The Keeper of Happy Endings(123)

Rory started down the stairs toward them, unable to suppress a grin. “Unless I miss my guess, something’s happened since I last saw the two of you.”

Soline reached for Anson’s hand. “Quite a lot, actually.”

It was impossible to miss the change that had come over Anson since their first meeting. He looked almost boyish standing there with Soline’s hand in his, as if forty years had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. She had no idea what had transpired between them. She only knew it felt right, like a circle finally closing.

“Should I call you Grandpa now? Or Gramps? Pops, maybe?”

Anson cleared his throat awkwardly. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, we need to talk about other things.”

Soline’s eyes flicked to Anson, then back again. “There’s been some news, Rory. About Hux.”

“News . . .” The room seemed to wobble as she repeated the word. “What . . . kind of news?”

Anson let go of Soline’s hand and came to stand in front of Rory. “The night we met in San Francisco, you mentioned your fiancé had been missing for some time. I remembered his name, so the next day, I decided to make a few calls.”

Rory clutched at the stair railing, her palm suddenly sticky.

“After the war,” Anson continued, “when the doctors finally finished putting me back together, I went to work for the International Red Cross, as a prisoner advocate. They have people all over the world who specialize in negotiation and extraction. Some of them are friends. So I picked up the phone to see who might have a useful contact.”

“And someone did?”

Anson narrowed his eyes at her. “Maybe you should sit while we talk.”

“No. Just tell me. Please.”

“A few months ago, the State Department received a tip. Someone claiming to have spotted two men and a woman in a village just outside Atbara in the company of two armed men. They were washing clothes at a pump in the center of town. When they finished, they were waved into a green panel truck with no markings. Our guys were skeptical, and not without reason. I doubt there’s a soul in Sudan who doesn’t know about the kidnapping—and the reward. Liars come out of the woodwork when there’s cash up for grabs. The source was a shaky one, and the lead looked like another dead end. But there was one guy who wouldn’t let it go, and it paid off. They found him, Rory. They found all three of them—alive. That’s all I knew when I came here the other night. That he was alive. But since then, one of our negotiators managed to broker terms for release. A friend of mine called a few hours ago. They were released last night. They’ll need to be checked out, but barring any serious medical issues, Hux should be on his way back to the States in a week or so.”

Rory sank to the bottom step, burying her face in her hands. The tears came silently at first, catching in her throat until she thought they would break her open.

Alive. Safe. Coming home.

Finally the sobs broke free, welling up from the dark place she’d been trying not to look at for so long. Home. The word seemed to sing in her veins, over and over again. Hux was coming home—after ten months of god only knew what. She’d heard the stories, everyone had, men so damaged their lives were never the same. She lifted her head, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. “Did they say . . . Do you know if he’s . . .”

“I don’t. But if there was anything serious, they would have said. That doesn’t mean he won’t go through some things. There’s always a period of adjustment. Some rockier than others. But there are people who specialize in that kind of trauma. And more importantly, he’ll have you.”

She nodded mutely as the tears came again. He would have her—and she would have him. Together, they would work through whatever came.

In time, Rory became aware of Soline sitting beside her on the step. She mopped her face again with her sleeve, smiling weakly. “He’s coming home.”

“Oui, ma petite. He’s coming home. You will have your happy ending at last.”

“I still can’t believe it. Part of me was starting to think it might never happen, and now it has. I know he’ll have some things to deal with, but I can’t wait for you to meet him and for him to meet you and Anson. And to show him the gallery. So much has happened . . .” She paused for a breath, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I know I’m rambling, but this feels like a miracle. And speaking of miracles . . .” She tipped her chin toward Anson, who had wandered over to one of the exhibits, presumably to give them some space. “How did that happen?”

Soline smiled mischievously. “That, ma petite, is too long a story for now. And we don’t know where it’s headed yet. What we do know is that we’re willing to find out.”

Rory felt a fresh wave of happiness wash through her. After all the years and all the heartache, a reconciliation. “I’m so glad, Soline. He’s never stopped loving you. It’s written all over his face.”

Soline’s smile widened as she watched Anson move from painting to painting with a furrowed brow. “We’re certainly going to have a lot to tell your mother.”

Rory nodded, sniffling noisily. “You can call her from my office, if you want, and fill her in. I’d like a minute alone with Anson, if you don’t mind.”

She waited until Soline reached the top of the stairs, then went in search of Anson. She found him standing in front of one of her pieces. He turned when he heard her approach. “These are amazing.”