Living on Blue Time

Epilogue

“What do you need, Merida?” I ask my 6-year-old daughter.

“I need to ask mommy something,” she replies flipping her red hair over her shoulder. I knew my children would be redheads, I just didn’t think their hair would be any redder than Ray’s, but somehow every one of my four children were born with bright red hair and bright blue eyes.

Merida looks exactly like her mother.

“Mommy’s talking with Aunty Sidney,” I tell her as I cut into the cake.

It’s the triplet’s birthday today.

They’re turning 5.

I swear it was only this morning they were born.

I swear it was only this morning I held my only son in my arms.

I swear it was only this morning I watched my two newborn daughters open their eyes.

I swear it was only this morning I was pushed out of the delivery room while swarms of doctors flooded into it.

I swear it was only this morning I was told that all three of my newborns were healthy and could go home.

I swear it was only this morning the doctor told me I would only be going home with my children.

That they tried every thing they could think of.

That they were so sorry for my loss.

I swear it was only this morning I lost my Match.

But I also swear it was only this morning I found someone to mend the whole in my heart. I found Grace.

She was a widower too.

She had lost her husband in a fire a year before.

She understood how I felt about Ray.

And even though I will never love Grace like I loved Ray, I’m happy.

Merida doesn’t remember her mother.

She was only one when she lost her.

Sometimes I’m glad she doesn’t remember.

I’m glad she has someone to call mommy.

But sometimes I’m sad.

Sometimes I’m sad because every time I see Merida, all I see is my Ray.

But that’s a good thing.

What would I do without Merida?

What would I do without Chrissie or Faith or Sebastian?

What would I do without Grace?

“But it’s important!” Merida whines and stomps her foot. I put down the knife.

I kneel down and look her in the eye, “Nothing is more important to me than you, Merida. Tell me what you need. Please?”

She huffs.

She sounds so much like her mother.

“Chrissie and Faith are trying to tie Bass to a tree,” Merida finally says in a rush.

I feel my eyes widen. I stand up and yell up the stairs, “Grace! I need your help!”

I hear her yell back, “I’m coming!”

I don’t wait for her to come down the stairs.

Instead I run out of the house and into the backyard.

I immediately see my girls holding my son hostage.

11-year-olds Zeke and Tate, Ray’s nephews and my children’s cousins, are hiding behind the swing set with water balloons.

Sidney and Wesley’s 3-year-old son Harvey is running around in circles.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

They’re playing a game.

I go back inside to see Grace running through the hallway.

“What?” she breathlessly asks.

“Nothing. They’re playing a game. Merida just made it sound bad,” I say, glaring at my oldest.

“I wanted to sneak some cake,” she shrugs.

I roll my eyes and mutter, “Just like your mom.”

Grace smiles at me.

She heard.

But she doesn’t care.

She knows these children aren’t hers.

And she cares for them anyway.

“I think we should start, don’t you think AJ?” she asks me as she reaches for the cake slices.

“That’s a great idea, Grace.”