Bonus Epilogue
Gavin
The cool night breeze thrums through the pine trees, stirring the coals of the campfire, and sending blue and orange sparks into the dark night air.
I shift, leaning against the wooden log near the fire’s edge and tuck Jamie more firmly against me. She glances up at me, the firelight catching the flame of her hair. Someday I’m going to ask her to make me a glass sculpture, but I can’t decide whether I want it to be the dark depth of her lavender eyes or the brightness of her fiery hair. I stroke her hair back from her eyes, the tendrils coming loose in the autumn breeze.
“It was a good day,” she whispers over the crackling of the fire. The burning wood scent and the thin lines of white smoke drift away from us, toward the gurgling muddy blue river, traveling down the mountainside.
“It was,” I agree, “It reminded me of our first time.”
She flashes a quick grin in my direction then rests her head against my shoulder, leaning back into me.
The smell of toasted marshmallows, melted chocolate, and graham crackers still lingers after the kids’ late night s’more snack. I brush my lips across Jamie’s cool temple, she’s wrapped up in a thick knitted sweater and jeans, but it’s autumn in the mountains, and even with the fire the bite of winter is close.
The domed blue tent is nestled near the boughs of the Virginia pine trees, the door flap zipped shut. For a half hour we could hear the kids whispering, telling scary stories, but then the flashlight was flicked off and the only sound was the snap and crackle of the logs in the fire and the ever-present crickets singing their autumn song. Scooter sleeps in front of the tent flap, snoring and kicking his legs in running motions, scratching at the dirt.
“Do you remember what we did that first time?” I ask, circling my fingers over her collarbone.
We’ve been on a dozen camping trips since our first. Shenandoah, Yosemite, the Boundary Waters, Glacier National Park, Zion, Olympic National Park. But wherever we go around the world—the Munros in Scotland, Mount Cook in New Zealand, Skåne in Sweden—we always can’t wait to come back here, to our mountain.
“Went canoeing,” Jamie says with a smirk.
“Not that.”
“Cooked hot dogs over the fire?” she asks.
“No.”
“Hmm. Told scary stories?”
“Not that either.” I pinch her arm and she smothers a laugh.
Then she puts a finger to her chin and gives me a teasing look. “Hmm. I reckon we went skinny dipping after the kids were asleep.”
I sit up straight and tilt my head toward the sound of the river—water splashing over rocks—not thirty feet away. The water is there, just through the coniferous woods, full of pine needles covering the ground, and fallen logs and towering old growth Virginia pines that feel nearly as immovable and ancient as the rocks of the mountain.
We could…no that water was as cold as an icicle shower. Not that it prevented what happened next, but still.
“Not that,” I say, turning her around and settling her on my lap.
She makes a happy noise and shifts her weight onto me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and moving her hips. I press my mouth to her neck, taste the wood smoke and the orange blossom on her, and nearly lose my train of thought as she rocks against me.
But I don’t want to forget this, so I ground myself in the forest, in the moment, and say, “We laid out in the moonlight and counted the stars.”
“Until we couldn’t count anymore,” she says, seeing where I’m going with this.
“Because the stars are uncountable.”
Just like how much love I have for her and the kids. It’s immeasurable. Uncountable.
She stands then, the cold air seeping between us as she moves away, then she holds out her hand. “Come with me.”
I stand and take her hand, following her to the edge of the fire’s glow, then deeper into the night’s shadow. She stops at an old wide-trunked walnut tree, the bark thickly ridged and solid. She leans against it and gives me a smile that catches the moon and the stars and all the ways I feel about her.
“I was going to wait to tell you,” she says quietly, the lulling hymn of the crickets nearly covering her words.
But her words are loud enough. My breath catches and I brace my hands on the rough bark of the tree, surrounding her, leaning in to drop my lips to hers.
“Wait to tell me…” I say against her mouth.
“I’m making you a sculpture. There’s lavender and cornflower blue and silver slivers of moonlight and golden flecks of stardust.”
Jamie’s glass art reflects her life. It always has. When she finished her sculpture full of hundreds of iridescent spheres floating to the sky, it was purchased by one of the leading art museums in the nation. Since then her work has been in the spotlight and in demand. The last year has been a whirlwind. Making a marriage, making a family, building a new home, building a career and success. Her art has reflected all that. But now, this…this sculpture can only mean one thing.
I look into her eyes, warmth flowing between us—love. She nods, takes my hand and holds it against her, right where our baby is growing.
We’re having a baby.
My word.
And with the heat of her through her sweater, the smile on her lips, the question in her eyes, I have only one answer, “I love you.”
“I thought you might,” Jamie says, her mouth curving, her orange blossom scent teasing me. “We’ve been working real hard at it.”
I give her a firm look and the left side of her mouth twitches, hiding her smile. We have been working hard—in the bed, in the shower, in the bath, against the wall, in the studio, on the floor, out of doors, indoors, in the morning, at night, on lazy afternoons. Or in the woods, against a walnut tree, standing in a sliver of moonlight with crickets singing our song.
“I like working hard,” I tell her solemnly.
She grins. “You do. You like keeping busy. Real busy.”
I nod, twisting the cool metal button on her jeans, letting the denim come free. I wrap my hands around her thighs, pressing her jeans and underwear down her legs.
She kicks off her shoes, pushes the jeans to the pine needle soft ground. I kiss her, the toasted marshmallow flavor bright on her lips. I lick them, taste the fire on her and pull her closer.
She grips my jeans, shoves them down my legs. She’s impatient, nearly as impatient as I am. I groan as she grips me, her hand hot and firm. Then I lift her, and she wraps her thighs around me, grips my shoulders and holds herself still over me.
We rest our heads against each other, breathe together, and then I enter her heat. She closes around me and I kiss her, and love her, and she whispers against my mouth as I pull sweet noises from her.
I make love to my wife against an old walnut tree, the moon shining over us, the woods going still and quiet. She grips me tight, holds me close, keeps me in her arms, the place I’ll always run to. Then I’m losing myself in her and she’s thrumming around me, pulling me in, and calling my name.
“Love you,” she says. “Love you.”
I kiss her, slide her down the tree, the warmth we created still between us.
“I love you too.” I kiss her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids, the edge of her lips where her smile lingers.
Then I pull her jeans back up, put her back together, put my own jeans back on. The crickets came back again, loud and lulling. Through the trees, there’s the flicker of the campfire dying down.
I take Jamie’s hand and she leans into my arm, pressing her warmth against me. The pine needles crackle under our feet and the sky overhead is wide, wide open.
We have the whole wide world in front of us.
“Do you know what I was thinking?” Jamie asks.
I shake my head. “What?”
I know what I was thinking. That I can’t wait to meet our baby. That I can’t wait to tell the kids. That I can’t wait for our next trip together. That I can’t wait for every day of the rest of our lives.
“I was thinking this is a real good life. A real, real good life.”
I smile down at her, squeeze her hand, lead her back to the welcoming warmth of the glowing fire. “You know, I was thinking the exact same thing.”
We sit back down at the edge of the orange flames dancing over the campsite. The kids are asleep, Scooter’s snoring, the crickets are loud, the stars are winking, the autumn breeze is cool, and Jamie is in my arms.
I hold her close, smile at the starry sky, and thank the heavens.
It’s a good, good life.
