Author’s note: The following chapter is an alternate ending to my novel, “Pippa’s Passing.” It immediately takes place after the events of chapter 19 but also chapter 20. After living with the story for six months, I realized there was another part of the story that was crying out to me to be told. If you enjoyed the ending with Chapter 20, “Pippa’s Last Chapter,” then stop now. But if you’re like me and wondering ‘what if’ then read on.

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I held Carlotta in my arms. The sensation was unreal. You can’t really describe what it’s like to hold your daughter in your arms for the first time.

I had loved her mother for so long that I should have known this would be the way of things. It would always end like this with me holding my daughter. Carlotta was always going to be in my life. It was Carlotta’s way.

Here was everything good that came out of my relationship with Pippa. All of the struggles and the griefs and the complicatedness associated with us melted away and blended into this daughter in my arms. It was like I said, indescribable. All that running and all those races came down to this. This was what was waiting for me at the end of the ultimate finish line.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” I said to her. It was true and simple. She did have Pippa’s eyes. Pippa had once described the first time she looked into my eyes and thought I had this soulful look in my eyes like I was lost. There was nothing lost in Carlotta’s eyes. If anything, they implied something found. Gone were any dark skies behind these eyes and I was reminded only of words I had penned for my vows. ‘You look at me through eyes of total faith and a doubtless commitment to our uncertain futures.’

“I think there’s something of her father in those eyes.”  

I turned to look at Pippa lying in the hospital bed. She was so beautiful. It was almost impossible to think that less than an hour before, she had blessed us both with this bundle of joy.

“Carlotta Pink Bailey,” I muttered

“Carlotta Pink Carter. I told you I’d take the name into consideration.” She was right. It had been a joke shared between us all those years ago but now it was come true. “When you’re finished making your goo-goo eyes at our daughter, I’d like to hold her for a while.”

I obliged and gently transferred Carlotta to Pippa’s waiting arms. She cradled Carlotta with one hand and patted the bed for me to sit next to her.

“We’re going to have to tell our families about her, sometime, you know,” I said. I knew it would come but at that moment there didn’t exist a need. My immediate future was those two lying in the bed next to me.

“Not now, Pink. Right now I just want to be with you and Carlotta. Who cares about the rest of the world?” She turned her face and kissed me. I knew that kiss. I’d felt it before.

“That’s a screw them all kiss, isn’t it?” I didn’t need her answer. Memories of the infield at Collegiate came flooding in and I remembered that long kiss. She’d said ‘screw them all’ and then she’d kissed me. It meant she wanted only the moment with me. This day was no different. She wanted only the moment with me…and our daughter.

“I’m tired Pink. Will you lay with me?”

“Happily.” There was no indecision. I remembered that question from before. I had questioned it but eventually had given in. I had no will when it came to Pippa.

I stretched out and snuggled in closer to her as best I could. She placed Carlotta between us. I felt there was no place safer in the world at that moment for our daughter.

Pippa ran a hand along my face and stroked my cheek. “Tell me our story, Pink.”

“Now? I thought you were tired.”

“I am, but I want Carlotta to hear it. All kinds of memories are flooding in and I think everything has led us to this moment. I remember lying with you once and saying this right here is my dream, you and I together forever.”

“And Carlotta,” I pointed out.

“And Carlotta. Tell her our story.”

“From the beginning?” I never could deny Pippa anything but it seemed absurd to be lying there with our daughter between us and having Pippa request our story.

“No, from the ending. If it wasn’t for the ending, she wouldn’t be here.” She smiled and stroked my face again.

She was right. It wasn’t that she was always right but I found it easier to agree with her than to put up an argument. Not all good stories started with the ending but this one did.

“I thought it was the end,” I began. “It seemed like the end. Your mother had left me in Toronto and she said she was going to marry Bastien. If that’s not an ending then I don’t know what one is. Fortunately for you Carlotta, that was not the real ending.”

I stood in the street and watched her drive away. This can’t be how it ends, I thought to myself. Bags, that’s your Uncle Kevin, had told me to marry her or let her go. At that moment I believed I had made the wrong choice.

“I need to talk to Bags,” I said aloud. No one else was near or they would have questioned this man standing in the street talking to himself. They might have also looked into my eyes at that moment and seen someone who was lost.

I couldn’t reach Bags. He might have been working. He might have been studying. I left a message with Connie. I left several. It was late in the afternoon and I was panicking. I couldn’t bear to be alone. I left a final message with Connie and said I was going to the Fuzzy Llama. It was a pub Bags and I used to frequent when we first started working together at Merrivale. I’ll explain to you later, Carlotta, when you’re much older, what a pub is, and why you should never let a friend convince you to give an oral recitation of your unfinished story in a dark pub in front of strangers. That, too, is a story for another time.

