Chapter 68 - T.J.

Anna and I climbed into my Tahoe three months later, on a warm day in June. She wore sunglasses and my Chicago Cubs baseball cap. Bo sat in the back seat, his head hanging out the open window. On the radio, The Eagles were singing “Take it Easy” and Anna kicked off her shoes, turned up the volume, and sang along as we drove out of the city.

They’d recently poured the foundation for our new house. Anna and I had pressed our hands into the wet concrete and she’d written our names and the date next to them with her finger. I hired a crew and we’d started framing; the house was already taking shape. If everything went according to schedule, we’d be able to move in by Halloween.

When we arrived, I parked and grabbed the nail gun out of the back. Anna laughed and plunked a cowboy hat down on my head. Though I should have been wearing safety goggles, I wore aviator shades instead. We walked over to a pile of cut lumber, and I grabbed a couple 2X6’s.

“Pretty fancy lookin’ tool you’ve got there,” Anna teased. “I thought maybe you’d want to do this old school. With a hammer.”

“Hell, no,” I said, laughing and holding up the nail gun. “I love this thing.”

What we were about to do now was Anna’s idea. She wanted to hold a few boards for me, just like she did when I built our house on the island.

“Indulge me please,” she’d said. “For old time’s sake.”

Like I’d ever say no to her.

“You ready?” I asked, positioning the 2X6 into place.

Anna held the board steady “Bring it, T.J.”

I took aim and pulled the trigger.

Bam.

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Epilogue - Anna

Four years later

The house is a sage-green Craftsman-style ranch with cream-colored trim, surrounded by trees. Its three-car garage houses T.J.’s Tahoe, his work pickup truck, and my white Nissan Pathfinder, nearly impossible to keep clean when you live on a gravel road.

There’s a den with French doors near the large kitchen, and one wall is nothing but floor to ceiling bookshelves. I can often be found there, curled up in the overstuffed chair, my feet on the ottoman.

There are two porches, one in front, and one in back. The one in the back is screened-in, and T.J. and I spend a lot of time there, not worrying about bugs, especially mosquitoes. Bo has the run of the yard and when he isn’t chasing rabbits, he’s content to nap at our feet.

Our four-bedroom home has every modern convenience you could ever want. We don’t have any fireplaces, though. We don’t own a grill, either.

We have a houseful tonight. Everyone has gathered to celebrate my thirty-eighth birthday. They’re all welcome here anytime.

In the kitchen, my mother-in-law and sister sit at the island, trading recipes and sipping wine. No one will let me cook on my birthday so Tom is bringing dinner from the city. He’ll be here soon so there’s not much to do but relax.

T.J’s sisters, Alexis and Grace, now seventeen and nineteen, are sitting on the front porch with Joe and Chloe. Thirteen-year-old Joe wishes there was at least one boy around, but he has such a crush on Alexis he doesn’t really mind hanging with the girls.

I grab two beers from the fridge and wander into the family room. T.J. lounges on the couch watching T.V. I bend over and kiss him, then open the beer and place it on a nearby table.

“How’s the birthday girl”? He speaks softly because our daughter is asleep on his chest, her thumb in her mouth. We both know that if Josephine Jane “Josie” Callahan wakes up before she has enough sleep there will be hell to pay.

“I can put her down in her crib,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “She’s fine.” That little girl has T.J. wrapped around her finger.

I hand the second beer to Ben. He’s sitting in the chair next to the couch looking remarkably comfortable with Thomas James Callahan III asleep on his lap. Surprising, because when Ben came to the hospital after we had the twins, he told me he’d never held a baby before.

“What are you gonna call him,” he asked, after T.J. got him settled in a chair and carefully handed him our son. “If there are two T.J’s, I’ll get confused.”

“We’re going to call him Mick,” T.J. said.

“You’re naming your kid after Mick Jagger? That’s so cool!”

T.J. and I laughed and smiled at each other.

“Different Mick,” T.J. said.

We didn’t try to have a baby right away. I was adamant about not rushing anything, and if it turned out we waited too long, well, there were lots of ways to have a family. It ultimately took six months of trying and a boost from a fertility drug, the conception taking place in a doctor’s office, the way we always knew it would, using sperm T.J. banked when he was fifteen years old.

I like to think things happen for a reason, and I believe the twins arrived exactly when we were ready for them. “Two will be hard,” everyone said, but T.J. and I know what hard is and being blessed with two healthy babies isn’t it. I’m not saying it’s easy, though. We have our days.

The twins are already eleven months old and it’s true what they say, time does speed up when you have kids. It seems like just yesterday I was waddling around with my hand on my lower back, wondering how much longer I would be carrying them and now here they are, crawling everywhere and getting close to taking their first steps.

I leave T.J. and Ben and head back into the kitchen. David has joined Jane and Sarah, and he gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy birthday,” he says, handing me a bouquet of flowers. I trim the stems under running water, then place them in a vase and set them on the counter next to the pink roses T.J. gave me this morning.

“Wine?” I ask him.

“I’ll get it. You sit down and relax.”

I join Sarah and Jane. Stefani is here, too. Rob and the kids have the stomach flu so she has come alone, not wanting to risk getting anyone sick. At moments like this, when everyone I love and care about is under one roof, I feel complete. I only wish my parents were here, too. To know my husband. To hold their grandchildren.

I still went to the shelter three days a week until just recently, but the commute into the city finally took its toll. Jane watched the twins on the days I volunteered, but it was time to do something different. I set up a charitable foundation to assist homeless families, and I run it out of our home office, the twins playing at my feet. It makes me happy. Henry’s shelter gets a large donation every year and always will.

I also tacked up a flyer at the local high school and I’ve picked up a few students to tutor. They come to our house in the evening and we sit at the kitchen table crossing off completed assignments one by one. Sometimes I miss standing in front of a classroom, but I think this is enough, for now.

T.J. runs a small construction company. He builds homes, one or two a year, framing them alongside the men he employs. He never went back to school after completing his first semester at community college, but I don’t care. It’s not my choice to make. Outside is where T.J. is happy.

He also gives his time, and money, to Habitat for Humanity. Dean Lewis volunteers there, too; the sixth house he helped build was his own. He married Julie, a girl he met at the restaurant, and Leo loves being a big brother to the baby girl his parents named Annie.

I brought lunch to T.J. at his construction site a few months ago. Watching him do what he loves makes me happy, too. A new subcontractor, there to work on the plumbing, whistled and yelled out “Hey, baby,” when I walked up, not knowing who I was. T.J. set him straight immediately. I know I’m supposed to be offended, to view the catcall as an affront to women and all that. I’m okay with it, though.