Broken Records by Bree Bennett
Epilogue
18 Months Later
August in Indiana always started out blistering hot, but by the end of the month, a slight chill underlined the suffocating heat, as if autumn was chipping away at the wall of sweaty misery until it could break through at last. That barely perceptible chill was the promise of a new school year, of football and apple cider, of hayrides and harvest. It was the bittersweet feeling that accompanied all endings, though new beginnings were never too far away.
It was the end of another beautiful summer, which Lucy spent in Sparrow Hill with her family on the farm. She read in the rope hammock under the catalpa trees, listened to music in her childhood bedroom, and took long walks along the fields outside the property, alone except for the stars above, the waving cornstalks at her side, and the snorting pig at her feet.
Other days, she spent with Matteo working on the fixer-upper farmhouse that she and Jack had bought that spring. The property next to Lettie’s farm had gone up for sale, and they snatched it up, despite the many repairs it would need.
The end of summer also brought about the transition from babyhood to toddlerhood for Gianna. The entire family felt that twinge of sadness, however brief, as her baby face melted away into the visage of a two-year-old toddler—a very rambunctious one.
For her birthday, they threw a simple family-only party in the backyard of the Meyer farmhouse, complete with Elmo-themed decorations, toddler-sized party games, and a huge table filled with an over-abundance of homemade food. Most of the family was there, and Lucy never stopped being amazed at what a blessing each and every person was. The moments that Brock had stolen from her had been replenished tenfold. More family members had been woven in since the day Lucy placed a guitar-string ring on Jack’s finger, each bringing their own personalities and memories and love, love, love.
Of course, it meant they still had to get creative with their seating arrangements. Ariana’s fiancé roosted on top of a pink Power Wheels car, and the extended family was spread out across camping chairs and lawn recliners. Dante had given up entirely and just lounged in the grass, long legs sprawled out like a late-summer spider.
And yet, they all felt the absence of one crucial member of their wild and wonderful family.
After nearly a year and a half of grueling travel, stolen moments in hotels around the world, and hundreds of lonely text messages and phone calls, Jack’s farewell tour ended that week. It hadn’t been easy for either Jack or Lucy, but they had made it work. Her unique concert set-up was moved around with the tour equipment, and when she could fly out to one of his shows, the concert techs set it up in his dressing room. Other times, when he had a few days off, he flew to Sparrow Hill or back to New York, wherever Lucy was, and they spent every waking moment together.
His last show had been in Paris two days prior. They had celebrated with a virtual dinner and video call with the whole family, where they dined on fondue and baguettes and spoke in exaggerated French accents while Larry pranced around at their feet, wearing a navy beret.
Jack had business at Derelict’s UK office that week, and then next week, he would be coming home to Sparrow Hill for good, and their new normal—whatever that would be—could begin at last.
The birthday party was in full swing, or as much as it could be with the honorary guest sprinting naked through the sprinkler, shrieking as Lettie’s new husband chased after Gianna with her discarded swim diaper.
“All right, people, time to sing,” barked Rose as she inserted two tiny candles into the top of a lopsided red and yellow cake. Gianna—now half-dressed and bouncing in her seat of honor—swiped a glob of frosting from the side with a gleeful cackle.
“One, two, three…” counted off Ben, and they began an off-key, warbling “Happy Birthday.” Before they could continue onto the second line, Nico paused, craning his neck to look beyond Lucy to the driveway.
“You’re late!” he called out with a sly grin.
The rusty hinge on the picket fence gate squealed in protest. Lucy turned in her seat, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand—and jolted up from the chair, nearly tripping over her own feet.
Jack strolled through the picket fence gate, his guitar slung over his back. He looked tired, and his clothes had the limp, wrinkled look caused by hours on a plane, but his cocky half-grin was lit up as bright as August sunshine.
Lucy didn’t even realize she was running until she was already in his embrace, her arms slung around his neck. Tears streamed from her eyes onto his mussed collar as he lifted her off the ground by her waist, burying his head in her neck and peppering it with ardent kisses.
“I thought you weren’t coming ‘til next week,” she said between sniffles.
“Kim’s idea. I know you don’t like surprises. Is this one okay?”
“This one is amazing.” And then there was no more talking, just kisses upon kisses, soft and caressing as a dragonfly’s wing, and—
“Are we singing here or what?” bellowed Rose. “The candles are melting all over the cake. Someone’s going to end up with wax poisoning.”
“Shit, oops,” he said, waving off his mother-in-law’s obligatory, “Watch your mouth!” He swung the guitar from his shoulder, retrieved a pick from his jeans pocket, and played a fanfare of chords to kick them off. Backed by her Uncle Jack’s strumming, everyone serenaded Gianna as her eyes shone with the endless, simple wonder that could only belong to a toddler. After multiple tries, she managed to blow out the candles, and everyone cheered.
Lettie started serving everyone, handing out paper plates that wilted under the weight of the cake. Jack took a plate for Lucy and himself, crooking his neck to indicate that she should follow him for a bit of privacy. She glanced back at her family, but Rose shooed her off with an impatient wave.
They sat under the maple tree, legs tangled and backs resting against the rough bark.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said, pulling a wrinkled envelope from his back pocket. He handed it to her with a stern look. She would have been worried, but his lips twitched as they fought back an impending smile.
“What’s this?”
“Letter from Trent,” he shrugged, stuffing a frosting-laden bite into his mouth. Lucy opened the letter and read it.
And then reread it.
“What is this?” she repeated.
“Exactly what you read,” he said. “A ninety-day notice. Our marriage contract expires in November.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Look, Trent signed it and everything. That makes it official.” He pointed at the lofty signature, smearing yellow frosting on the high-end paper.
Lucy handed him a napkin from the stack she had brought from the table. “So…you don’t want to stay married after November?”
“Nah.” He wiped his hands and retrieved another envelope from his other pocket. “I had Trent work up another contract.”
“Another one?” She read the letter and burst into laughter.
Dear Lucy,
This is an invoice. The son of a bitch is actually paying me fifty bucks to write this out. Please pay attention to him, and may God have mercy on both your souls.
Yours, Trent L. Roberts, Esq.
When she looked up, Jack’s face was flushed with timid tenderness, despite the streak of yellow frosting across his cheekbone. She wiped it with her napkin, and he caught her hand in his. He wriggled the wedding ring off her hand, but before she could protest, he wriggled it right back on.
“I, Jack, take you—”
“What are you doing?” Lucy interrupted.
“Saying the vows for real,” he said. “Hush a minute.” He cleared his throat. “I, Jack, take you, Lucy, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”
His face was so earnest, so vulnerable, and her cheeks ached from smiling. She took his hand and removed—then replaced—his guitar-string ring, repeating the vows back to him. They kissed, and though that nervous kiss in front of a handmade wedding podium in a granary full of people nearly two years ago had been as crisp and real as could be, this one brought with it a renewed sense of promise and partnership and absolute love.
“Well,” he said as they broke apart. “What happens now?”
“That’s the best part,” Lucy said, weaving their fingers together, soft skin meeting roughened fingertips. The canvas of their future stretched out, blank with possibilities. Kids or no kids. Cats or dogs or maybe pigs. A home in Sparrow Hill or New York or both at once. It all lay before them, unscheduled, unplanned, untamed. “I have no idea.”