By the time Bags found me, I was well on my way to drowning my sorrows. The truth was I didn’t even know if they were sorrows. I’d had a good run with Pippa and I had nothing to be sorry about. We’d been same time next year for so long that I didn’t really have much to regret. Did I?

“Order me a beer,” Bags said as he sat down opposite me after what seemed like hours, “and start from the beginning.”

“Where the hell have you been? Never mind Bags, it’s not the beginning I’m having a problem with, it’s the ending. Pippa’s gone!”

I had signalled to a waitress and she had set a glass of beer in front of Bags and made her exit; all while Bags pondered my state and my statement. He took a long sip of his beer before responding.

“Dead?” Bags asked. I knew he was going to ask that and I also knew he knew she wasn’t dead. He was just playing with me and trying to disarm my thought process. It was typical Dr. Bags therapy.

“No, not dead! Wait, stop messing with me Bags. You already knew that. Gone. Left me. Marrying Bastien. Never to be seen again.” The explanations were coming out in short spurts. I’d imbibed a little too much and I didn’t think I could string together long detailed sentences.

“So, you let her go? You finally made a decision. Honestly, Jeff, I didn’t think this thing would carry on this long between you. No wonder the ending is hard on you. You strung it out too much. When I told you to marry her or let her go, I thought you’d have launched at either option right away. You’ve only got yourself to blame for how it ended.” 

Bags was doing better than me and making a good deal of sense more than I could. It smarted nonetheless.

“But Pippa’s gone! What do I do now?” I leaned across the table and looked him in the eyes. What would he see in my eyes? Would he see that lost soul that Pippa said lurked sometimes within me?

“I suppose you better start at the beginning and give me everything,” Bags said. “Give me everything or give me everything you can remember.” I knew that was a dig at my inebriation but I let it pass.

“I told you, Bags, it’s not the beginning I have a problem with.”

“Then start at the ending,” he replied, “and work backwards filling me in on what you know.”

It made no sense but I obliged. I started with the ending and how Pippa and I had made love one last time and how she had driven away. I explained how she was heading back to Peterborough and how she had said she was going to marry Bastien. I worked my way in reverse and let him know about our annual affair and how it started after his wedding. I explained how it had been casual with no commitments and how marriage had been broached but never seriously considered. Some of it he knew and some he heard for the first time. I tried to keep from crying because I didn’t want to come off as a blubbering drunk with regrets. I’m not sure I was all that successful.

“What do you think you’ve lost here Jeff?” Bags had listened intently but that question almost made it seem like he hadn’t heard a thing I’d said.

“What do you mean, what have I lost? I’ve lost Pippa! Didn’t you pay attention to what I said?” I felt like leaning across the table again and grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him. I wondered what his response would have been. I decided against it because I needed Dr. Bags and all his sage wisdom and I needed him as my friend even more than that.

“I heard you, Jeff. My question is, again, what have you lost? Is it love or lust? Do you miss that warm feeling she gives you when you’re together or are you regretting the loss of opportunity that you two could have had so much more? Or maybe you’re just missing me having to hit you every time she came around so I could bring you back down to earth?”

“It sure isn’t that last bit!” I fired back.

“Then you have to figure out what it is you’ve lost. I can’t help you with that Jeff. I could sit here and tell you that you should have married her a long time ago but being married myself, I can tell you the day-to-day is a lot harder than once a year.”

“Pippa said that to me once,” I mumbled.

“Said what Jeff?”

“She told me our current relationship wasn’t enough for her. She said it wasn’t enough for her and it shouldn’t be enough for me. She wants a family and a life with someone that’s every day.”

“So what have you lost Jeff?”

“Every day Bags, every day. Now, she’s going to marry Bastien and he’s going to get my every day with her.”

“Listen, Jeff, I think you need to find a way to rewrite your ending. I can’t tell you how to do that.” He grabbed my near-empty glass and pulled it to his side of the table. “And this,” he said, waving it in front of my face, “isn’t going to help. Go home, Jeff. Go home and find your answers.”

Bags signalled for the waitress and asked for the check. He counted out enough to cover his one drink and all of mine.

“This time the beers are on me. Go home, Jeff. That’s where I’m going.”

Bags got up and left. I watched after him for a few minutes and then made my way to the street to hail a cab. Bags had told me to go home. I could do that. Rewriting my ending was something I’d have to figure out for myself.

I had a week left of school to focus on before the summer break. Even that was difficult. How could I look at the faces of all of those children Pippa had given me and realize not one was a direct product of a union of Pippa and myself? Wasn’t that part of the shining future?

