EPILOGUE
Nancy Jo O’Connor was laid to rest in the cemetery in Aurora on a lovely May afternoon when the sun was saffron yellow and the sky was cornflower blue. It was a simple graveside ceremony in the place where before there’d been only a memorial headstone. Cork was there. Jo’s children and her friends were there. Rose and Mal were there and Hugh Parmer and Becca Bodine and her son, who finally knew the truth of their husband and father. And Liz Burns was there. Although she’d never known Jo, the part she’d played in Cork’s search had brought her into the lives of the O’Connors in a powerful way.
Cork looked around him at those who’d loved his wife, especially his children. Jenny and Anne were practically grown women, beautiful and strong. There was still a good deal about Stephen that was changing, but much of the fine man Cork believed he would become was already obvious. Jo would have been proud of him. She would have been proud of them all.
They prayed and they wept, and at the end they turned together and headed back to their lives. All of them except Cork, who lingered at the grave. When he was alone, he spoke quietly.
“There’s something I need to say to you, Jo. It’s been in my heart a long time, ever since we argued and you left. I hope you can hear me, sweetheart.” He laid his hand on the polished coffin, where sunlight ran along the grain and gave the wood the look of sweet honey. “I just want to say I’m sorry. And I want to say I love you.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “And I have to say good-bye.”
He took his hand away, turned where the others had gone, and followed them into the beauty of that day.
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