One Lavender Ribbon

Epilogue

Present day

Will pulled his daughter closer into the circle of his arms, drawing as much strength from her as she drew from him. A funeral wasn’t the place for a three-year-old, but he’d insisted. “Will Great-Grandma Sara wake up?” Her eyes flitted to the casket once again.

They’d tried to explain, but death in terms of toddler life experience was impossible. When her toys died, Daddy put new batteries in them and they were good as new. Adrienne took Will’s arm. “We should have left her with Sammie,” she whispered.

He shook his head, gave his wife a sad smile. “No. She’ll remember this—not all of it, but some. It’s important for her to experience and to remember.”

Adrienne slid her arm through his and squeezed. “How is Pops, really?”

Will glanced over her head to his grandfather, who stood between Will’s mom and dad. As if knowing his grandson sought assurance from him, Pops looked over and winked. But the light had left Pops’s eyes, and Will tried to resist the truth that he wouldn’t have him much longer. “He’s strong.”

Three-year-old SaraAnn squirmed in her daddy’s arms. “Can I go to Grandma Peggy?”

Peg heard and reached her arms out to take her grandchild.

Will’s hands were now empty, and he wasn’t sure what to do with them, so he pulled his wife closer and gently rubbed his fingers along her arm.

Pastor Vernon began to speak. “Seven years ago, I joined a man and woman in matrimony. They had the most endearing love story I’ve ever heard. Though they spent most of their time right here in Florida, during their seven years as man and wife, they visited three continents and countless countries. Sara Ambrosia Bryant was born July 11, 1928. Like Sarah of the Bible, she was gifted late in life with a family. Sara is survived by her husband, William Bryant; a son and daughter-in-law, Charles and Peg Bryant of Bonita Springs; grandson and wife, Will and Adrienne Bryant of Naples; and a great-grandchild, of the home. Sara loved fishing in the Gulf of Mexico. She and William would often take off on a fishing excursion early Saturday morning and not return until late that night. She caught a trophy sailfish last year, one her husband swears only bit on her line to torture him.”

The pastor talked on, but Will turned his attention to Pops, who’d stood stoic throughout the service. When the memorial ended and they stepped outside, Will noticed Pops fumbling with something in his pocket.

“What have you got there?”

Pops stared down at the boat key. “Thought I’d go out for a bit this evening.”

Concern drew Will’s brows together. A cold wind whistled up his pant leg, setting his flesh on alert. Will stared up at the winter sky. “It’s supposed to be cooler tonight, Pops. Why don’t you wait and I’ll go with you in the morning?”

Pops turned to face him fully, and something, some deep-seated reserve, caused the chill to pass through Will’s entire body. “Nope. Going myself this time.”

Will had fought the onset of tears and wasn’t sure why now they insisted on burning his nose and stinging his eyes. “Really, Pops. I’d like to go. I’ll go with you tonight. The grass will be slick when we get home.”

But there was peace in his grandfather’s voice as he spoke. “I’m eighty-eight, Will. I’ve lived through a war and buried the love of my life twice. I’m not afraid of a little wet grass.” Quietly, he added. “I’m not afraid to live. And I’m not afraid to die.”

Panic caused the sobs to tighten in Will’s throat. He tried to speak, but fear so thoroughly froze him, no words came. Finally, he was able to say, “Pops. The dream.” And this broke him. His tortured voice matched the terror inside his heart.

“How many times have I told you that’s not the way I go?” He looked up at the sky, filled with encroaching clouds. “Me and the good Lord had a long talk about this some time back. One night I’ll close my eyes and . . . ”

He waited for Will to finish it for him. “And awaken in Glory.”

Pops smiled.

But whether that day was today, a week from now, or a year from now, Will wasn’t ready for it. There seemed so many things he should say. “I love you, Pops.”

But his grandfather had already turned and started to walk away. “Love you too, boy.” When he threw the look over his shoulder, Will saw it, the glint of a younger man looking out from Pops’s eyes. “Take care of Adrienne.”

Will’s fist pressed hard against his mouth.

