Chapter Thirty-Two
Present Day
Lovingly, Phoebe tucked John’s essay back into the envelope. She’d read John’s goodbye at least a thousand times in the first year without him. And every year since then, she revisited it, remembering the unforgettable man.
She dabbed at her eyes with another tissue and gulped down some wine to ease the tightness in her throat. It was amazing, the things the human heart could contain, she mused. The joy, the grief, the peace, and the strife. The shelves above her were a testament to that. Loosely organized in chronological order, the mismatched frames and their images told the story of a life full of love and loss, joy, and the underlying satisfaction that carried through it all.
Her first wedding day picture, in a whitewashed wood frame, showed her standing hand in hand with John saying their vows against a backdrop of sunflowers that went on forever. There were baby pictures of the boys, kindergarten and Cub Scouts, prom and sports. John and the boys. The farm as it had been back on the day she’d arrived. There were her sons’ weddings and the babies and not-so babies.
Her second wedding picture resided in a lovely filigree frame, one of her in Franklin’s arms on the dance floor, laughing at something wonderful. Deliriously happy again. Wasn’t it strange that she could remember both wedding days so perfectly in high-definition detail? She felt like the same person who stepped foot on this farm in 1985, yet so much had changed within and without.
Her sons had deemed Franklin a man among men—at least after their initial shock that Phoebe was indeed dating. Together, she and Franklin had taken their two families and joined them in ways that could never be undone.
Franklin supported and encouraged her to remember John, to keep him an integral part of their blended family. And she loved him all the more for it. He made her laugh every single day with his wicked sense of humor, and Phoebe knew John would approve of her choice. And through Franklin, Phoebe finally got the girls she’d wished for. Her step-daughters were smart, sweet, and strong, and she loved them as fiercely as she did her own sons.
It was a beautiful life so far, and she couldn’t wait to see what was next.
Phoebe counted her lucky stars every damn day that she got to love the two best men in the world and raise three more. The tears were dry, and her smile wide. Somedays, the gratitude she felt for her life overwhelmed her.
Life was hard, but that’s what made it so incredibly good. That’s what made her appreciate every second that she had on this earth. Even on the darkest day, there was still beauty to see, still love to find. There was still a beginning to find in every end. She knew that now and hoped that her family knew it, too.
She heard the screen door swing open at the front of the house and a chorus of “Mom!”
Her boys, men now—husbands and fathers—trooped inside. All tall and dark. Beckett impeccably dressed as always, hair neatly trimmed. Carter, with his thick beard, and Jax, in rumpled flannel, leaned more toward casual.
But they were all handsome as sin and wore it with an easy confidence. They looked happy, healthy, relaxed. A farmer, a lawyer, and a screenwriter, all running a brewery named after their father.
We did good, John, Phoebe said silently, sending the message up to the heavens.
“Oh, great. She’s drinking already,” Jax joked.
“You try raising three boys in a barn and see if you don’t start drinking,” Phoebe reminded him.
“I’m dealing with an eighteen-year-old, a seven-year-old, and Joey,” Jax said. “I may join you.” He took her glass and gulped it down.
Phoebe laughed, her heart full and light. “That’s why you’re my favorite,” she told him, patting his arm.
Carter leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head. “Happy Birthday, Mom.”
“Thank you, sweetie. Ignore what I said to Jax. You’re my favorite,” she said in a stage whisper.
“Hollywood can’t be the favorite,” Beckett argued. “Neither can Wookiee face here. I’m the lowest maintenance son. That makes me the favorite by default.”
Phoebe gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re absolutely right, Beckett. You’re my favorite. Although, you do know that you have a beard now, too, right?”
“Yeah, who’s the Wookiee face now, Mr. Mayor?” Carter said, giving his brother a shove.
Beckett knocked into the glass bowl of fruit on the counter, arguing about how much better his beard was than Carter’s.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Phoebe cut in. “Take me to lunch before someone goes through the drywall.”
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They took her to Villa Harvest where the hostess led them to a long table under a festive umbrella on the patio where it looked as though half the town was enjoying lunch.
