Page 237 of King of Pain
I laugh as he drags me down the hall, flipping off the light.
EPILOGUE
Side B
Forever Young
Anthony
The old oak rocker creaks beneath me as I shift, a gentle back-and-forth rhythm steadying my breath. My fingers trace slow circles on the worn armrest. Decades of life etched into this chair, into this room, intous.
We’re both seventy-seven now. I still can’t quite believe how long we’ve been given. How much we’ve built.
I glance around the room—thereading and music room, as we started calling it when we first moved here almost fifty years ago. It’s always been my favorite space. Shelves stretch floor to ceiling, crammed with books—some well-loved, spines cracked, corners bent; others pristine, gifts we never quite got around to cracking open.
And the vinyl. Wall after wall of records fill this room. I can hear every note. Every lyric. The old player still sits in the corner. The original one Chance restored for me as an anniversary gift back when we were young enough to stay up all night dancing with our friends and still make it to work the next morning.
My gaze falls to the photos sprinkled throughout the room.
Mary—our beautiful, fierce girl—smiling in her wedding photo, her husband standing proudly beside her. Almost thirty years ago now. Their own kids—Ryan and Katie, our grandchildren—are grown, and have blessed us with three great-grandchildren that run circles around us whenever they visit.
Then there’s Joey, our sweet boy with the soft hazel eyes and mischievous grin. He’s now a kind, giving man who’s seen theworld. His wedding photo with his husband Quint sits in a silver frame on the far shelf. Both wearing their Navy dress blues to celebrate how they met.
Chance paced the house for eight years straight—the inability to protect our son nearly drove him mad. Joey and Quint traveled the world together after serving, built a life rooted in purpose. Their oldest, Catherine, just graduated from Harvard Law. She’s expecting her first baby this fall.
Then there’s our Michael. We adopted him when he was thirteen. Kicked out of his home for being queer, he bounced around the system for a year before we met him through Thrive. Chance and I spent time working with him for six months, then Chance looked at me one day, and he didn’t even need to say the words. Michael now runs Thrive with Jason Ciccone’s son, Dante.
We couldn’t be prouder of everything our children have accomplished and become.
Holidays are always a full house, and of course, I still make a feast.
It’s my love language.
I rock a little harder in my chair, heart swelling.
God, what a life we’ve lived.
A soft voice breaks the quiet.
“Hey, Ant.”
“Yeah, Chance.”
I turn my head, and there he is—my husband, my love, my heart—rocking in the chair beside me, a familiar twinkle in those electric blue eyes.
He’s holding up a vinyl sleeve with an old, knowing grin.
The single EP of “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life”from theDirty Dancingsoundtrack.
I reach across the space between us and take his hand, fingers lacing with his.
I look into his eyes and whisper, “Me too, baby. Me too.”
