EPILOGUE
Cate
It’s been twenty years since Joe and I nearly lost our lives in the freezing cold waters of the Chesapeake Bay. The nightmares have mostly subsided, but not a week goes by that I don’t remember the feeling of almost losing Joe.
For a long time, I wanted to erase those memories completely, along with the trauma of Chip and my childhood. With the help of a wonderful therapist, though, I have come to realize that those things are a part of who I am—as a woman, a wife, and a mother. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, they say, and I believe that’s true. Maybe if I hadn’t been forced to survive Chip, I wouldn’t have been able to save Joe. And surely surviving that crash helped me do what I eventually did: sit down with Barbara Walters and tell her—and the whole world—about the domestic violence I’d grown up with.
As terrifying as that was, it was also empowering. Liberating. Because, as it turns out, the truth really does set you free. It set my mom free, too, as she finally left Chip and that house in Montclair. She now lives in an apartment in Murray Hill and works on the nonprofit that Joe and I founded to help women like her. Perhaps more incredible than her escape, she and Dean became close friends, maybe because they both understood redemption and second chances.
I’ve learned so much about those things, too, but to me, life is less about overcoming adversity and more about the power of gratitude. On this anniversary of our plane crash, I am feeling particularly thankful. Joe and I are with our kids in our favorite place, our second home on Shelter Island, not far from the church where we married in a small ceremony before thirty-five of our loved ones, including Berry, who is now one of my closest friends.
At thirteen, Sylvie and Finn are old enough for quality conversation, yet too young to want to escape us, and Joe and I aren’t taking this sweet spot of their childhood for granted. As we finish eating, Finn clears the dishes without being asked, while Sylvie reaches for her phone, which has become her appendage. They are as close as I’ve ever seen boy-girl twins, but opposites in virtually every way. Finn is more like I am—fair-skinned, towheaded, and even-tempered—while Sylvie is a loud, lovable, dark-eyed clone of Joe. A daddy’s girl to the core.
I watch her now, holding up her phone, posing for a selfie. She raises her brows and puckers her lips, faux-animated and frozen for one second before resuming her furtive tapping, sending, scrolling.
“Twenty years ago. Wow,” Joe suddenly muses aloud. It is our first mention of the date, though I can somehow tell that it’s been on his mind as much as mine.
“What was twenty years ago?” Sylvie asks without looking up from her phone.
“Your father’s emergency landing,” I say—because I don’t like saying crash. I shiver, remembering the cold.
“Oh. That. Yeah,” she says.
I wait for Joe to say something more—something profound—which he’s become so much more capable of over the years. Instead, he smiles, those gorgeous, crinkly lines appearing around his eyes.
“That’s what you get for trying to dump me,” he says, giving me a wink.
I laugh and say, “Well, that’s a fresh take on things.”
“You tried to break up with Dad?” Sylvie asks, giving me a horrified, accusatory look.
“Tried? Your mother did break up with me. She called off our engagement.”
“Wait. You weren’t married when you crashed?”
“We didn’t crash,” Joe says, hating the word, too. “I successfully and skillfully ditched the aircraft.”
“Yeah, dummy,” Finn says, returning to the table and taking his seat next to me. “Dad ditched…and they were flying to Uncle Peter’s wedding. Mom and Dad got married three months later.”
Sylvie rolls her eyes and says, “Like I’m supposed to memorize our whole family time line.”
“It’s kind of a big thing,” Finn says. “The night your parents almost died and all.”
“But they didn’t die,” Sylvie says.
“No duh, Captain Obvious,” Finn shoots back at her.
“All right. Enough,” I say, doing my best to nip their bickering in the bud before it escalates into an argument.
“So, Mom,” Sylvie says. “What gives? Why did you try to dump Dad?”
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“Oh my God. Did someone cheat?” Sylvie asks, her eyes lighting up. To her, any drama is good drama.
“No, Sylvie. Nobody cheated,” Joe says.
“It was just a complicated time,” I add.
“Complicated, how?” Finn presses.
“Well, Grandpa had just gotten out of prison. Which was very stressful.”
“And that was Dad’s fault…how?” Sylvie says.