My mind was swirling with everything Pippa had said to me before she left. I’d told her I’d give up everything to be with her. She responded by saying she’d waited a long time to hear those words but wondered if doing that would truly make me happy. She questioned how long it would be before I’d begin to regret that move and then begin to resent her. What if there were children? Our children? Would that be enough for me? My response had been to say being with her would be everything I’d need and that if children came along I’d love them as much as I love her.

That was all part of that shining future. I also remembered all the times I’d glimpsed that future and yet it always remained out of reach. It had always shone so brightly it blinded me to everything else. I had almost married her because I had lost that future once to Steve Wilson and I’d been afraid of losing it again when she’d come back to me. Now, where was my shining future? It was no more same time next year and no more Pippa. She had said there isn’t going to be a next time; this is all we have.  

She’d told me she had always loved me but that was the problem. She said I didn’t need her anymore because my life was in Toronto and I had these children of my own. Her explanation was that I was moulding young impressionable minds every year and these were my children. These were my children…without her. So much for that shining future! This couldn’t be the end. This couldn’t be the ending either of us wanted. I kept telling myself that.  

The next day was work and I had to get myself back into shape. I slept long and dreamt wildly. It was a nightmarish vision of chasing Pippa down the street and never catching her. The roadside was thronged with Elvises. All of them kept encouraging me to ‘Follow That Dream’. It made no sense. I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock and tried to drown myself in a cold shower and black coffee. It might have been a new day and I might have been more on the sober side but the problem still persisted. Pippa was gone and she wasn’t coming back.

It was the final week of school before the summer break. Somehow I made it through. It was good to have something to focus on through the day but the nights were long and lonely. I’d lie awake thinking of our ending. Bags had said to rewrite my ending. Could it be that simple?

I thought back on what else Bags had said to me. He said I had to understand what it was I had lost. That was easy, Pippa was gone. Gone but not dead. Bags had tried to distract me with that one. I hadn’t taken the bait. She wasn’t dead…just gone…but not dead. Rewrite my ending. That’s what Bags had said. Suddenly it was there. I had to tell our story like Pippa had asked me once but this time there had to be a different ending.  

I hadn’t written anything in a long time. I had always wanted to write or be a teacher. Writing had been the one thing I’d put on the back burner and hadn’t gone back to. There was a story to tell. I had to try and give it away again. No storyteller this time. I had to write it all out but with the new ending.

Pippa was dead. I’d start with that and work backwards.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Pippa chirped. “You wrote me out of our story!”

“Who’s telling this?” I responded. “You told me to tell the ending. This is part of that ending.” I looked at Pippa lying next to me and expected to see hurt but it wasn’t there. She loved me. That’s what was in her eyes at that moment. I decided to continue.

Pippa was dead, but not really. Still, I had to start with that. I’d look at that future without her and begin from there. I’d write her out of my future and see if that helped.

I struggled with the ending. I didn’t want to think about her death; even if it wasn’t real. Death was too permanent and even though she said we had reached the end of our time together, I wondered if I was missing something. I kept thinking there was a message I wasn’t grasping. 

To write an uncertain and fictional ending was difficult. It wasn’t coming easy to me so I decided to try another tactic. Bags had said to go home. I’m sure he meant from the pub but part of me thought that maybe I should go home. Go home to see my parents, Rod and Rhonda, the old locales that had been part of the larger story. Go home for inspiration.

I hadn’t been home in a while. Toronto was my life and home held nothing for me. There were painful memories of Pippa and losing her at the avocado house and being abandoned outside the courthouse. There had also been those joyous moments of kisses outside the Texaco and more physical memories in my room and her mother’s car. There was also all that running. The running reminded me of Bastien. How could I be losing again to Bastien? She had said it had always been me but now it was Bastien? Nothing made any sense to me. She had made love to me after telling me she was marrying someone else. What was that all about? I needed some answers and I needed a way to move on from the ending Pippa had offered me and the one I wanted to write. I hoped home would help me figure things out.

I spent some time with my parents and re-examined everything as I lay awake at night in my old bedroom. Memories of Pippa had been tied in with that room as well. She had come back to me after Roger’s death and we’d made love in that bed. Had it been simpler then? We’d made love and then we had agreed to get married. It had been more than a dozen years since then but I could swear the scent of her still lingered in that room. How did we get from saying I love you to we have no more time together?

I did some running when I was home. I went out and ran the track and then deliberately ran the old Harrier route and out past the avocado house. Pippa had told me her mother had moved on from the avocado house while Pippa was in Quebec City. It was too bad, I would have liked to have gone through it one more time. Some of my best and worst memories had been inside that house or in the carport. I thought once that my ending with Pippa had been there after our first breakup and she’d referred to me as no one at all. I began to think that maybe my new ending should somehow be tied into the avocado house.

