HE DAY BEFORE MY parents once again pledged themselves to each other was my last day at Noah’s.

I’d already moved most of my stuff to my tiny house. My big old leather couch, my many houseplants and pictures of my nieces, my shoe collection. I bought café curtains for the kitchen in a green fern print, scavenged a couple of things from my parents…an end table and lamp from Dad, an old brass tub from Mom that looked really sweet outside the front door.

Next week, I’d start at the Senior Center. As Jody predicted, I was offered the job almost immediately. Who knew one feeble hip-hop class would generate so much goodwill? It paid less than I made at Green Mountain Media, but that was okay. Something Ian’s aunt had said had stuck in my brain…my job in advertising had been to make people buy more crap. And let’s be honest; most people didn’t really need more crap.

The Senior Center, on the other hand, gave the older people in Georgebury somewhere to go, something to do. It fostered community and usefulness. The idea of working there just felt better. Cleaner. More karmic or something. Maybe all those yoga classes hadn’t been for naught, after all. I already had great plans. Adopt a Brownie Troop. Memoir classes. Field trips and blood drives. More hip-hop, and this time, by someone who knew what she was doing.

So it was all good. We Greys were better than we’d been in a long, long time. After all these years, my father had gone from bad dog to good man. And Mom…no longer was she the bitter betrayed. Instead, she had done that most difficult and generous thing a person could do…she forgave the man who’d hurt her. Forgave him so deeply and truly that she could even love him again. Tomorrow would be beautiful indeed.

But for now, I had to leave Noah’s and go to my new home. Freddie had thoughtfully made himself absent, and Bowie and I sat for a minute in my nearly empty bedroom, the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, belying the chill in the air.

It seemed like I’d been here a lot longer than two and a half years. The day I’d moved in here, Noah had yelled at me. “I don’t need a fuckin’ nursemaid, and don’t you forget it, young lady!” He was still in a wheelchair back then, and he slammed it into the doorframe three times before he made it into the workshop, where he sequestered himself for the rest of the day. That night, I found a little whittled chickadee on my bureau as an apology. That bird now sat on the windowsill of my cottage’s kitchen.

The only thing left to bring over was my chair, as I hadn’t wanted it to be scraped or jostled with my other belongings.

I stood up, let Bowie out and then approached my prized possession. Taking it gently by the arms, I carried it downstairs, being sure not to let it bump against the railings. Out the front door, into the back of Hester’s minivan, which she’d lent me for just this purpose.

Funny how it felt to be driving out of town, past the little shops and buildings of downtown, past the railroad station and mill. Past Green Mountain Media, past Toasted & Roasted, past Elements. I wasn’t leaving Georgebury, but I was leaving a lot behind.

When I arrived at the cottage, I let Bowie out, sucked in a few breaths of the cold, piney air, then got the chair. With great reverence, I carried it to the porch and set it down. My own home. This was what my chair and I had been waiting for. I smiled in anticipation and looked at the chair.

Huh. It wasn’t… It didn’t look quite right. I moved the chair to the left a few inches. No. How about here, to just right of the window? Not there, either. I tried angling it, first west, then east. Put it in the far corner, then moved it over near the door.

Something was off. After all this time, the chair was too…much. Too beautiful, too full of grace.

The thought came to me so fast and hard that almost before it was fully formulated, I had loaded the chair back in Hester’s car. Fifteen minutes later, I turned off Bitter Creek Road.

In the late afternoon sunlight, Ian’s house was even lovelier…and lonely, somehow. No car was in the driveway, no dog barked from within. Maybe Ian was still at work…maybe he was truly out of town, as Carmella had said. Heck, maybe he was in Russia, buying a wife. I just didn’t know.

I popped the hatch and took out the chair once more. When I set it on the porch, I knew it had found its home. The happily-ever-after chair belonged here, whether or not Ian and I were together.

I went back to the car, rummaged in the glove box and found a pen and a napkin, which would have to do. I sat for a moment, thinking of all the clever things I’d written over the years. Nothing clever came to me now, nothing perfect or transformative. After a minute, I gave up and just wrote what I meant.

Ian, I want you to have this. Keep it, sell it, donate it somewhere worthy. It’s yours now.—Callie.

I tucked the napkin under the rocker and then, with one more long, grateful look at the chair that had meant so much to me for so, so long, I went home.

TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS LATER, my parents were once again married. The wedding was held at the funeral home, which was just sick, but the furnace at Elements had conked out. Dave sent over the food, but yes, my parents got hitched in the Tranquility Room. Fortunately, there were no wakes booked this day, and Mom had a point…we already had flowers, a damn good music system and plenty of room for dancing.

As my father pledged to love and honor Mom all the days of his life, I sobbed into a hankie. Ian’s hankie, actually. I’d kept it. My crying was kind of a given, I guess, but Hester cried, too, which was not. Freddie mugged dreadfully as best man. Bronte looked beautiful in her dress, so grown up and stunning that the sight of her alone had brought me to tears. Josephine looked startlingly wholesome, and Louis looked…well, he still looked damp and creepy, but he smiled at my sister throughout the ceremony, and Hester seemed to appreciate that.

