Christmas in Bethel

Epilogue

“Writing a book is like falling in love. You think you’re pulling the strings until you discover you’re really the puppet.”

J. D. Harper

There is a Bible passage that reads, He who is forgiven much, loves much. I find great relevance in that verse. Lee has forgiven me much. Twice. The love that forgiveness fills me with is indescribable but not inexpressible. I plan to spend the rest of my life showing him just how grateful I am.

After the book signing in Fort Wayne, Lee and I flew back to the Cape to spend Christmas together. It was the first time in my life that I felt like I was home for the holiday. What Marc told me, when he revealed their family secret, has never left me. Bethel isn’t a place, or even a book. It’s Lee. It’s always been Lee. I spent Christmas in Bethel.

I wondered how Marc would respond to my return. Of course, it was as dispassionate as if I’d just gotten back from grocery shopping. He even had a Christmas present for me—his first-edition copy of East of Eden. Inside he wrote a note with his usual flair.

Welcome back. Stay downstairs. Wear clothes.

Lee had a present for me as well. He wrote the story I asked him for. It’s about a man who finds a bird with a broken wing and takes it home to care for it. The bird asks the man why he would choose an injured bird, when there are so many who can fly. The man tells the bird, “If it can already fly, it doesn’t really need me. And in the deepest places in our hearts, we all want to be needed by someone.”

After the man nursed the bird back to health, he took her to the window, held her aloft, and said, “You’re free to go now. Fly away.” The bird replies, “Where would I fly to, dear man?”

“Home,” he says.

“Very well.” The bird then alit on his shoulder. “You are my home. You are where I want to be.”

It is truly our story.

We were engaged on Christmas Day. It wasn’t planned or expected, but as Lee observed, the best things usually aren’t. You might even say that I proposed—or at least deserve the assist.

Back in New York, when I asked Lee what he wanted for Christmas, he asked for something that money couldn’t buy. After receiving his present, I told him that I had a gift for him too. I offered him me. All of me. He got a very big smile. (I think he might have been excited to unwrap his gift.)

Then he said, I suppose that means we’re getting married. I said, “I might have said yes before you asked.” Then I added, “It doesn’t matter. I was already yours.”

We were married on the Cape the following June. The media wasn’t invited, but there were helicopters circling. So it goes.

Frankie was my bridesmaid. Arlo hung out by the refreshments. When he saw Marc, he said, “Hey, you’re the dude who bought my Driftwood Pisces.”

Marc said, “Was that the wooden fish?”

Arlo said, “Yes. Can I see where you put it?”

“We had to burn it,” Marc said.

Marc, of course, was Lee’s best man. He hired an armed guard to stand at the bottom of his stairs to keep anyone from wandering.

Laurie was there. “I knew this was how the story was going to end,” she said.

“How is that?” I asked.

She said, “I’m an agent. It’s my job to pick winners.”

Carlie was there, of course. She seemed happy for us, even if she was still a little envious.

All of the Bordeaux Babes came, even Maxine, who tried to make a move on Marc. He finally said to her, “Aren’t there other people here you could talk to?”

Marc did, however, introduce himself to Alice. The two of them hit it off, not that anyone observing their interactions would notice. They were as awkward as a middle school blind date. Now they talk every day. It’s sweet, really. I think he gave her Arlo’s sea glass bracelet. I asked him if he thought their relationship might go somewhere. He said, “You’re prying.”

I said, “Absolutely I am.”

He said, “You mean marriage.”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “January 12, 2026.”

I asked him if there was any significance to that date. He said it was the fiftieth anniversary of Agatha Christie’s death.

So it goes.

You’re likely wondering how the writing thing is going to work out. It’s like this: J. D. Harper is a brand name. Lee is going to take three years off from touring. At that time, if Marc is ready, he’ll step in and take his place, ready at last to rejoin the wider world—at least behind the safety of a pen name. People already confuse the two, and in three years away, no one will notice the difference. At least physically. I can already picture Marc at a book signing. “That’s too many books. You should just go away.”

I told you at the beginning of my story that love should be infused with magic. Our story is magical. I am love’s puppet, bound by strings of joy and love and gratitude. I can’t wait to see where our story goes. Most of all, how our love grows.

In all the ways.