Page 121 of The Candlemaker

“Congratulations, son.” Tom appeared, pushing Mom in her wheelchair over to me, and drew me into a hug.

The last three months hadn’t been a walk in the park. Dozens upon dozens of video conference calls not only to get GC Holdings back on its feet, but to finally hand over the reins of the Collins Corporation to the capable people who’d watched me bury myself in the quest for its success for too long. But thanks to Tom, it all got worked out, and when it did, he officially retired.

“Thanks.” I held him close. I didn’t call him dad because at this point in our lives it didn’t seem right, but out of all the words I could use to describe him—friend, mentor, businesspartner, love of Mom’s life—it was the qualities of a father he most represented.

I pulled back and looked down at Mom, feeling the familiar pang in my chest.

“What a beautiful wedding. The two of you look so in love.” As she said it, her head tipped back to Tom. “Thank you for inviting us…”

“Chandler.” I smiled, even though it hurt.

“Oh, how wonderful. My son is named Chandler…” She trailed off, her gaze turning foggy like it did every time the present tangled with the past.

She rarely remembered me now; the regression of her memory happened quickly after we’d told her about the baby. I knew it was going to happen—thought I was prepared for it, but I wasn’t sure it was something one could ever prepare for. The first time she looked at me like a stranger, I thought I would break, but Frankie was there, holding me together.

Sometimes light isn’t the only way out of the darkness.

She might not remember, but she was still here. She still smiled every time we brought her candles. She still celebrated every time Frankie told her about the baby and showed her ultrasound photos. And she still loved to tell her stories about Friendship, and the inn, and the monarchs.

Her memories might not be there, just like that first generation of butterflies that migrated south in the fall, but there was an instinct that drew her back to me. Instinct that made her always share memories of when I was a kid. At the park. At the beach. Instinct that brought her back to a place she knew without knowing. A place where I still felt her love.

Only the future revisits the past.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I murmured and bent down and hugged her.

She didn’t remember me, but she hugged me like she hadall my life, especially in the moments when she was happy for me.“Me too, Chandler. Me too.”

I straightened, and Gigi, seeing that I needed a moment to collect myself, stepped forward.“Laura, I’m Gigi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They’d met a dozen times before, but Mom was always meeting new people nowadays. Except Tom. And for that—for him, I was grateful.

I turned instinctively to Frankie, her gaze tangling with mine.

“Go,” Gigi murmured, shooing me in the direction of my wife, and then gleefully diving into howsheand herpremonition preserveswere responsible for today’s wedding. It was a story she’d told Mom a dozen times, but Gigi loved to tell it and Mom never remembered it, so it worked out for the both of them.

I wove through the crowd, following the string that brought me to her.

“Chan—”

I cut her off with a kiss. One that was heavy and slow like an anchor mooring me to her.

Nox cleared his throat. “You want us to cut the party sooner?”

I looked at Frankie and smiled, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and hooded eyes.

“I think Lou would be pretty mad if you pulled the fire alarm.”

“Who said anything about a fire alarm?” Nox laughed. “I have a better idea.” When I looked at him, he smirked and added, “A little ghosting goes a long way.”

When I looked at Frankie, she drew her fingers across her lips like she was zipping them closed, effectively revealing who had been her accomplice when we’d stayed here all thosemonths ago.

My eyes widened, and then I laughed. “You know,” I said, “we never got Frankie’s sleeping bag back from when you took it.”

His head cocked, and he grinned. “I never took a sleeping bag.” With that, he winked and walked away.

“Seriously?” I turned to Frankie.

She shrugged. “He insists it wasn’t him.”

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