisses my neck. But still, I giggle and dart away, arms swinging, not ready to give in. When he catches me again in his arms near the wall, I become distracted.
“Wait. What’s that?” I tap his shoulders and point to our newly made giant hole. Evan’s gaze moves along my finger. He releases me when he sees it too—a box lodged deep within the wall.
Evan reaches his arm into the hallowed out space and removes a wooden box. The top is burned with the words The Elliot family.
“Oh my gosh, I forgot all about this. Ozzy told me he hid a time capsule.”
Evan carries it into the living room and sets it on the coffee table. With us sitting in front of it, we unhinge the latch and lift the lid. It squeals open. On top sits an old newspaper, it’s paper yellowed and brittle. It cracks and crinkles when we unfold and hold it open. I read the date.
“That’s a few years after he and Ada moved in,” I explain.
Evan removes a stack of photos: Ozzy and Ada’s wedding photo, photos of the house long ago, including interior shots, and then there’s a book of poems, a small leather bag with money inside—a dollar bill, a few coins with the same year, and a button from a presidential election. And finally, an envelope with the words Dear Future Residents scrolled in a beautiful penmanship across the front.
“Should we open it?” He glances at me.
“It’s is addressed to us.” I slide my hands between my knees and squeeze.
Evan opens the envelope, careful not to tear the letter inside. He unfolds the heavy, cream paper. Sepia letters in the same handwriting covers the top half. There are only a few sentences, but they’re beautiful. And as Evan reads, I imagine Ozzy’s clear radio voice.
Dear family,
My wife Ada and I can call you that now because once someone enters our home, that’s exactly who you become. Family. By moving here, you’re a part of us. We hope and pray you’ll find the happiness we’ve known here, the love we grown here, and experience the laughter that kept us inspired in good times and bad. May you prosper in all endeavors, especially in those of the heart.
Love,
Ozzy and Ada Elliot
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