Of course, I had to see Rod and Rhonda. Rod and I still weren’t overly close but whenever I went home I made a point to pay them a visit. They had two children now, Amber and Teddy, and they lived in a nice house in a nicer part of town. Amber was five and Teddy was two. I was an Uncle. I also barely knew these children. They’d been born away from me and had grown with only a few visits from me over the years. I was happy for my brother and his wife but going to see them reminded me of everything I was missing. Rod had his every day and I was not going to have mine with Pippa.

I deliberately timed my visit to an evening when I expected less chaos in their house. Rhonda was still operating her home daycare but the evening would find only Amber and Teddy there if they weren’t already in bed. I was happy to visit with my niece and nephew but what I really needed was some adult wisdom or insight. Given that one of the adults was my brother, I wasn’t sure if his advice would be welcome or freely given.

“It’s good to see you, Jeff,” Rhonda said after we retired to the living room. I had arrived a little earlier but apparently, it was Rod’s night to tuck in the children. I had said my hellos and goodnights to Amber and Teddy and watched briefly from the doorway as Rod read to Amber from a storybook. I was an expert on warm feelings from dealings with Pippa but seeing Rod with his children brought a warm feeling that also made me very uncomfortable. I connected it to that every day that Rod had that I would never have.

“Rod’s pretty domesticated. How did you manage that?” The change in my brother was remarkable. He was no longer as gruff around the edges. It had been a gradual transformation but it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Your brother’s so much more than the boy you grew up with. Give him some credit.”

“I didn’t mean any offence,” I replied. “It’s a compliment. I think I need to give you some credit for it, too.”

“All the same, he works hard at it. He’s a good husband and father. Two kids and counting.”

I looked at her with confusion. “And counting?”

“Number three is on the way.” She rubbed her abdomen to signify.

“Congratulations, do you know what it is? Boy or girl I mean.”

“We’ll be happy with either. We’re thinking of naming the baby after either your mother or your father.”

“Jill or George? Here’s hoping you have a girl. I love my dad but I wouldn’t want to wish the name George on any baby. I’d put an end to that name option if I were you.”

“I suppose you’d suggest Jeff?” she asked; following it with a little laugh.

“Carlotta Pink,” I mumbled.

“What did you say, Jeff?”

“Oh, nothing, something Pippa said to me once.” 

“How are things with you and Pippa?”  

How did I answer that? We’d gone from extolling Rod’s virtues to babies to Pippa. Was she hinting at something? What was she sensing in me? What could she see behind my eyes?

“That’s done. She’s moved on.” I said it matter-of-factly as if it was of no consequence to me when in fact the consequences of Pippa ending things was the only thing that haunted me.

“Who’s moved on?” Rod asked as he rejoined us.

“Pippa. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“Is that thing still going on? I thought you ended that with her ages ago. What’s that all about little brother?”

“Well big brother, I honestly don’t know. Maybe you and Rhonda can help me figure that out.” I wasn’t being sarcastic but I realized I was the one sounding gruff around the edges. “Sorry, let me explain.”

I went into the details of the same time next year arrangement I’d had with Pippa and how it had started after Bags’ wedding. On previous visits with Rod and Rhonda, if they asked me if I was still involved with Pippa, I’d answer that I’d see her around occasionally. They didn’t press me for answers those times and I didn’t think I needed to explain myself. Sitting there with them in their home, with their children sleeping in other parts of the house, I got a sense of how seeing Pippa ‘occasionally’ didn’t really have great or lasting significance. Rod and Rhonda had an everyday relationship and I fully realized what the something more was that Pippa wanted. She wanted what my brother and his wife had. She wanted a relationship like theirs, maybe a home, and maybe a Carlotta Pink Bailey.

“That’s how it ended,” I concluded. “She left me and she’s going off to Montreal to be with Bastien.”

“It all sounds kind of screwy to me,” Rod responded. “She sleeps with you after some other guy asks her to marry him? Who does that?” I hadn’t left out that fact when retelling our ending but I didn’t expect Rod would focus only on that detail.

“I think you’re right to question that ending, Jeff,” Rhonda added. “Are you sure you’ve told us everything?”

“Everything I can remember. She said she wouldn’t marry me but she could marry Bastien. And Rod’s right. Who sleeps with another guy after she tells me she’s going off to marry someone else?”

“It’s always something with her,” Rod piped up.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. I was starting to get a little defensive; not of myself but of the woman I’d just lost.

“Listen, Jeff, Rod may be on to something,” Rhonda interjected. It seemed strange that regarding my love life that my brother suddenly was right twice. I’d have to hear this out for myself to understand it.

“About what?” Rod and I had both asked the same thing simultaneously.

