Page 81 of Beck and Call

"Forever and always," she agreed.

"We'll start with that. I'm not sure even that will be enough time with you."

Epilogue

Colter

The day was gray, and the rain came down in sheets. It was fitting considering it was the day I finally got my Jenny a stone to mark her final resting place.

Our daughter sat in the back of the rented SUV holding my beautiful granddaughter. I asked for a moment alone before she joined me out here. She'd already said goodbye to her mother sixteen years ago, but the loss was a fresh one for me.

"I found her." My voice cracked as I spoke the first words to her in nearly two decades. "I wish I'd known we had a daughter. I would have taken care of her long before now. We have a granddaughter now too."

A tear ran down my face. "I wish you could be here to see them both."

Evie came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me. "She's here."

Beckett walked up behind us and stood on the other side of Evie.

"Where's the baby?" I asked.

"She's sleeping in her seat. Dave's watching her," he answered.

"The stone is beautiful," Evie said.

Genevieve Holmes

1981-2005

Forever Young

Mother, Daughter, and Friend

Till we meet again

It wasn't, though. There was nothing lovely about a tombstone for a twenty-four-year-old woman. I'd held onto the hope of finding her for so long I never expected I'd find her laying six feet under a metal grave marker with nothing more than her initials and the date she was born and the date she died.

"Come on," Evie prompted. "This place is full of sad memories. Let's go make a happy one."

We took the SUV through town to where Jana was waiting for us. I'd wanted to open a rehabilitation center to help women suffering from addiction. Evie wanted a women's resource center that had a medical clinic, an education assistance center, drug and alcohol addiction counseling, and a crisis center.

She walked up to the front doors under a covered patio.

"Thank y'all for coming out here today in the rain," she began. Her voice was thick with the same accent I heard in her mother's voice all those years ago.

"My father wanted to do something to honor my momma’s memory, since he felt he failed her while she was alive. But he didn't fail her, poverty did. Poverty perpetrated by a lack of opportunities and made worse through her mental illness. We talked about what would have helped her, and through those conversations the Genevieve Holmes Center for Women was born."

Her shoulders rolled back and her chin tipped up. It was a gesture I'd come to learn was her way of holding back strong emotion.

"She's remarkable, isn't she," Beckett commented with pride.

"She really is," I agreed. If only her mother had had a fraction of our daughter's strength.

"You know, what happened to Jenny wasn't your fault. A good friend told me something similar not long ago. You need to forgive yourself and move on. She wouldn't want you to punish yourself forever because she was ill."

"You were right before. It's easier said than done."

He looked at my daughter, his wife, and smiled. "Yeah, it is, but totally worth it." He walked away to rejoin his wife.

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