Epilogue

 

Five years later…

 

I hear the garage door go up as I tear off a sheet of foil to cover the last pan.  My man wanted BBQ ribs this year.  I told him ribs were going to be a pain in the ass to fix for the amount of people we’ll have.  All he had to do was raise his eyebrows and give me his goateed grin for me to relent.  He got his ribs.  But not everyone likes ribs, so I couldn’t help myself and added brisket, smoked turkey and links to the menu.  Needless to say, I’ve been up before the sun to get it all done in time.  Luckily I planned sides that could be prepped yesterday and easily baked or finished off at the last minute.

Every once in a while I think about delving hot and heavy back into catering, but it only takes an event like this to remind me it doesn’t fit into our lives right now.  So I stick with two or three events a month and am able to pick-and-choose what I want to do. 

I’m able to pick and choose because my blog has continued to explode.  My recipes, entertaining and food ideas have been featured in magazines and local talk shows.  I’ve even been asked to make personal appearances at regional trade shows, events and venues.  I’ve made friends in five continents—the internet has a way of shrinking your world and expanding your horizons simultaneously.  The biggest event I’ve ever participated in was six months ago in Chicago where I was approached by a publisher about a book on entertaining.  I was overwhelmed by the idea, but after thinking about it for about three seconds, I was all in.

I am me, after all.

But finding an agent, working with a publisher and searching for the best balance of material wasn’t a quick process.  Thank goodness we’re in the final stages and it’s off to the editor.  It’s scheduled to be released in two months and I’ll be officially published.  Who knew my little catering business that started out of a crappy apartment would come to this.

Today, I’m cooking for Cam and his fourth annual company picnic.  And just like I said all those years ago, it’s a nice thing to do for people who work hard for you.  Plus, everyone likes a picnic.  But this year is a bigger deal than most. 

Cam’s prodigy, Brett Sullivan, the underdog quarterback who led Cam’s team to win the state championship for Highland years ago, will be here.  Brett got a full ride to play close to home at Cam’s alma mater, Nebraska, where we were able to attend most of his home games.  He was starting by the end of his freshman year and he wasn’t the underdog any longer. 

He was a rock star.

Brett was drafted at the end of the first round and just finished his first year in the pro’s with the Redskins.  He always seems to be in the right place at the right time, because he got his shot when their aging star quarterback was injured and out for the season.  And just like he did his senior year in high school, he shined. 

He’s back for a visit before training camp starts and is coming to the picnic.  Cam’s excited, they’re tight and commune regularly.  But our families are more than excited, turning the company picnic into a Carpino slash Montgomery family reunion in order to meet the NFL star.  Our families took it upon themselves to inform us they were attending, requiring three times the amount of food I would otherwise need.  Luckily everyone’s kicking in (as they should, they invited themselves) and Hattie’s taking this special occasion to cook with “buttah” since she rarely does anymore after changing her eating habits. 

My family bursts through the door, Cara running in first with Rosie on her heels.  Behind them, Jordy and then Cam files in, with two year old Ava on his hip. 

“Hi, Mama,” Rosie sings.

“Hey, Paige,” Cara calls.

“Hey, sweet girls.  You all help your dad?” I ask.

“Yeppers,” Cara answers before skipping off into the house somewhere with her shadow, Rosie, close behind.

Cara’s as tall as me, which isn’t a huge feat, however she’s only eleven.  She’s also not shy in the least.  Jordy surpassed me years ago and will easily be as big as his dad someday.  Rosie and Ava favor me—small, but still taller than I ever was.  I hope they get their daddy’s height. 

“We got everything from Grandma and took it to The Shed,” Jordy says, talking about my mom.  He looks at me anxiously, “Can we go now?”

Jordy might be more excited to hang out with Brett Sullivan than anyone, not that he doesn’t know him.  He’s practically grown up with him over the last five years since Brett and Cam have remained close.

“Take your sister,” Cam tells him before he leans in and blows in Ava’s neck, making her squeal.  The Montgomery women—we all like the goatee.  “I need to talk to Paige, we’ll leave soon.”

Cam puts Ava down and even though she doesn’t want to leave her daddy, she finally toddles to her brother.  Jordy looks put out, not because of having to look after his sister, rather he wants to hang out with his NFL friend.  But just like my Jordy, he does as he’s asked and takes his sister by the hand. 

The girls, they’re all Cam’s.  They love their daddy and choose him over me any day.  But Jordy?  He’s mine. 

We’re close.  He talks to me about school, he talks to me about sports and he talks to me about the girls who like him but he has no interest in yet.  I tease him because he finds them annoying, but tell him he needs to be nice because in another year, he won’t find them so annoying anymore.  His hugs and kisses still come regular and every time Cam witnesses it, to this day, his face softens. 