“Well,” Rhonda continued, “it’s always been about gestures with Pippa. She ran onto the track during your race and serenaded you with ‘Viva Las Vegas’, she came to you in the middle of the night after her brother died, she proposed marriage to you and then jilted you, she ran off to Quebec City, she practically stalked you at Trent and ruined any chance at a relationship you might have had with that girl Libby, and she goes to a wedding as your date and then comes to see you every year after like clockwork. And now she tells you she’s going off to Montreal to marry Bastien but she stops to sleep with you one more time. Rod is right about that last one. It sounds kind of screwy but if you look at everything, she’s always been making some kind of gesture for your attention; some more extensive than others.”

I stopped to think on what Rhonda had just said. It was true. Everything was orchestrated by Pippa. She always came to me. I never went to her. She came to Toronto and I never went to see her in Peterborough. The only grand gesture I ever made was to show up at the opening of her store and even then I’d walked away without her knowing I’d been there.  

“Wait a minute, how did you know about all of that?” I asked. “I don’t think I ever told you some of those details.” How did Rhonda know? She certainly hadn’t learned them from me and I hadn’t detailed everything to Rod.

“I think it’s time I shared something with you,” Rhonda replied. She got up and was gone from the living room for a few minutes.

“Don’t look at me little brother,” Rod tried to explain. “This is all a mystery to me, too.”

Rhonda returned and in one hand was a bundle of letters held together with a rubber band. In the other, was a large envelope.

“Open the envelope first,” Rhonda said handing it to me. She held back the bundle of letters.

I emptied the contents of the envelope onto my lap. There were index cards and a gold wedding band. I looked at Rhonda with a confused expression.

“Do you remember that night you both came to our apartment after your cancelled wedding? She gave me the ring and note cards and asked me to hold onto them for her. She said she’d tell me when the time was right to give them to you. I think the time’s right now.”

I picked up the cards and read from them. These were the vows she had written for our wedding and the ring was to have been her gift to me as her husband. Reading the vows, I was struck with such feelings of sadness and hurt. I was also filled with a sense of happiness. She had told me she loved me too much to go ahead with the wedding. The vows expressed how much she loved me. Thinking on how things had recently ended with us I realized how much things were the same between us. She never stopped loving me. I’d loved her since the first time I saw her and I’d never stopped either.  

Without thinking, I had slipped on the ring. I became aware of it when I began to scan the cards again in my hand.

“Did you read these?” I asked of Rhonda as I held up the index cards.

“No. I never thought they were mind to read,” she replied. “I was just holding onto them. I think they belong to you now. Do you want to share what’s on them?”

“No, I don’t think I will.” I wasn’t being selfish or trying to punish her for having withheld them from me for all these years. What was in them was too personal.  

“Fair enough but I don’t mind sharing these with you even though they were written to me.” Rhonda passed over the bundled letters.

“What are those?” Rod asked. “I knew you had the envelope but not the letters. Why didn’t you tell me about them?” I was sensing Rod was also a little frustrated with Rhonda. Okay, I guess I was feeling a little resentful as well.

“For the same reason I didn’t share them with Jeff. They were written to me. There are some personal and private things in there I didn’t think Pippa wanted me to share.”

“And now?” I asked.  

“Well, Jeff, I think you came here looking for some answers. I don’t believe Rod or I can give you what you need. Only Pippa can do that but these letters are probably about as close as you’re going to get to figuring things out…to figuring her out.”

“Like I said, sounds kind of screwy to me,” Rod exclaimed while throwing his hands up in the air.

“Let me try and explain to both of you but mostly for Jeff’s benefit,” she continued. “When Pippa was here that night she gave me the envelope with the cards and the ring, she told me she was going off to Quebec City. I blamed myself for her running out on you at your wedding. The other time we met, when you two asked Rod and I to stand for you at your ceremony, I had told her to make sure that getting married was something you really wanted. I didn’t want to place any doubt in her mind but it was there already. It took a long time for me to realize the doubt was hers and not mine. The letters explain a lot of that.”

“I don’t blame you,” I offered. “But what’s with all of the letters?”

“She asked me that night if she could write to me. I didn’t think she really would but the letters started coming and they’ve continued up to now. The last one was a few weeks ago when she said she was going to break it off with you. I didn’t know if she’d follow through with it until you told me tonight.”

“But why you?” I asked. “Why didn’t she write me or even her cousin Sandra?”

“The answer regarding Sandra is simpler than why she didn’t write you. Sandra was family and she was trying to distance herself from that. Some of the letters explain the way it was. If I had to make a guess why she didn’t write you I’d say she was waiting for something from you first.”

“Waiting for what?” None of this made sense. Rhonda had a decade's worth of letters and the only one I had received in that time had been an invitation to the opening of Carlotta’s.

“Your gesture, I think.”

