EPILOGUE
Leon
The light in Provence in the south of France is different than the light in Africa. The color of the sky is a powdery blue. It makes a cloudless picture frame for Zoe and Maxime’s holiday house, a stone mansion that sits in the middle of a vineyard on a few acres of land.
A long table is set on the front lawn under the plane tree. The thick foliage provides ample shade. A maritime breeze that blows in from the south expels the worst of the summer heat. Like a picnic scene from a French travel magazine, the table is laid with a white tablecloth and Maxime’s inherited silver and crystalware. A bottle of rosé cools in an ice bucket on the side.
Josh skips from chair to chair with a pile of cushions in his arms, placing one on each seat. Violet is keeping an eye on him while she arranges the wildflowers she collected on our morning walk in a vase.
“All done, Vi,” he says, dusting his hands.
She smiles at him. “Do you know how to make a swan with a piece of paper?”
He shakes his head.
“Come here.” She points at the space next to her. “I’ll show you how to fold it with a napkin. We can make one for each plate. Want to help?”
“Yes,” he exclaims, sprinting to her side.
My chest warms with the feeling I had when I told Violet the truth about me. I’ve been having that feeling a lot since waking up alive in the hospital. It’s a mixture of carefreeness, gratitude, and invincibility. The latter doesn’t come from over-confidence. I came too close to looking death in the face than to harbor such arrogance. It comes from the knowledge that nothing can destroy what Violet and I share, not even death. I’ll continue to love her from my grave. I’ll love her forever.
What I feel for her can’t be plagiarized or taken away from me, no matter what happens, and that’s a fucking awesome feeling. For the first time in my life, I have a notion of having created something of real value, something bigger than my passion for programming and my booming clandestine IT business. Something indestructible. Eternal.
My wife catches my gaze, waving one of the swan napkins to show me Josh’s work. I smile. It’s all I can do not to let everything that swells inside me gush from my mouth like a mushy love declaration.
“Stop staring,” Ian says, shouldering me as he comes out of the house with a cool box in his hands. “The meat is burning.”
I look at the grill I’m supposed to be manning. The fat on the chops has turned into charcoal. Violet gives me a cocky smile. She knows it’s her fault I’m distracted. Usually, I can grill a piece of meat without turning it into carbon.
When every plate has a swan-shaped napkin next to it, Josh runs to where Damian pushes Josie in a baby swing attached to the branch of a pine tree. Her laughter sounds over the loud crepitation of the cicadas. She squeals every time Damian makes her fly through the air even though his pushes are on the safe and gentle side.
“Can I go next, Daddy?” Josh asks, jumping up and down.
Damian ruffles his hair. “Two more minutes, and then it’s your turn.”
“Does Jean also want a turn, Uncle Max?” Josh calls to Maxime, who stands at the edge of the garden with Jean in his arms.
“No,” Maxime says, giving Josh a crooked smile. “Jean is too young for the swing.”
Yeah. Maxime eventually let Zoe have her way with the name, just like with everything else. My sister has that Frenchman wrapped around her finger.
“Regarde,” Maxime says, pointing at a treecreeper that eats seeds from a bird feeder. “Un grimpereau des jardins.”
Jean seems more interested in the bubbly laughter coming from Josie’s direction than in the bird.
Lina and Cas exit the house, carrying bowls of salad.
Wrinkling her nose, Cas says, “It smells like something is burning.”
“I hope you like your meat overcooked, Ian,” Lina says, flashing me a teasing smile from over her shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, taking the meat off the grill and stacking it in a dish. “Rub it in.”
Cas places one of the bowls at the end of the table. “It’s a good thing I don’t eat meat.” She bumps her hip against Violet’s. “Does he always burn the food or only when you’re wearing such a pretty dress?”
Violet laughs. “Honestly?” She shoots me a private look. “Leon is a grill master, especially with kebabs.”
Ian straightens from packing beer in the metal tub that’s filled with ice. “As there are ribs on tomorrow’s menu, I better take charge of the grill.”
Violet saunters up to me with a grin.