Bekki got out of jail two years ago and approached Cam about seeing the kids.  She, not surprisingly, had trouble finding a job and couldn’t afford an attorney to fight for custody.  Cam said no way.  I suggested maybe he ask the kids if they wanted to see their mom.  Maybe she’d changed. 

I’ve obviously never been in the slammer, but one can only assume it will do one of two things to a person: rehabilitate by learning your lesson and change your ways, or sour the person you were further.  Cam grumbled, but in the end, he asked Jordy and Cara if they had any desire to see their mother.  Cara didn’t care, as she wouldn’t, she’s a happy-go-lucky girl and was only nine at the time.  Jordy acted like he didn’t care, but Cam and I could tell he was at the least, curious.  They hadn’t seen their mom in years. 

I suggested we do the kid version of meeting for a cup of coffee.  Coffee is shorter than a meal, you can drink and go if the situation’s bad, but coffee can also turn into hours of conversation if things are good.  So it was settled, we met for the kid version of a cup of coffee:  an ice cream cone.

Cam was pissed and wound tight we were even there.

Cara chatted like normal.

And Jordy was quiet.

Bekki?  Well, she was late. 

This didn’t help Cam’s state of mind or Jordy being withdrawn and quiet.  Cara even chatted less than normal.  When she finally showed, it would seem Bekki with an i fell into the latter category of those spending time in the slammer.  She soured further, if it can be believed. 

Spending three years in prison for countless charges of personal identity theft proves to age a person.  She didn’t look good.  She was anxious and hardly spoke to the kids.  In fact, it seemed the reason she felt the need to reconnect was to ask Cam for help financially. 

Needless to say, meeting for an ice cream cone was a good idea because Cam shut that down quick and we were out of there.  We haven’t heard from Bekki with an i since.  Stupid woman.  But her stupidity means Cam doesn’t have to deal with her and that makes me happy.  And Bekki will never know it, but that day she gave me the sweetest gifts anyone could get from another person.  I get Jordy and Cara, and with Rosie and Ava, we have our relay team.  That one ice cream cone with Bekki cemented the fact that Jordy was mine and he claimed me as his.  I didn’t need a basketball team to try for a boy, I had one. 

So we settled on four kids.  But seriously, four is a lot, but four is perfect for us.

“Your dad pulled me aside when we were picking things up at your parents’ house,” Cam says, coming to me.  I look up at my husband who looks serious with his eyes narrowed, as if he’s contemplating something. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You got a letter, through your attorney,” he keeps talking as he moves close.  He grabs my hip with one hand and with the other, reaches around to his back pocket, producing an envelope that’s been ripped open at the top.  “It’s from Brian.”

I feel my eyes go big as I take my letter.  I haven’t seen Brian since that awful day in my apartment.  My dad got a restraining order right away, just in case, but there was no need.  Brian remained in a medical facility for a long time.  He faced charges for breaking and entering, harassment, theft and aggravated assault for holding us at gunpoint.  He received probation for the first three charges and did time in a medical prison facility for the last.  My dad and Jude have kept close tabs on him since he was released, all medical reports showing his condition has been kept under control with meds.  He received permission from the State of Nebraska to move, doing his probation in Atlanta.  The last I heard, his mom moved with him and he’d found a job.  Besides that, my dad and Cam haven’t shared anything else with me.

I take my letter and frown, “It’s open.”

“Baby,” he starts, and it’s the ‘baby’ I get when he’s frustrated with me, not the ‘baby’ I get when he says I’m giving him my sweet.  “It’s been five years, but it could be fifty, I’m not gonna let that guy communicate with you without knowing what it’s about first.  I remember that day like it was two minutes ago—it’s burned on my brain.  You can bet your ass your dad and I read your letter before giving it to you.”

Okay that’s fair, but still, I roll my eyes before turning my attention back to my opened envelope.  It doesn’t matter if I’m perturbed about them reading my letter, I’m nervous about what’s in it.  I flip open the single sheet of paper to find a hand written note to me. 

Paige,

I hope this finds you well.  I’ve tried to write this for three years, I don’t even know if this one will make it, but I hope to finally have the courage to stick it in the mail. 

I want you to know I’m good.  Or, I’m better and I feel good.  I feel like I’m back to the person I was when we were in college.  I’ve learned about my condition, I know I have to manage it for the rest of my life.  I can’t say it’s not hard, it is and I think it always will be.  But I met someone last year and we’re happy.  She knows about my past and accepts me for who I am.  With her, my mom and my sister, plus the few friends I’ve made, I have people in my life who care about me.  And with years of therapy under my belt, I know I never want to end up like my dad.

