The Fabric of our Souls

Two years after the fire

Never Haven stands tall and magnificent against the morning sunlight.

It’s beautiful, everything Harlow was and more.

Gray bricks contrast the freshly planted mums and marigolds lining the driveway. Some of my darkest ghosts live here, I think to myself as I take in a deep breath of the crisp scent of autumn. But some of my most cherished moments were born here as well.

Wynn tucks into my chest and I pull her close.

James flew us out here ahead of the ribbon-cutting ceremony so that we could stand where everything ended once more before the new beginning. I don’t miss the middle-aged woman walking down the path toward the memorial site, moonflowers in her hands as she walks nostalgically through the grounds.

Monica, I’d like to think. But I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

“It’s perfect,” Wynn mutters as she wipes away silent tears. “Lanston would’ve loved this place. What we did. He’d—” She chokes up and tightens her jaw.

“He’d be smiling from ear to ear. Asking us to freshen the driveway with a race.” I laugh and try to fight back my own tears.

She looks up at me and smiles, tears running down her face and as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on her. I set my hand gently on her stomach, swollen with our child. Her hand meets mine.

This is what I want for the rest of my life. Us three.

My wife, who’s loved me through the dark, the wicked, and the cruel. My child, who will know the stories of those who are no longer here. Those who came before him.

And myself.

I’ve learned to forgive myself. I’ve learned to love me.

“Remedium meum,” I murmur as I press a long, adoring kiss to Wynn’s forehead. “Let’s make sure the greenhouse is filled with flowers before everyone arrives. Then we’ll visit Lanston and make sure he’s got a new hat this year.”

Wynn wipes the last of her tears and lights up with the promise of flowers and visiting our dear friend.

“Let’s bring him a bundle of baby’s breath and peonies. And I still plan on dancing at the autumn festival tonight.” She winks at me.

“I’ll dance until I die if it’s for you, sunshine. But fuck the cornfield.”

Lanston Nevers

“The Fabric of our Souls is thin and worn. We must be gentle and love tirelessly.”