Page 133 of With Spite

I took the bucket that we used to mix my mom’s and dad’s ashes together, then tossed it out over the wildflowers.

The wind picked up the fragments of my parents and carried it away as if it’d never been.

“Finally back together,” I mused.

“Finally back together,” Damien said as he threw his arm around me.

Cade came to my other side and tugged me close. “Think they’re happy?”

“I know Dad is.” I sniffed. “He’s been waiting patiently all these years.”

“Patiently?” Damien laughed. “You’re delirious. Dad was anything but patient.”

“No,” I agreed. “I guess you’re right. Mom was always his endgame.”

“In life and in death,” Cade agreed.

The sun came out then, and illuminated the patch of wildflowers, as if the gods were confirming that Dad had made it.

They were together.

“What do we do without them?” Cade asked.

I had no idea.

But we owed it to them to live happy and carefree.

That was what they would want.

Just as the thought occurred to me, the door burst open and our kids ran out.

They played in the yard that we’d once played in.

Happy and carefree, just as they should be.