“Emily,” she wheezed. “You… have… that… with… her.”

“I love her,” I agreed.

“Don’t… let… her… go…”

“I won’t.”

“And… don’t… cheat on… her… again…” and here she managed the ghost of a wicked smile, “or… at least… don’t tell… her…”

I couldn’t help but laugh. My sister, even at death’s doorstep, hadn’t changed a bit. “I won’t.”

It took her a little bit to catch her breath. “Mom and… Dad… need to… see London… Be part… of her life.”

“They always will be. Just like Liz.”

“Worried… for… them.”

I thought of my mom and all the loved ones she’d lost; I thought of my dad, weeping in the car.

“Do… it.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Love… you.”

I squeezed my sister’s hand then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

“I love you more than you will ever know,” I said. After offering a tender smile, she closed her eyes.

It was the last time I ever spoke to her.

My dad packed up his tool chest that night, and all of us kissed Liz goodbye. Now it was time for the two of them to be alone.

I don’t know what, if anything, they said to each other over the next couple of days – Liz never told us, other than to say that Marge enjoyed a day of surprising lucidity before she finally slipped into a coma. I am glad that Liz was there for that, and I pray that they both had a chance to say most of what was left to be said.

A day later, my sister died.

The funeral, at the gravesite, was a short affair. Marge had apparently given strict instructions to that effect, but the brief ceremony attracted dozens of mourners, all of them bundled up under the cold and gloomy sky.

I gave an abbreviated eulogy, of which I have little memory, other than that I spotted Vivian standing at the edge of the crowd, far from my family, Liz and Emily.

Prior to the funeral, London had asked if she could dance for her Auntie one last time. So after the mourners had dispersed, streaming away to their cars, I helped London attach her gauzy wings. With no music, and only me as an audience, London fluttered gracefully around the freshly turned earth, like a butterfly flitting in and out of the shadows.

This much I know: Marge would have loved it.

EPILOGUE

At the park, I sit in the shade while London runs and climbs and plays on the swing. It’s been hot the last couple of weeks and the air is so thick with humidity that I keep spare T-shirts in the trunk of my car to change into at times like this. They don’t stay dry for long, but I suppose that’s typical for late July.

In the past four months, the Phoenix Agency has signed three more legal firms as clients, and now represents firms in three different states. I’ve had to find a new office, and two months ago, I hired my first employees. Mark had two years’ experience with an Internet marketing firm in Atlanta, and Tamara is a recent graduate from Clemson, with a degree in film. Both of them are “digital natives,” and text using both their thumbs, as opposed to the hunt-and-peck method preferred by their boss. They’re intelligent and eager to learn, and they’ve made it possible for me to spend time with London this summer.

Like last summer, my daughter is constantly on the go. Tennis, piano, and art, along with dance at a different studio, one run by an instructor who inspires hugs from the kids. I drive her to and from her activities, and work while she’s busy; in the afternoons, we can often be found at the neighborhood pool or at the park, depending on her mood. It amazes me to see how much she’s changed since our first summer together. She’s taller and more confident, and when I’m driving her here and there, I can often hear her sounding out the words she sees on billboards.

My house isn’t as large as my former home, but it’s comfortable and both of Emily’s paintings – the one I’d bought at the show, and the one she’d painted of London and me – grace the walls of the living room. Even though I’ve been living there since late May, there are still boxes I haven’t yet unpacked, and I had to rent a storage unit for the furniture from my previous home that I no longer needed. I’ll probably sell most of it eventually, but with all the recent changes in my life, I just haven’t had the time. I’m still getting used to living in Atlanta, after all.

Vivian and I met the day after the funeral, and in less than an hour, we had worked everything out. Though I offered, she declined my offer of alimony, and as for the property settlement, she asked for only half of the equity in the house, savings, and investment accounts. She let me keep the funds in our joint retirement account, but then again, money for her was no longer the concern it once was. At that same meeting, she revealed that she was secretly engaged to Spannerman – others would learn of it after our divorce was finalized – and while I could have been hurt by that, I found to my surprise that it didn’t bother me at all. I was in love with Emily, and like Vivian, I’d reached the point where I was ready for a new chapter in my life.

However, money had never been the real bone of contention between us – custody was. So I was both relieved and a bit skeptical when she leaned over and said in an earnest voice, “I want to apologize for the letter my attorney sent.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I was venting in her office, and didn’t realize how my words would get twisted. I know you would never do anything inappropriate with London, and when I finally saw the letter my attorney had sent, I felt sick to my stomach.” She sighed. “I can’t imagine what you must have been thinking about me.”