Rhonda’s response was simple and to the point. Maybe Pippa had been waiting for a gesture from me. But hadn’t the ads in the Trent paper to the running girl been gestures? I had to think about that one for a moment. The first ad had been at Bags’ insistence. It hadn’t been my idea. Other postings had been my desperation to get back in touch with her. After that, ‘Think Pink’ and spring and fall reunions had all been controlled by her. Even ‘same time next year’ had been her idea with her always being the one to come to me. She had been waiting for a gesture from me. Even inviting her to Bags’ wedding hadn’t been so much of a gesture as me not wanting to go alone. I wasn’t sure what type of gesture it was she wanted from me.

“Don’t read the letters now,” Rhonda went on. “Take them with you and read them. I think it’s all in there but it’s up to you to put it all together. I don’t know if you and Pippa are really finished but I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She loved you very much. I secretly wondered if she expected me to share these letters with you. I didn’t think it was my place but I might have saved you some grief if I had let you know about them.”

“It’s not your fault, Rhonda,” I offered, trying to ease her guilt. “I’m a big boy, I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“You may be a big boy,” Rod threw in, “but you’re still my little brother. Let big brother offer you some advice. Let that girl go for good or marry her. You’re going to suffer until you do.”

I couldn’t believe it. Rod had counselled the exact same advice Bags had after his wedding. Let her go for good or marry her. Of all the words my brother could have offered those were the most insightful. I thought I had made my choice when I saw Pippa last but I still wasn’t so sure.

“I have one other thing I should give you, Jeff,” Rhonda said. She grabbed at her fingers and made a twisting gesture. “This really belongs to you, too.”

I accepted the ring she had removed from her fingers. I recognized it as the one I had bought for Pippa but had given to Rod after Pippa had walked away from our wedding.

“No, that’s yours. I gave it to Rod and he gave it to you.” I had been Rod’s best man at their wedding and he had given it to Rhonda. It had only been back in my hands briefly before their wedding when Rod entrusted it to me to give it to him to place on Rhonda’s finger during the ceremony.

“Thanks for that little brother but I decided to eventually buy my wife one that was from me.” Rhonda held up her hand to show the one she sported on her ring finger.

“I’ve kept it safe for you. I thought one day I’d give it back to you when Pippa and you finally did get married. I don’t know if that’ll ever happen now but it’s yours again.”

I looked at the ring. I had two rings. I had the one Pippa had meant for me and now my own ring had come back to me. Was this a sign? Did it signal closure or possibility? I knew for sure that it was going to be part of whatever new ending I created for myself.

After meeting with Rod and Rhonda, I went back to my parents’ home to look over the letters. I thought about drinking my way through the reading but Bags had told me at the pub I needed to find a way to rewrite my ending and that alcohol wasn’t going to help. He’d also told me to go home and find my answers. He had been right about that as well and I believed the answers were somewhere in those letters.

I read long into the night. The letters were absorbing. Here were many of Pippa’s personal thoughts laid bare to me. Some of the details were simple day-to-day things about her life and her mother and later on Trent and her store. Stripping all of that away, there was also our story. Pippa had told Rhonda about how we’d met and our friendship and then our courtship. She’d even exposed details of her abuse and Roger’s death and how both of those events had driven her into my arms.

She talked about our first break and using Bastien to make me jealous. She explained the deal I had offered if I had beaten Bastien in the Tri-Mile event and how she’d been disappointed when I lost. She also said she had suspected I had lost on purpose. That surprised me. I thought Ben had been the only one to know that secret. Maybe I was still running that race. It seemed to be a marathon between Bastien and I with a back and forth over the years for Pippa’s affection. Was this how it was going to end? Was I going to let him win again?

I tried to push that out of my mind. I had told Bastien once there are trophies in competitions but just try referring to Pippa as a trophy to her face and he might not like her response. She wasn’t some sort of prize. She was her own person and only she was allowed to decide who she wanted to be with.

I read on. There were numerous letters written from Quebec City. Pippa had been sad and lonely. She felt she had hurt me permanently by leaving me. She wanted to hear from me. She wanted me to come and find her. Her letters kept asking Rhonda of news of me and why she thought I hadn’t written.

How could I have written her? I didn’t know exactly where she was. It wasn’t like I could have asked her cousin or even her mother! Thinking back on it, with the letters disclosing Pippa’s thoughts, I understood I had made no effort. There had been no gesture from me. I had accepted she was gone and I had tried to move on. That wasn’t what either of us had wanted. I could have done more. I should have done more.

The truth came out about other things as well. She had thanked Rhonda for the information she had shared about me and for letting her know what University I had chosen. She had applied to Trent deliberately so she could be near me. That wasn’t what she had told me that first time at The Old Grind. She had lied and said she would have gone somewhere else if she’d known I was at Trent.

It all became clear. She had orchestrated everything because she loved me and she wanted me to know it. But she also wanted me to prove I loved her and wanted to be with her. It was all about the gesture again.

