Page 250 of Smooth Sailing

The kid’s giggle reached me, though, and I didn’t miss his face mostly taken up with a big, bright smile.

My heart swelled.

“Thank you,” I whispered to Jackie McCain.

Then I hurried toward my man, so busy pulling up the translation app on my phone, I didn’t notice a gentle breeze blew through the cherry trees, setting petals to floating all around us.

And for a beautiful moment in time, our vacation became a downright dream.

Because we got a visit from Heaven.

Hugger

One and a half years later…

Every time he came, it was like this.

Candles, flowers, bottles of bourbon, whisky, tequila, and the odd beer. Patches, flags and a shit ton of pictures.

In the mess around Big Petey’s headstone, Hugger tucked one more picture.

It was black and white, depicting a blurry blob.

But he tucked it anyway between a shot of Rider tickling Princess so hard, he had to hold her up so she wouldn’t fall from laughing, and a pic of Joker and Travis, with Travis standing on a step stool, bent over the hood of one of Joke’s builds.

Not far was a photo of Jag looming over Archie’s shoulder as she lay in a hospital bed, Arch holding the newborn Graham in her arms. And another of a bunch of his brothers, their old ladies, Hugger and Di, all crunching into tacos at the Taco Festival in Phoenix last year.

Also not far was the faded picture of Diana wearing a strapless wedding gown with a lot of lace and a long slit up one side that had two skirts. One that was straight and had a little lace train at the back, and there was a big floof of another one over it, falling from her waist, which looked fantastic as she was walking down the aisle, but fortunately she got rid of it by the time it came to party.

You could just say, Nolan and Di putting their heads together with Nolan’s money meant Hugger’s wedding to his woman had been far from a chill affair.

It gave his brothers never-ending fodder to hand him shit about, even if at the time he didn’t see any of them balk once at the open bar, shoving perfectly cooked prime rib in their faces, the extravagant dessert buffet, or busting a move on the dance floor.

But Hugger wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Di had looked so fucking gorgeous, it was hard to lay eyes on her (but he put in the effort and managed it).

And she’d been so damned happy, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Even the fact her mother didn’t show, mostly because she wasn’t invited.

But on Di’s side of the pews, the front one was filled with her dad, his now wife, then fiancée, Gisele (a woman who was age-appropriate, elegant as fuck (because she was French), gorgeous, sophisticated and hilarious—Hugger thought she was the shit, Di adored her—needless to say, with pool parties and dinners, and Di and Gisele cooking French food in his kitchen, and Gisele having two kids of her own, also (so far) one grandchild, Nolan hadn’t sold his house), Di’s gram, Nicole, Larry and Larry’s kids.

With them and the rest of the church packed nearly to standing room only, on both sides, his woman had love to spare.

None of those pictures around Pete’s stone were in frames, but they were weighed down, which was what Hugger made sure to do with the newest one.

Over time, the heat beat down on those photos, the wind frayed them, the rain and snow made the images run.

And all that meant what was in those the images sunk into the stone, the dirt, and the bones below, right where they were intended to reach.

When he straightened, he stared down at the stone and shared, “Her name’s gonna be Jacqueline Waite McCain.”

“I suggested Petra as a middle name,” Di, standing at his side, chimed in.

He looked down at his wife.

“We’re not namin’ our girl Petra,” Hugger said for the fiftieth time.

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