The Shep Years: Epilogue
I am gaining on Kobe and Kallie, who are running ahead of me on the beach. I’m aware it is nearly sunset but I’m an asshole about applying and reapplying sunscreen. Kobe—thankfully—gives up and stops running. He turns to look up at me.
“Nooo,” he protests as he surrenders to me and my bottle of sunscreen. “Stinky!” he says, twisting his face in disgust.
“And so is a sunburn, believe me,” I say, grinning as I squeeze a little into my hand and start applying it to his shoulders. Kallie, who’s soon to get the same treatment, has circled back and seizes that moment to jump on me from behind, wrapping her arms around my neck. We tumble over into the sand just as a rogue wave breaks over us. I silently freak out because I’ve lost sight of Kobe, but then I hear Kallie yelling to him and laughing.
“Kobe, run to Daddy! Run! I got the bottle!” Kallie cheers her brother on, holding up the bottle of sunscreen for Kobe to see. “Run, Kobe! Run! I got Papa! Run!”
I push myself up, wipe the saltwater from my eyes and spot my two-and-a-half year old tear-assing across the sand towards my husband, Mark. Kobe is laughing and yelling out maniacally as he runs to Mark, who hears the commotion and looks up from his book, obviously confused. I exhale seeing that Kobe is fine, now only a few feet from Mark. I glance sideways at Kallie, who doesn’t know I have seen her burying the bottle of sunscreen in the sand. Finished, she darts off to join her brother and my husband. Once alone, I unearth the sunscreen, brush off the sand and slip it inside our backpack of snacks, drinks and countless beach toys.
I join Mark and the kids and notice Kobe looks about ready to tip over from exhaustion. I hand Mark the backpack, who slings it over one shoulder. I lift Kobe up to carry him home. Mark adjusts his glasses, inches closer towards me, readjusts the shoulder strap of the backpack, inches closer still, looks around to make sure both kids are either asleep or not paying attention to what he’s about to do, and squeezes and rubs my ass through the sheer fabric of my longboard shorts.
“I love you,” Mark whispers. I whisper the words back, kiss the tip of my index finger and touch it to Mark’s lips. Kobe’s head drops onto my shoulder.
“My Papa,” Kobe says softly, squeezing my neck as he drifts off to sleep..
Mark takes Kallie’s hand and we leave the beach. Somewhere on our walk along the town boardwalk that leads to our street, I think about how it has been—exactly to the day—fifteen years since I last saw Shep. That means it’s been something like sixteen and a half years since the last time he and I got stuck together and made love in our own special way, spinning tires in the truck and barebacking in the mud. And today also means that it has been fifteen years since Shep lost his battle with an inoperable brain tumor and End Stage Frontal Variant Dementia (Y/O-Type). That day, I was holding Shep as he slipped away and I kissed him goodbye.
Being a widower did not agree with me and the next years were very bad ones I spent alone, being an addict, not talking to a soul, hoping and praying it wouldn’t be long before my shattered heart gave out and I could be with Shep again. If I wasn’t busy working, I was drinking, shooting up, snorting or crying, often all at once.
I had no way of knowing that the fates were already hard at work, and someone very special was about to enter my life in the most spectacular fashion possible for a guy like me, anyway: Mark had gotten stuck in the mud behind my place of work and had come inside looking for assistance. I immediately felt things I hadn’t felt in years, and had quickly come to his “rescue” in Shep’s old GMC.
These days I fuck around in the mud alone. It’s just not Mark’s thing, but he tries so hard. Like the time Mark bought me what he calls my “monster truck” on our 10-year wedding anniversary, to commemorate the day we first met. Sadly, Shep’s truck is long gone now, but I hold treasured memories of it, as well as some actual, physical pieces that dropped off while it was garaged at my house. (My favorite souvenir, however, is the steering wheel, which I ripped off and kept, complete with the center cap emblem that Shep would caress and say loving things to when the fucking thing wouldn’t run right.)
But it’s all good now. Actually, for me, it’s way better than good: it’s fucking perfect. Mark put all the broken pieces of me back together and showed me that my life didn’t end when Shep’s did. Mark introduced a different kind of love, and it’s still an exciting, magical new world, even today.
Soon the babies came, first Kallie, then Kobe. After we had gotten back home from the beach that night, Mark got Kallie ready for bed while I gave Kobe a quick bath and put him to bed. I turned on his PAW Patrol nightlight and kissed his forehead goodnight. I turned to see Mark standing in Kobe’s bedroom doorway, waiting for me.
“Just so you know, we’re not done here,” he said.
I froze. I had never heard Mark use Shep’s catchphrase for telling me he was still horny and we should have more sex. I remained silent but lifted one eyebrow, my way of asking him to elaborate on what he was saying.
“Kids, you know what I mean,” said Mark. “We need more. You want more and so do I. There are a lot more waiting for us, Bryan. And we’re great at this.”
“We”re great together,” I said, kissing him long and deeply. “I love you.” Then I took his hand and led him to our bed.
(Dedicated to STH: I hated your truck. But I love you so much.)