Same time next year was in there, too. She told Rhonda how it had been her idea because Pippa couldn’t let me go. She had almost given up on me until she had received my invitation to Bags’ wedding. She thought I had moved on from her and was happy for my professional life in Toronto. When she’d seen me again she knew we both loved each other but thought I wasn’t willing to take the next step and so she came up with the idea of an annual reunion. She believed that if she kept herself in the race that we’d both finish together. It was almost comical to read her make that comparison to a race. Hadn’t I always thought I was still running a race when it came to her?

In every letter I was Pink. She never referred to me as Jeff. I understood. She had said it was always me. In her world, I’d always been Pink. It was like being tender inside and not overdone. If you’re in the pink then you’re just right. Maybe that was it. I was just right. It had always been me and she said she felt right with me. She was correct in those letters, I had always been Pink. Jeff was a professional someone who wasn’t fulfilled. Jeff wasn’t in the pink. I knew I had to embrace being Pink.

Her final letter was the most interesting of all. She wrote to Rhonda that she was going to end our annual relationship. It wasn’t that Pippa could see a future with me but she wasn’t sure that I wanted a future with her. She wrote of wanting more and she didn’t think that was what I wanted. She wanted to be with me all the time. She was hinting about that everyday relationship she had told me about. The most curious thing about the final letter was the absence of any mention of Bastien.

I reread the final letter. It was true. There was no word of Bastien. I went back over the letters she had written during our same time next year arrangement. There was some news about Bastien and how he’d married and had a son and how he and his wife had separated. There was nothing in there about an amorous relationship that had built between Pippa and Bastien. Why had she kept that from Rhonda? I had focussed so much on my parts in the letters that I had failed to notice that Bastien didn’t play as big a part as I thought he should have in Pippa’s life. What did it all mean?

I lay in bed with all the revelations from the letters swirling around in my head. I had sought answers and now my brain was full to bursting. What did I do next?

It was late before I finally fell asleep. I dreamed of her. It was our wedding but this time there were many others there. We were dancing and the room was filled with people we knew. The room was also full of children. Some were my children from classes I’d taught long past as well as Rod and Rhonda’s two. Pippa spun off from me as Elvis music was playing in the background and the children danced all around her. This was Pippa as I’d last seen her. She had come to me that last time in Toronto in a brilliant orange dress that seemed all at once to be all the colours of fire blazing and shimmering. The children encircled her while her dress billowed and enfolded her. All you could see was the whirling dress and I lost sight of Pippa as it grew and enfolded her in the fabric. Rapidly the colour changed to daffodil yellow and the dress retreated in size. It was no longer Pippa. It was the girl from the mural at Carlotta’s; all young and beautiful. I could hear Elvis and Sinatra singing together on the last refrain of ‘Love Me Tender’ and Pippa shone all bright and new while they sang “For my darling, I love you and I always will.” I awoke with a start. Everything was there in the dream. I understood it all. I knew at once exactly what I wanted for both endings.

On my way back to Toronto I worked out the details of the fictional ending. All the components had come together. It would be set in the future and I’d discover that Pippa had passed. That would be the prelude to our story but the ending would include the avocado house, the ring and her vows, and her last words to me.

I thought back on how I had mused that Rod’s children had grown up away from me. I decided I’d bring Carlotta Pink Bailey into the story and have her be the reason Pippa had gone to Quebec City. It would be a harsh ending with Pippa’s death but finding Carlotta would also bring some hope to the conclusion.

Even minor things played out in my mind and became part of the finish. The bundle of letters would be there. It would be mail that had built up while I was doing my fictitious teaching in another country. I’d open it to discover that Pippa had gone. I’d throw in the fabricated death of my father for the reason I came home. That was a nod to me telling Rhonda she should kill off the option of naming her new baby George. It was all artistic license and it wasn’t like I was going to let my parents read it. I’d even work in the dream of the fiery dress. This fictional story was what I needed to rewrite my ending but it wasn’t what I wanted for my new beginning. I’d worked that out, too. For that, I would need Bags.

I spent two days in Toronto writing my new ending. I’d added in Rod and Rhonda and had the climax take place at the avocado house. After reading it over, I thought it wasn’t strong enough so I wrote Ben and Sandra back into our story. I hadn’t seen them in a long time but Pippa had given me some details of their life. They were married now with twin boys and Ben had a successful landscaping firm back home. I’d have him come to me and make me run one last course that ended at the avocado house and the disclosure of my daughter Carlotta. I rewrote and tweaked the conclusion and it was better for it.

“This is terrific stuff, Jeff.” Bags put the papers into his lap. “I’ve always known the other parts of your story but this ending is the best thing you could have come up with for yourself. I’m glad you took my advice.”

