Page 24 of Stolen By the Hit Man

Fifteen years later

Joaquin

My wife slips her hand in mine and squeezes.

I glance to my right and catch her look that says, “You okay?”

I’m okay and I’m not.

I’m keeping it together just to get through the eulogy.

My vision is blurred as we all take turns gently tossing a handful of soil over Grady’s final resting place.

When it’s all finished, our little one picks some dandelions nearby and places them on Grady’s grave, and the two graves next to it.

She wipes away the dirt and traces her chubby four-year-old finger over the carved letters, spelling each one out loud in her tiny voice. “Millie and Jack Bouchert.”

Jefferson beams at her. “Great job reading, kid.”

The late spring breeze tousles her hair, and a brown curl blows into one eye. She brushes it away. After Grady passed away, we brought my parents' ashes home and buried them in our backyard, next to Grady, with all of our friends and family here.

Our little family makes its way to the barbecue area, and I pop open the cooler, grabbing four beers and a bunch of juices, and pass them out to the gathering around the fire pit.

Seeing Sofia dote over our loved ones at the cemetery reminds me of a story.

“Remember when Grady would babysit?” I ask Jasmyn.

She chuckles. “And he would put up the baby gate, thinking the cats would stay out of the nursery.”

Jefferson laughs. “I never knew that.”

“He didn’t want to leave the cats unsupervised with the baby.”

I add, finishing Jasmyn’s story, “But eventually he got so tired of trying that he finally gave in.”

“And when we came home,” Jasmyn finishes, “Grady was asleep on the floor next to her crib. Mister Bananas was lying on top of his chest, and Peaches was at his side.”

“No way,” says Georgie.

I nod. “And Grady Jr., the gray one, was at the door meowing like crazy, like there was an emergency. I thought the old man had fallen and hurt himself, or worse. Scared the shit out of me,” I laugh. “I never thought he’d snuggle with the cats. He was never a cat person.”

“That’s a bad word,” shouts the seven-year-old Nelly. Her namesake, the 47-year-old Nelly, points at her. “You’re right. Tell Uncle Joaquin to put a dollar in the swear jar.”

“You owe us a dollar, Uncle Joaquin.”

Jake lets go of the elder Nelly’s hand and asks the little ones if they’re ready to help him make s’mores.

“Come on, Nelly,” Sofia says, grabbing her older cousin’s hand.

“I can barely believe that crusty old guy was such a softy,” Jefferson says.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice cracking.

Jasmyn slips her arm around mine and warms my hand between hers. “Are you doing okay, baby?”

I turn to her and smile. Though the sadness remains that Grady is gone, it helps that Jasmyn is here. Has remained by my side for the last fifteen years.

We’ve been through a lot, and we’ve made it out alive, as promised.

We’re going to be okay. All of us.

“Today, I’m less than okay. But tomorrow will be better,” I say.

And the day after that, I’ll be a little bit better.

She leans forward and places a soft kiss on the back of my hand. My family heals me.

I look around at everyone sitting at my fire and wonder where the hell I’d be if Grady hadn’t picked Jefferson and me up off the street. Bailed us out of jail and set us on the right path.

Where would I be without Wylie and Olivia, Ellis and Louisa, Barrett and Goldie, Nelly and Jake, and all the rest?

If I hadn’t stolen Jasmyn from her kidnapper that day, how different life would be for all of us. But maybe we would have found our way to each other, somehow.

I genuinely believe it was meant to turn out exactly as it did.

With a happy ending. For all of us.

THE END

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