“Make a toast, Poodle,” Dad said, beaming and sparkly and in love.

“No. Freddie should do it.”

“Right,” Dad snorted. “Or Hester. Or maybe your dog. No, honey, you do it. Come on. Do it for your old dad. And Mom.”

Mom drifted up, her face luminous with serenity and, er, tranquility. “This is a happy day, isn’t it, Calliope?” she asked, resting her cheek on my dad’s shoulder.

“It is,” I said, my eyes welling yet again. “I’ll make a toast. Sure. You bet, Daddy.”

And so I did, saluting persistence and love, faith and forgiveness, and yes, I did a great job, feeling it was only fair for everyone to shed a tear since my own eyes were working overtime. Then Josephine got the microphone and Bronte did something with her iPod and seconds later, little Josephine was wailing away, “Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me,” and somehow that became the first song my parents danced to.

It was something, I thought, dancing later with my father. Today, there was a lot of happiness in this room of sorrow. Twenty-some-odd years ago, I’d watched my father leave this very building, and now he was back, married to Mom once again, and that sad little girl who’d waved from the upstairs window…she could go jump rope or play hopscotch or Wii or whatever it was that made her happy. Mommy loved Daddy and all was right with the world once more.

Almost.

No. Check that. All was right with the world. Period. If Mark had taught me anything, it was that I lacked the superpower to make a person love me. I could be friendly and helpful and cute, but I didn’t get to control everything. If Ian wanted me, he did. And if he didn’t…well, that was harder. But I’d be okay.

“Thank you, Poodle,” my father whispered into my hair.

“What for, Daddy?” I asked.

“For thinking I was a good man all these years.” He kissed my temple.

“You are a good man, Daddy,” I whispered. “A good man who made some mistakes, and that’s all in the past now.”

“Yes, I was right,” Dad mused. “You’re a genius. Hello there.”

“Callie?”

I stopped abruptly, causing Dad to step on my foot. “Hi,” I breathed.

Ian stood in front of me, his face looking creased and tired and…worried.

“I’ll just bow out here,” Dad murmured, winking at me.

Ian didn’t seem to know what to say. He just stood there, looking at me. “Hi,” I said again.

“Hi, Dr. McFarland!” Josephine said. “Guess what? My mommy’s boyfriend is giving me a kitten! Bronte says it’s a bribe, but I don’t care! I’m gonna name her Stephanie! Isn’t that a beautiful name?”

“They’re busy, honey,” Hester said, winking so that her entire face appeared to be in some grand mal seizure. “Let’s give them some privacy.”

Apparently, privacy meant let’s all stop talking and listen, because that’s what happened.

“Callie,” Ian said. “I…I was in Honduras with…and I… When I got back…” He took a frustrated breath and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “See, I always thought I knew what I was looking for,” he said. “First it was Laura, and obviously…then I figured I knew what I should look for, but it was supposed to be…well, not you. But when I was away, I kept thinking about you, and God… I’ve missed you, Callie.” He seemed stunned by this fact.

“Shall I get everyone out of here, Callie?” Annie muttered, coming up beside me. I didn’t answer, as speech seemed to have abandoned me.

“That’s okay,” Ian said, swallowing. “I don’t care who hears.”

My heart rate tripled. The words emotional diarrhea flitted through my mind—not the most romantic words, perhaps, but then again, under the circumstances, maybe they were. I heard a panting, breathy sound, realized it was coming from me, and tried to stop. “Hi,” I said for the third time.

“Callie,” Ian said, “when I saw you kissing Mark—”

“Oopsy,” Jack said, grunting as Annie elbowed him in the ribs.

“I…I panicked. Because I saw that you could…shit, I don’t know. Break my heart.”

“He swears like you, Mom,” Seamus said.

Ian shook his head, closing his eyes, then opened them and took my hand. “I don’t want the chair. Not unless it comes with you. That’s what will break my heart. Not having you.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

Ian swallowed audibly. “I just…you know, I have to say, you’re the last person I’d picture myself with, Callie, but I can’t…I don’t… Life is messy and hard to figure out, but all I know, Callie, is that you make me…better. Happier. You bring a lot of life wherever you go, and I…I’d be an idiot if I let you go. So please, Callie, don’t let me be an idiot.” He took a shaking breath. “I love you. Even if it doesn’t make sense.”

“Okay,” I said, and then I was kissing him, and he felt so, so good, and so right. He hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe, and I vaguely heard clapping and perhaps Bronte saying how gross this all was, and maybe my brother whistled and Josephine saying she’d like a black dress for our wedding.

I didn’t really care. All I knew was that right here in this room, in this moment, with this man, I had all I ever wanted.

And then some.