But there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think about what I did to you and what I could have done to you.  It’ll haunt me forever and even though I know it was my condition, I’ll never forgive myself.  To say I’m sorry seems lame, but I’m sorry for putting you through what I did. 

I’m not stalking you, but I want you to know I follow you online.  I know you’re happy, you married him and you’re a mom.  I know that’s all you ever wanted, but you’re successful on top of that.  I’m not surprised.  I not only miss you, I miss your cooking.

I wanted you to know I’m sorry and I’m okay.  But really, I’m glad you have a happy life. 

Brian

I fold my letter and swallow the lump in my throat.  I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t think about him daily and sometimes not even weekly, but I do think about Brian often and wonder how he is. 

I feel a squeeze and look up at Cam when he asks me, “You okay?”  I nod and look down at the sheet of paper in my hand when he calls out to me, “Paige?”

I set the letter on the counter and lean into him where his arms circle me instantly.  When I’m settled in my favorite place, I say, “I wonder about him a lot.  It’s good to know he’s happy, but it’s even better to know he’s healthy.  I’ve hated not knowing that.”

“We are not meeting him for an ice cream cone,” Cam frowns.

I smile at my husband, “I know.  It’s better left in the past, I get that.  I’m just glad he’s good and has people to take care of him.  Did you think I was going to want to see him after all that happened?”

Cam shakes his head, breathing a sigh of relief, “After almost six years, it’s still hard to guess what you’re gonna want.  I’m glad that’s not a battle I have to take on.”

I lift up on my toes to put my mouth on his, feeling his goatee soft on my face.  After I kiss my man, I say, “I won’t make you take on that battle, I promise.”

I feel his hand drop to my ass where he squeezes me, “Good, baby,” and this time I get a soft and sweet “baby.”

“We’re going to be late to your picnic,” I say.

He leans down to kiss me one more time before bellowing over my head, “Kids, let’s roll!”

*****

“Cam,” I breathe into the pillow.

“Wider,” he whispers, but I lose his hand.

“Why did you stop?” I quietly complain as I slide my knees farther apart, tipping my ass to find him. 

I feel him slide his cock into me from behind and oh, that feels good.  I push back as he stretches me, filling me full.

“Come here,” he says in my ear.

I push up to my hands and with Cam pulling me the rest of the way with his knees to the bed, he lifts and holds me.  With my back plastered to his front and impaled on his cock, I reach around to grasp him from behind since my knees are lifted from the bed.  His big strong arms hold me tight and his hand returns to my clit.

“Want you to come on my cock before I take you, baby.”

“Okay,” I breathe.  I’m good with that, too.

He doesn’t move, but his hand works my clit as he moves down, his fingers surrounding our connection.  His other arm is angled up, holding my breast, lightly twisting my nipple. 

“So sweet,” he murmurs and I turn my head, my face pressed to the side of his neck.  “You give me everything, don’t you?”

“Everything,” I whisper, breathing him in.  “Anything, Cam.”

“Love you,” he murmurs against my forehead, but I can’t give him that back.  I can only pant as I feel it and start to tense in his arms.  I grasp him tighter and have to bring one hand around to hang onto his forearm when he says in a low voice, “Fuck, I feel you inside and out.”

He lowers me, gently pushing me down with my cheek to the bed.  Keeping hold of my hips, he starts to move.  And the harder he moves, my orgasm keeps on, lingering, making me reach for it.  I thrust onto him and feel his hand light on my spine, trailing down my back and over my bottom.  I love this, but over the years, Cam’s taught me to love everything with him. 

His movements become harder, using all his bulk and muscles to take me.  I hear him breathe the way he does when he’s about to come, and then two more delicious thrusts, he stays planted to the root.  I let my knees slip and feel his body come over mine, but he doesn’t give me his bulk.  Staying deep inside me, he breathes hard as he comes down quietly into the back of my neck.  I love it when he’s spent from taking me.

“I like quiet sex,” I whisper.

He presses into me and says in my ear, “I don’t.  I get off on hearing you moan.  My family leaves tomorrow, back to normal.”

“I like that, too.  But I like hearing you breathe.  It’s sexy.”

He doesn’t say a word but I feel the goatee smile in the side of my face. 

I open my eyes and turn to look at him while whispering, “You had me where I couldn’t talk, but I love you, too.”

The goatee grins and he whispers back, “Give me your sweet, baby.”

I give my man a small smile before turning my head enough to put my lips to his.  When I do, he takes over and without knowing it, he gives me sweeter than I could ever give him back.  I never knew life could be this sweet.  But here, on Athica Lane, it is.