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Jennifer

S tanding in a large and mostly white and glass waiting area had me wondering if I hadn’t made a mistake.

Alyssa’s children were doing their best to be good, but her youngest was fresh out of diapers and her oldest wasn’t quite ready for school.

Still, they were seated on a long white leather couch doing their best to be patient.

The sterile gleam of the room, all sleek angles and polished surfaces, felt like a spaceship showroom, a far cry from the cozy chaos of Alyssa’s suburban home.

I glanced at Dylan, his easy grin grounding me, even though it was intimidating to meet someone like Walt Bellerwood.

When Alyssa had expressed a desire to meet Scott’s father-in-law, I decided it was at least worth asking if it was possible.

I understood the lure. Bellerwood was a household name now that his recreational space station was finally in orbit.

He was one of our generation’s true geniuses.

His name carried a mystique, like a modern-day Da Vinci, building worlds we could only dream of.

Alyssa’s eyes had lit up at the chance to bring her children, and I couldn’t say no to her excitement, not after all we’d been through together.

Monica, Scott’s wife, was one of the most down-to-earth rich people I knew, and I was amassing a crazy number of wealthy.

.. friends? Family? The twins and their spouses were bridging both categories in my heart.

They were more than allies now—Mark’s easy laugh, Scott’s quiet warmth, Zachary’s fierce loyalty—they’d become my home, woven into my life as tightly as Dylan’s hand in mine.

“I could do a cartwheel right there,” Evie, Alyssa’s oldest girl, announced, pointing to an open space of shiny white tile.

Monica glanced at Scott with a little panic in her eyes.

I left Dylan’s side and went over to the girls. Their restless energy was a spark in the room’s cold perfection, and I couldn’t let it ignite into chaos. “Who wants to do a seated dance party?”

“We do. We do,” they both exclaimed.

I played music on my phone and wiggled with them with dramatic flair.

They wiggled and matched my moves then added a few of their own.

Evie spun her arms like a windmill, giggling, while Ella bounced, her curls flying.

The music, a poppy beat, clashed with the room’s stark elegance, but their joy was contagious, drawing a smile from their father in the corner.

“I’m sorry,” Monica said with an apologetic grimace. “My father does want to meet you. I’d go in and interrupt him, but it’s better to wait for him to surface from whatever he’s doing. He knows we’re here.”

Alyssa graciously said, “We’re excited for the opportunity to meet him. Please don’t apologize.”

After a pause, Monica said, “Some people find my father abrupt to the point of being rude, but if you look past that you’ll see that he struggles to connect with people.

My mother knew how to reach him. I sometimes succeed in breaking through.

Brenda, Zachary’s mother, has been the best thing for him.

She’s slowly teaching him to soften his tone.

He doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but he has no filter. ”

I nodded, recognizing that struggle in others we’d met—like Enimton, lost in his family’s shadow, or even Dylan, once trapped by anger. Monica’s words were a bridge, inviting us to see past Bellerwood’s walls, just as we’d learned to see past each other’s scars.

“I understand,” Alyssa said. “And thank you for preparing me for that. And if it makes you feel any better, I never know what will come out of my daughters’ mouths. Every day is an adventure.”

From behind the couch, Dylan murmured, “It sure is.”

Scott added, “Just assume he likes you but can’t express it. That’s what I do.”

After looking around, Alyssa sensed her husband was hanging back. “Ted,” she said. “What do you think of this place? Mind-blowing, isn’t it?”

He whistled and joined her. His broad shoulders relaxed as he stepped closer, squeezing Alyssa’s hand gently, a quiet show of support. “Not sure I’ve ever been anywhere this clean.”

“My father’s particular like that,” Monica said.

A faint hum filled the air, and I noticed a small, glowing orb hovering near the ceiling, its surface black with a blinking center. Bellerwood’s tech, no doubt—some genius contraption monitoring the room or analyzing our voices. It was a reminder of his brilliance, even in this sterile space.

The door to Bellerwood’s office opened and his secretary ushered our group inside. I turned off the music and took the girls by the hand, noting Ella’s was sticky, but deciding to ignore it for now.

Once inside, the door closed behind us and an awkward silence followed.

Bellerwood stood tall and straight despite his age.

His white hair was a bit wild and his expression was distant.

You could have convinced me he didn’t know we were there.

His office was a marvel—floor-to-ceiling screens displaying orbital paths, a holographic model of his space station spinning slowly on his desk.

Papers were stacked in precise towers, but a single crayon drawing—Monica’s childhood work, I guessed—hung framed on the wall, a splash of color in his ordered world.

Monica walked over to him, touched his arm and said, “Dad, I love you and I brought some friends to meet you. These people are important to me.”

Her father smiled first at her and then us. “Welcome.”

“My plan is for them to meet you then give them a tour of the facility,” Monica said.

Alyssa stepped forward with her hand extended, “Mr. Bellerwood, thank you so much for letting us visit. I hope you don’t mind that I brought my children. They watched your space station launch and are so excited to meet you.”

Bellerwood looked from Alyssa to the children behind her. “What are their names?”

“Evie and Ella. Evie is five. Ella is three.”

Evie dropped my hand and walked up to Bellerwood, tipping her head far back to see him. “You’re tall.”

He didn’t answer her.

She looked at her mother then back at him. “Hi,” she said.

His attention remained focused on Monica until she broke contact with him and bent to say, “He’s not ignoring you. Sometimes my father gets lost in his thoughts.”

Evie shrugged. “Sometimes my dad gets lost in beer.”

I coughed on a laugh and shared a look with Dylan. Ted was not a big drinker, but Evie considered his one or two while he watched football an excessive amount. Ted’s cheeks reddened, but he chuckled, ruffling Evie’s curls, his easy affection a contrast to Bellerwood’s stillness.

