Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER…
Springtime in New York really was glorious. Central Park was a paradise of green grass and brightly colored flowers. The fine ladies of high society seemed to dress particularly brightly as they strolled along the park’s paths, as if they had to compete with the flowers. It was just a shame that men didn’t dress as brightly, although most of Beckett’s friends at the club found ways around that.
For example, Noah wore a particularly ostentatious waistcoat made from patterned silk with splashes of colorful flowers that could be seen from a mile away.
“We should just fasten a tail to your waistcoat and hoist it into the sky instead of making new kites,” Beckett laughed as the two of them strolled along in the sunshine.
Blessedly, Noah laughed along with him. “I daresay that would work,” he said. “But I couldn’t do that, because then Aurora would be tempted to make her knickers into a kite just to compete with me.”
Beckett snorted into one of his unmanly giggles, but it was true.
He was happy. So happy. Noah was happy also. And at the moment, he was doing so well.
There had been a few smaller episodes since November. All the love and support in the world wasn’t foolproof when it came to illnesses of the mind, but when Noah had hit a particularly bad stretch in February—which coincided with a stretch of horrible weather that never seemed to end—everyone from Beckett’s father and sister to the men from The Slope had pitched in to provide both Noah and Beckett support and relief.
They had made it through, and in the last few months, since spring had truly sprung, Beckett found that the cures of Ancient Greece actually had a positive effect on Noah.
“Good morning, Mrs. Jenkins,” Noah called out in greeting to the elderly woman that they passed nearly every day on their walk through Central Park.
“Good morning, Mr. Cheevers, Mr. Smith,” Mrs. Jenkins called back to them with a wave. She sat on the same bench at the same time every day, and she, Noah, and Beckett had come to know the sight of her well. “You’re looking quite well,” Mrs. Jenkins went on as they passed.
“I’m feeling rather splendid today, thank you very much,” Noah said, touching the brim of his hat, then added, “You’re looking like a dream yourself, madam.”
Mrs. Jenkins—who was not a dream—laughed and waved Noah off. It had become a routine for the two of them.
A routine that made Beckett smile. His family and the men of The Slope weren’t the only community they’d found. Even the strangers they saw every day in the park as Noah took his exercise seemed to become less like strangers and more like friends as time went on. That good will, combined with the healthy diet Beckett made certain both he and Noah ate, and his efforts to make certain both of them had adequate amounts of sleep—by ensuring that they were both so worn out by activities in bed each night that they slept like logs—all seemed to be having far more of a positive result than any scientific treatment had.
“I wish I could hold your hand,” Beckett murmured to Noah as they continued briskly along the path. “It seems so unfair that I cannot.”
“You can hold more than just my hand once we get home,” Noah said, sending him a cheeky wink. “I find that I have an excess of energy to work off.”
Beckett beamed at that, his face heating. “I do love you, you silly man,” he said quietly, stretching his arm in such a way that he could at least brush the back of Noah’s hand with his fingertips.
“And I love you dearly as w—”
He stopped mid-sentence, freezing in his steps too as something across the park caught his eye.
Curious, Beckett turned to see what it was. He was surprised and intrigued to spot a handsome man who appeared to be of some sort of Spanish descent sitting on one of the park’s many benches, having a conversation with a woman in a lovely, yellow gown. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the man, but Noah gaped at him as though he were seeing a ghost.
“Do you know him?” Beckett asked.
“I….” Noah continued to stare at the man until the man stared back.
As soon as the man saw Noah, he burst into a smile. He nodded to the woman sitting with him, then seemed to bow to Noah, almost as though in thanks.
“Hold on, is that…is that Eduardo?” Beckett asked. He waved to the man.
In the middle of the gesture, he blinked. He could have sworn he knew the woman sitting with the mystery man. He could have sworn he’d seen her at The Slippery Slope.
“Does your friend know that his companion is….” Beckett peeked at Noah with a sly grin.
“Yes,” Noah laughed. “I believe he does.” He then let out a long breath and said, “He wasn’t my imagination. He wasn’t a dream or an angel. He was real.”
“It appears he is,” Beckett said, just as happy and relieved as Noah was. “Was…was there any doubt about that?”
Noah glanced to him, taking his hand for a moment, despite being in public. “More than you can ever know, love,” he said, then winked.