Epilogue
Gabriel
I’ve been toldI’ve got a mouth on me, and I don’t mean that in the way Delilah screams it sometimes when mine is between her thighs. My mouth, and the smartass behind it, has been my meal ticket ever since Kane and I found ourselves on the street trying to figure out how we were going to survive. But it’s also gotten me into arguably more trouble than it’s ever gotten me out of.
The fact is, when I hit Canaan, I’d been talking so loud and running my damn mouth so long, I was deaf to anything else. Snark and sarcasm and charm can take you far in this world, but when the wheels fall off, or when the gas runs out, it helps to have something else, too: love, or at least a heart that’s open to finding it.
But charm and a smartass mouth was all I had. I’ve spent most of my life running, and thinking it was me versus the rest of the world. I existed in a bullshit sense of superiority over the “suckers” I robbed, preying off their faith, and love, and hope. Except I know now that I was the biggest sucker of them all, for arrogantly thinking I was above all that shit. I felt superior to people—that somehow since I didn’t have love, or faith in pretty much anything but the almighty dollar, that I was better than them.
I was wrong.
I wasn’t better than anyone who had love in their heart. I was pathetic for thinking running my mouth was a substitute for opening my heart up. I laughed at people who had “faith” in what I could not for the life of me distinguish from believing in fucking magic, or superpowers. To me, praying to God, or thanking Jesus was on the same level as thanking Ron fucking Weasely for the meal you’re about to dig into, or asking Batman to forgive your sins.
But then, Delilah Somerset walked into my life and turned the whole bullshit parade upside down. She didn’t “convert” me, or “save” me, but she did save me, if that makes any sense at all.
Like I said, I’ve spent my whole life running—sometimes, often times, running from something. But also, if I’m being honest with myself—because that’s something I actually do now—it was that I was running towards something else that I was pretty sure I was never going to actually find. It was as if running towards it and never getting it was somehow “proving” to myself that it didn’t exist.
I’m talking about love, by the way.
But, maybe love and faith are the same thing, because I do know that the day Delilah fell into my world, it was like being saved, as people like to say. Maybe not from Hell, and maybe not in the sense of being saved into some sort of heavenly father’s arms. But, saved from my own blind, stubborn, self-righteous bullshit.
And I gotta say, being saved, even if I mean it my way and not a bible-thumping way, feels pretty fucking good.
It feels so good, in fact, that I’ve stopped running. I’ve stopped chasing, and instead, for the first time in my entire life, my feet are up, and my roots are down. For the first time in my life, I’ve got a place to call home that doesn’t sit on wheels or haul my ass away from crowds of angry ripped-off customers.
Okay, technically, it’s not finished being built yet, and technically, home is still the Winnebago. But soon enough, we’re going to retire the old girl and move into the house we’re putting up in the very spot where my tent once stood, on the outskirts of Canaan. Surprised? Well, don’t be. I like it here. Hell, I could honestly like a hovel at the bottom of a pit if Delilah was there with me. Thankfully, Canaan is a whole lot better than a pit.
And now, it’s home.
I like to joke that I took Jeb’s advice, but really, the four horsemen themselves couldn’t have stopped me from asking Delilah to marry me. I supposed if there is a God and He’s got any sense of karmic justice, He could have done a whole lot to convince her to say no. But, she didn’t, and whether that’s because the good Lord approves, or because we really are alone in the universe, or because I somehow beat the system is beyond anything I need to question.
I’m a smartass with a big mouth, but I’m smart enough these days to keep it the fuck shut when I’m ahead of the game. And marrying Delilah decidedly puts me ahead of the game, trust me.
So, I married the girl, and now Canaan is home, much to the amusement of my brother. Lizzie’s dad’s money helped her beat the conspiracy to commit fraud charges, but Paul ended up going to prison for embezzlement, fraud, and tax evasion. Don’t feel too bad for the guy though, he’s in one of those cushy white-collar type places where they’ve got painting lessons and free HBO or something.
Also, Paul might be a dick, not to mention a real, real shitty con man, but jail might’ve actually been a wake-up call for him. He’s taking college courses again from behind bars, and he’s on his way to actually getting that divinity school degree. I’m pretty sure the town of Canaan is fresh out of fucks to give when it comes to helping him set up a church or looking to him as any sort of spiritual guide, but that’s the bed he made. Apparently, he’s still got his eyes on Costa Rica after he gets out, but this time, he’s thinking about bringing religion, not a suitcase full of ill-gotten cash.
Who knows, but then, if I can be “saved,” so can that bag of dicks.
Oh and him and Lizzie are still technically legally married—a fact that amuses me to no end. Who knows, maybe those two crazy kids will wind up in Costa Rica together and find true love. Or she’ll run him over with a car the first chance she gets.
As they say, God only knows.
And Canaan might be over the idea of Paul leading them in prayer, but luckily, it didn’t taint the family name as a whole. And when the trust was dissolved and the money returned, the good people of Canaan found a different Somerset to build their church and lead the flock.
That would be Christina, Delilah’s mom, who aced her way through divinity school to rise to the occasion. The new church is the other big construction project in town besides our house, and I know Jeb for one couldn’t be prouder of his wife.
So here’s the thing. I still don’t know if believe in God, or Jesus, or a higher power. But I do believe in love. I believe that what I feel for Delilah is deeper than anything else on this earth, and I believe that loving her might just be the salvation I’ve always been looking for. And loving someone isn’t “faith,” then I’m not sure what is.
Because as far as I’m concerned, love is faith, and faith requires love. So if you want to talk to God, or Harry Potter, or Spiderman, and if doing that makes you feel loved, and part of something good that gets you up in the morning and headed down the right path?
Fuck it, do you. Because the name of the game, no matter what label you want to stick on it, is to love, be loved, and show love. So go out there and love a little. Live a little. And whether it be God or Thor the God of Thunder that you turn to, may he smile upon you all of your days.
The End.