his Lorilee celebrating their engagement. And she thought of the sweet note Lorilee had sent her with the hand-painted tulips.
Instead of simply marking the card with her regrets, she sat down and followed her grandmother’s tradition of writing a note.
Lorilee,
I’m sure you’re busy with wedding plans, but I wanted to send a note along with my regrets to let you know I wish I could come to your and Raylan’s special day. I’m going to be in Chicago that weekend. I’m sorry I can’t be there to wish you both the very best.
When I met you last year, it struck me just how right you looked together. No doubt Maya will share all the lovely details of the day, and you must know how thrilled she is to be your maid of honor.
You’re becoming part of a wonderful family.
Please give Raylan my congratulations, and take my best wishes for yourself—pretty sure that’s the way it’s done. In any case, I know the two of you will be incredibly happy together.
Enjoy every moment.
All my best,
Adrian
When she mailed the note, she had no idea she’d started a friendly correspondence that would last for years.
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
Even when chaos ruled, which was often, Raylan loved his life.
Most likely he and Lorilee would find themselves in the midst of fixing up the fixer-upper they’d bought in Brooklyn when their kids graduated from college. But despite its many issues, the two-story old brick, with its huge attic and musty basement and squeaky stairs, suited them right down the line.
Maybe they’d been crazy to buy it weeks before their first child came into the world, but they’d both wanted to bring him home—to a home.
And maybe he’d spent too much of his so-called free time in the five years since testing his carpentry skills, improving his painting skills, or learning along with Lorilee how to install tile, but it worked for them.
They’d both wanted to raise their family in a house with a yard, in a neighborhood with character. And since Bradley came along just thirteen months after their I dos, they’d led with optimism and bought the old place.
Two years later, they had Mariah.
They’d agreed to take a short break on making another kid until they’d fixed up more of the house, added at least some to their nest egg. And until the graphic novel publishing company Raylan launched with two friends eased out of the red.
With Bradley in kindergarten, Mariah in preschool, Lorilee teaching art at the high school, and—finally—Triquetra Comics chugging along, they’d decided to give kid number three a go.
He came home after a day of meetings, strategy sessions, scheduling sessions—and the pleasure of working on his next graphic novel—to the familiarity of chaos.
The dog—and the dog was entirely on him, as he’d brought the puppy home the summer before—raced and barked his way around the living room, into the dining room—knocking one of the chairs aside—zipped into the kitchen, where Lorilee stirred something on the stove, then back around again.
Mariah, in one of her many princess costumes, starred wand in hand, gave chase. Meanwhile Bradley popped Nerf balls out of his shooter, aiming at either or both of the runners indiscriminately.
“You’ll be sorry when Jasper chews those up,” Raylan warned his son.
“But it’s fun.” Bradley, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, with a lightning grin that could melt lead, ran over to grab his father’s legs. “Can we go to Carney’s for ice cream after dinner? Please.”
“Maybe. Pick up your balls, kid. Trust me, you’ll appreciate that advice one day.”
Bradley clung to his legs as Raylan shuffled across the floor, greeted the now leaping Jasper, then scooped up his fairy princess.
“I’m gonna change Jasper into a rabbit.”
Her r’s still came out as w’s, and just melted his heart. He kissed her nose. “Then he’s going to want carrots.”
His messenger bag flapped against his hip as he carried his daughter, dragged his son into the kitchen to kiss his wife.
A lanky man who’d passed six-two in high school—and added one more inch in college—he bent down to nuzzle Lorilee’s cheek.
And sniffed the air. “Spaghetti night. Yay.”
“With a nice salad to start.”
At Raylan’s feet, Bradley said, “Boo!”
Lorilee merely aimed a look down at her son.
“If certain people eat all their salad without complaining, we could enjoy the spaghetti and then take a nice walk down to Carney’s for ice cream.”
“Yay. Can we?” Bradley transferred from Raylan’s legs to Lorilee’s. “Can we, Mom?”
“Salad and pasta first.” Lorilee shook her head as Bradley jumped up to do his happy