“I didn’t say it was Dad’s fault. I said it was complicated. I was upset and embarrassed and in shock…about Grandpa…and I was worried maybe your father and I didn’t belong together. That we were too different.”
“Dad. Is that true?” Sylvie asks, clearly intrigued by this twist on our family lore.
“It’s true that your mother felt that way,” Joe confirms. “But obviously, it wasn’t the truth. We were clearly meant to be.” He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “And as you can see, I won her back over.”
“Yes,” I say, smiling. “And besides, our fight isn’t really the point here.”
“What is the point?” Finn asks, always wanting the bottom line.
“The point is gratitude,” I say.
“Yes,” Joe says. “We have so much to be grateful for…which is why we have a responsibility to give back to others.”
“We know, Dad,” Sylvie says. “To whom much is given—”
“Much is expected,” Finn says, nodding.
“Yes. Exactly,” Joe says.
He glances at me, and we lock eyes for a few seconds before he turns back to the kids. “And so…on that note…there’s something we want to talk to you about.”
“Hold on,” Sylvie says. “Are we in trouble?”
“No,” Joe says with a laugh. “I mean—yes—but not in the way you might think…. We want to talk to you about the state of the world.”
“Ugh. Politics again?” Sylvie says.
“If by politics you mean morality and fighting for what is right, then yes,” Joe says. “There is so much more work to do.”
“Are you gonna run for president, Dad?” Finn says, his eyes lit up with excitement.
Joe looks at me.
“Only with both of your blessings,” I answer.
We’ve gone back and forth for such a long time, and this is what Joe and I finally decided. He should run, but only if the kids are okay with it. It has to be a family decision.
“Would I have to give up social media?” Sylvie asks in classic Sylvie fashion.
“Yes,” I say. “You probably would.”
She groans and says, “Well, then I say no.”
“Gah, Syl. That’s so selfish,” Finn says, relishing his sister’s misstep.
Sylvie tries to backtrack, saying that she was only joking, but I don’t believe her.
“I understand that would be hard,” I tell her. “Maybe you can keep Instagram. Just stay private and post more judiciously.”
“Okay!” Sylvie says. “I’m in! I hear there’s a bowling alley in the White House!”
Joe laughs and says, “Easy sell!”
“You mean sellout, Dad,” Finn says, making a face at Sylvie.
“Shut it, Finn,” she says.
“So, you think you can win, Dad?” Finn asks, his blue eyes as big as quarters.
“I don’t know, Finn,” Joe says. “But I think we have a good shot—”
“A really good shot,” I say.
Joe looks at me and smiles.
“What if you lose, Dad?” Sylvie says. “Will you be really sad?”
“Probably so,” Joe says. “But that’s not a reason not to try, is it?”
Sylvie shakes her head, looking solemn. “No. It’s not.”
“And even if you lose, you’ll still be a senator, right?” Finn asks.
“If the good people of New York allow me to keep my job,” Joe says.
“They will,” the kids say in unison.
“The more important question: will your mother keep me, too?” Joe says, coming over to my chair, then pulling me up and into his arms.
I laugh and say, “Yes…I can’t get rid of you. I tried that once….”
“Yes, you did,” he says, nuzzling his face against mine. “And you see how that turned out.”
“Okay, you guys are getting gross,” Finn says, getting up from the table.
“Your face is gross,” Sylvie says, cracking herself up and following her brother into the family room, where we plan on watching Casablanca, in memory of Joe’s grandmother. She passed away before the kids were born, but they’ve heard so much about her, along with the legacy of their grandfather.
I start to follow them, but Joe holds on to me tighter.
“So, we’re really doing this?” he whispers in my ear.
“Yes,” I say, pulling back just enough to gaze into his eyes. “We are.”
I get a quick flash of the White House, imagining what it would be like to live there with Joe and the kids and our two dogs. It’s obviously a long, difficult road ahead, but I have faith in my husband, feeling certain that he will prevail. He always finds a way.
But win or lose, we will have each other, and that’s all that really matters. I tell him as much, and he smiles and nods. Then we both turn and join our children by the fire.