“And don’t let SaraAnn forget about me, okay?”

Pops was a blur through the tears. Will couldn’t answer. His head gave a shaky nod.

Later, much later that night, he heard the whine of the boat motor as he smoothed the hair from SaraAnn’s face, tucking her into bed. “Tell me a story, Daddy?”

Somehow, Will found his words. “Once upon a time, there was a very brave soldier named William Bryant . . . ”

He’d barely gotten into the story when Adrienne came running into the room. “Will, I hear the boat.”

SaraAnn didn’t notice her momma’s panic.

Will watched as his wife rushed to the window and clung to the sill. He came over and placed his arms around her waist. “It’s Pops. He’s taking the boat out.”

Her eyes widened in fear. “It’s night, Will. The dream.”

But he didn’t answer, didn’t explain, just stared out the window as running board lights disappeared, swallowed by the canal.

Frustration caused her to push away from him. “What are you doing?”

When the first tear trickled onto his cheek, she quickly moved back into his arms. “I’m learning to let go.”

At 5:15, they got the call from the Coast Guard. The unmanned thirty-two-foot cuddy cabin was moored on Grace Island, one of Pops and Sara’s favorite fishing spots. At 5:32, the coroner, a family friend, stopped by. “It’s the strangest thing, Will. Your grandfather was lying on the beach like he was taking a nap, and I swear there was a smile on his face. I can’t see any reason why he died.” He rubbed a beard-stubbled chin. “The boat was tied, no signs of foul play. It’s like he just stretched out to watch the stars, closed his eyes, and—”

“And awakened in Glory.”

“We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

Will shook his hand. “He’s with Sara. I know everything I need to know. Thanks, Dr. Baker.”

Open windows filled the house with fresh air. Adrienne stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing the vegetables SaraAnn had picked from the garden. The five-year-old scurried outside to play when a fat squirrel entered her sphere of vision.

Adrienne laughed. “She still believes she’ll catch that squirrel.”

Will slid his hands around his wife, open palms grazing her growing belly and loving the fact their family was about to welcome a new member. He nuzzled her ear. “She’s curious, like her mother.”

She half-turned toward him, resting her head against his chest. “And stubborn, like her father.”

With the pad of his thumb, he tilted her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. “You know, I’ve heard of men being attracted to pregnant women. I never fully understood until now.”

She blinked innocently. “You weren’t attracted to me when I was pregnant with SaraAnn?”

He scowled. “Ridiculously. But I think it’s getting worse. I can’t keep my hands off you.”

A throaty giggle escaped her lips. “Well, who asked you to?”

He captured her mouth with his. Will angled so his body rested against hers. He lingered there, in that kiss, tasting the woman he loved until a swift knock hit him in the lowest part of his stomach.

Adrienne rubbed a hand over her belly. “Slugger’s got quite a kick.”

Will bent at the waist and addressed his unborn child. “Another few weeks, and she’s all yours. But until you make your appearance, she’s mine.” He kissed her stomach, stood up, kissed her cheek, then dove for her mouth again, losing himself in her essence.

Later that night, Will sat at the antique bureau in their bedroom overlooking the canal. Beyond the open window, waves lapped the sides of the boat, and a strong breeze carried the scents of autumn. Throughout his life, he’d learned many things. But the one that most surprised him was the power of the written word. And that’s why at night, when his family slept, he sat at the bureau and wrote letters.

Dear SaraAnn,

I’m watching you grow up before my eyes, and sometimes I wonder if I’m giving you all the advice you need. Life can be hard, but it’s also beautiful. I expect you’ll have your share of both, as we all do. But no matter what roads you travel, just one turn can lead you back home.

You and your momma are the loves of my lifetime. One day, I hope you’ll find yours. Until then, make every day count. Live a life you’ll be proud of. Be strong when life is a war. And be soft when a friend needs an understanding ear. Be yourself, SaraAnn, because there’s nothing more beautiful than you. Of all the things I may be able to teach you, this one lesson is most important. Life is to be lived.

Your biggest fan,

Daddy