Alyssa chided, “Evie, stop.”

Evie looked around then reached out and grabbed Bellerwood’s arm. “I have to pee.”

This time, he looked down at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “I also have to pee, but I’ll hold it in until this meeting is over.”

“I’m not sure I can do that,” Evie said.

“Oh, my,” Alyssa said, rushing forward. “Do you have a bathroom we could use?”

Monica led her and Evie out of the office.

Scott went up to Bellerwood and said, “I love you and it’s really good to see you again.”

Bellerwood smiled. “It’s always good to see you.”

Scott continued, “I’d like to introduce you to some of my... family. This is Jennifer LaSalette. She’s engaged to this man, Dylan DeVoss.”

We both moved closer. Dylan said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Bellerwood nodded. “I’ve heard a lot about you, DeVoss. Some good. Some bad.”

“Sounds about right,” Dylan answered with humor, and I let out a breath of relief.

“Hi,” I said. “Thank you so much for this. It means a lot to all of us.”

He looked down at Ella. “Hello.”

She smiled up at him and dropped my hand to take his. “I want to see your space station.”

The horror in his eyes as he looked down at his hand in hers was comical. “What is the substance you’re applying to me?”

Ella didn’t understand his question, so she continued, “Can I go on your rocket?”

I eased her hand out of his, and only then did I see the glitter and glue caked on her palm.

A quick check of mine confirmed that I was also sparkling.

My heart sank—glitter was Alyssa’s nemesis, a reminder of her chaotic home life, yet here it was, invading Bellerwood’s pristine world.

But Ella’s beaming smile made it impossible to be upset.

Bellerwood raised his hand to inspect it then wiggled his fingers as if that might dislodge the bright specks. “Is that glitter?” he demanded. “Have you put glitter and glue on my hand?”

Ella lifted her palm and licked it. “No, it’s glitter and jelly.”

Dylan made a gurgling sound beside me and murmured, “If our kids aren’t just like her, I don’t want them.”

Scott laughed, sprinted away, then returned with a wet towel.

Bellerwood wiped at one hand, then the other, then seemed bothered when he found a sparkle on the cuff of his shirt.

And then another on the back of his hand.

And more falling to his white tile floor and onto his shoe.

His meticulous wiping slowed, and a faint smile tugged at his lips, as if the mess was a puzzle he hadn’t solved but didn’t mind.

Ted walked over and scooped Ella up. His voice was gentle but firm, a father’s steady calm. “Come on, honey, looks like our time here is done.”

“No,” Bellerwood barked. “I haven’t had jelly smeared on me or been assaulted by glitter since Monica was very young. Thank you, Ella. For the memory.”

From the safety of her father’s arms, Ella beamed a smile. “It’s good jelly. Grape.”

I got a little teary right then. The memory of Monica’s childhood, sparked by Ella’s chaos, felt like a gift, a crack in Bellerwood’s walls that let us glimpse the man beneath the genius.

I glanced at Dylan, his eyes darkened with emotion, and I knew he felt it too—this was a moment of healing like so many we’d shared.

Alyssa returned with a bouncing Evie. “Guess what,” she exclaimed.

“What?” Bellerwood asked.

“I love your toilets. The seat cover goes up and down by itself!”

“I have always been proud of the quality of my toilets,” Bellerwood said in a serious tone, but there was a sparkle in his eyes.

As he spoke to the children, Monica came over and, in a low voice, said to me, “Bring your friends by anytime. They’re good for him.

He gets trapped in his head but this..

. this is the version of him I want my future children to meet.

The more interactions he has like this, the more likely that will be. ”

“Glad I could help,” I murmured. I thought of Enimton, his pain hidden behind a mask, and how we’d chosen empathy over vengeance. These moments—Ella’s glitter, Evie’s enthusiasm for toilets—were the stuff that a good life was made of.

We stayed until the girls got fidgety then Monica announced it was time for a snack and a tour. In that order. The promise of snacks sent Evie and Ella into a flurry of excitement, their chatter filling the office as Ted herded them toward the door.

Dylan and I lingered to say goodbye to Bellerwood and to thank him one more time.

With Scott’s gentle prompting, we understood there were key words and actions that could help Bellerwood connect with us.

A simple touch. Telling him you loved him.

These seemed to unlock whatever held him trapped within himself.

So, I laid a hand on his arm and thanked him when his gaze met mine. Dylan did the same.

As we were leaving, Bellerwood said, “DeVoss.”

Dylan turned back toward him.

“I keep track of everything that affects my daughter. I heard you’ve had some issues with the Gravestone family. If you need my assistance handling them, say something to Monica.”

“I will,” Dylan said and headed back to shake the man’s hand again. “Thank you.”

While holding Dylan’s hand, Bellerwood said, “Enimton. I feel bad for that boy.”

“Yeah,” Dylan said, “it seems like he definitely wasn’t their favorite son.”

“If you reverse the letters of Enimton’s name, they spell NOT MINE . I’ve never liked the Gravestones.” With that, he dropped Dylan’s hand, and it was as if a phone call between the two of them ended.

Just outside the door of his office, away from our group that had gone on without us, I gripped Dylan’s hand.

We both had goose bumps. “Dylan, you don’t think anyone would be that cruel.

..” My voice trailed off, my mind flashing to the wishing frog, where I’d tucked a hope for Enimton’s peace.

If his own family named him “Not Mine,” what chance did he have?

And a question rose within me: Could he be another of Simmon’s twins?

And if so, had he found his own name in the journals?

Was that the real reason he’d taken the journals?

With that, I decided to add a few more notes to the wishing frog.