“Happy Birthday, Phoebe,” Mrs. Nordemann, still in her all black mourning gear eight years after the death of Mr. Nordemann, called out cheerily from her table with Bobby from Peace of Pizza. They raised their glasses to her, and Phoebe blew them a kiss.
The greetings were the same at every table. She knew every single person here. Blue Moon had always been that kind of place. The town had accepted her as one of their own and never let her down. Looking around the patio, she realized she was surrounded by people who loved her without biological requirement. They were men and women who cheered next to her at high school track meets, who held her hand and baked her horrible casseroles in the weeks after John passed, who danced at her wedding to Franklin.
People who knew the names of her grandchildren, business owners who had given her bookkeeping work when times were tight on the farm. An entire town of friends who had raised enough money to rescue her own parents—strangers to them—from crippling debt.
Hell, she was going to cry again.
“How did we rate such a big table?” Phoebe asked, taking a seat on the striped cushion.
“Pretty sure the owner has a thing for you, Mom,” Beckett teased.
She picked up the menu on her plate. “Phoebe’s Day Specials,” she read.
“He definitely has a thing for you.” Carter winked over his own menu.
Franklin appeared on the patio, and Phoebe enjoyed the stumble her heart took as it did every time she saw her husband. He wore a new Hawaiian shirt, this one white with red and pink hearts everywhere. He was a bear of a man in size but a teddy bear in character. There was nothing Franklin Merrill wouldn’t do for her or for anyone for that matter. He loved fiercely and was a soft spot to land for anyone who needed one.
“For my favorite stepsons,” Franklin said, whipping a basket of fresh bread sticks and steaming marinara from behind his back. Her sons pounced on it as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“And for my beautiful bride,” Franklin professed. The lunch crowd “awh-ed” as he swept a massive bouquet from behind his back.
Phoebe’s breath caught at the sight of them. At least a dozen sunflowers mixed in with wildflowers of every color.
“Oh, Franklin,” she breathed. Her heart squeezed.
“I saw them in the window at Every Bloomin’ Thing and thought they looked like you—beautiful and just a little wild.”
“Oh,” she said again, sniffling. Sunflowers, of course.
“If Mom starts crying or you two start making out, I’m out of here,” Jax threatened.
“Before cannoli?” Franklin grinned.
“Of course, not! After cannoli. I’m not an idiot.”
“Yes, you are,” Carter and Beckett chimed in.
Jax kicked both his brothers under the table. But Phoebe was too happy, her heart too full, to yell at them.
“Are you joining us for lunch?” she asked her husband hopefully.
“I think my boss will allow me to take my lunch break,” Franklin winked. “In fact, I think we’re all joining you.”
He whistled through his fingers, and everyone on the patio rose from their seats.
The table that had been hidden behind a palm dropped their menus and Phoebe clapped her hands over her mouth. Michael, Hazel, and Donovan Cardona grinned at her.
And as an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” began, the Pierce girls appeared at the patio gate. Joey and Summer, each holding three bottles of champagne worked their way toward her. They were followed by Gia, Emma, and Eva—reliving their restaurant days working for their father—carrying trays of delicate stemware.
Elvira, her dearest friend in the world, was last in the procession carrying a cake that had entirely too many candles on it.
Franklin kissed Phoebe’s knuckles as the song reached its blaring crescendo.
She stood and looked around the patio crowded with her wonderful family and friends. Anthony Berkowicz, son of Rainbow and Gordon and the lone employee of The Monthly Moon, jumped out from behind a palm and blinded her with the flash from his camera. Joey shoved him back behind the plant. Nikolai, her other handsome step-son-in-law, stepped forward with his professional camera and grinned at her before capturing the moment.
“I don’t know how to thank each and every one of you for the role you’ve played in making my life so wonderful. I don’t know if I ever can. But I do know this, I’m grateful for you all every single day. You’re more than friends and neighbors. You’re family, and I’m so lucky to have you. And now I’m going to sit back down before I start blubbering.”
There was laughter and applause and a few tears from the crowd, her family.
As the cake was cut, the bubbly popped and poured, Franklin cupped her face in his big hands. “Happy birthday, my lovely wife.”
He kissed her lightly, sweetly, and even then, her heart sang with the joy of a woman who was truly, deeply loved.