I’d invited Bags over after I had completed the ending. I wanted him to be the first one to read it. I wasn’t going to do a recitation for him. I know he once told me that you have to tell your story because you can’t give away something you’ve written down. The truth was, I didn’t want to give it away. I wanted to embrace it.

“I took your advice in more ways than one Dr. Bags. I’ve created two endings. That one in your lap was my therapy. Now you have to help me with the other ending.”

“I don’t get it, Jeff. What’s all this about another ending?”

“Call me Pink. That’s who I am. You’re Bags and I’m Pink. For this next bit, I’m pulling in an old I.O.U.”  

I stopped for a minute and looked over at Pippa in the bed. Her eyes were closed and she was silent. Here was this beautiful woman I loved in our new ending lying next to our daughter Carlotta. I looked down at Carlotta lying between us. Her eyes were barely open and she wriggled only slightly between us. Was either of them listening to me telling our story?

“Why did you stop?” Pippa asked. Her eyes fluttered open and looked at me. Her hand came up and touched the side of my face.

“I thought you were asleep,” I said.

“Not sleeping, just resting my eyes. Keep going. You’re coming to my favourite part.”

“Gladly, it’s my favourite, too.”

“What I.O.U?” Bags had asked me.

“Remember back at Trent when you told me about the Elvis song ‘It’s Still Here’ and I said I’d go through with that pub performance of my story with Pippa but you had to bring your guitar back the next time you went home so we could find you an open mic night and you were going to sing that song?”

“I remember,” Bags responded. “I think I said something about dedicating it to you if I did.”

“Well, you still owe me. I’m calling it in.”

“You can’t be serious, pal! That was a long time ago. I’m not performing that song in a pub. Ask me anything else but not that.”

“I thought you’d say that. Rest easy Bags, I’m not going to have you do that exactly. I have something else in mind for my new ending but you’re going to need your guitar.”

I detailed to Bags what I had in mind. It was daring and a little screwy, to use Rod’s descriptor, but it was something I had to try. I knew it was time to make a gesture…a grand gesture.

Two days later, Bags and I were on our way to Peterborough. Bags was uncertain of my plan and he had to let Connie know what was in store. Bags brought me along to pitch my new ending; the one that Bags and I would put into play.

“Do me one favour, Jeff,” Connie said to me after she gave permission for Bags to participate in my scheme, “don’t get my husband arrested.”

“I make no promises. I can tell you one thing though, if he ends up in jail, he’ll have me as a cellmate.”

On the drive to Peterborough, Bags and I went over the details of the plan. It had been two weeks since Pippa had left me but she said she hadn’t given Bastien her answer to his proposal. She also said she had found a buyer for her store and would be moving to Montreal soon. I hoped soon hadn’t arrived.  

That last conversation about her marrying Bastien ran through my mind. I had tried to discourage her from marrying him and she had asked if not Bastien, then who. I had questioned why it couldn’t be me and she had said it had always been me. She also said she’d waited a long time for me to say I’d give it all up for her. She reminded me she had tried once to force me into her marrying her and it looked like she could do it again. No one was forcing me now. This was what I wanted. Her letters said it was what she had hoped for as well but she was waiting for a sign from me that never came. I hoped my grand gesture would be proof enough.

“Can’t you drive a little faster, Bags?” I implored.

“Not if you want to get there without the police on our tails. Remember, you promised Connie not to get me arrested.”

“No, I didn’t. I told her I couldn’t make that promise but if you go down my friend, I’m going with you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Bags replied. I felt the car excel a little. I wasn’t sure if Bags was anxious to get me there or anxious to get it over with. I, too, was sharing in both of those anxieties.

When we arrived in Peterborough we made our way down the main street to find a parking space near Pippa’s store. At first pass, there didn’t seem to be one anywhere close. We had to loop around a couple of times and luckily one opened up halfway down the block. How appropriate was it that it was right in front of The Old Grind? Pippa and I had reconnected there and retold each other our stories. Now, I was looking to add a new ending to our tale.

I was also glad of the traffic. That was key to my plan.  

Bags unloaded his guitar and we walked cautiously up to the location and stopped just before we reached the big front window. The painted mural of the little girl at play in a beautiful outfit was still there. I still couldn’t tell if this was a representation of a younger version of Pippa or an image of the fictitious Carlotta.

I stole a quick look in the store. The plan only worked if Pippa was there. We were in luck. She was in there with another woman and seemed to be showing off the entirety of the interior. Was this her mysterious buyer? I began to panic. Was I too late?

“It’s now or never Bags!” My heart was in my throat. Those words thrust me back to the courthouse stairs and Rod calling out those same words to encourage Pippa and I inside for our wedding. I also remembered Pippa calling back her response of ‘never.’ Not this time, I thought to myself. It can’t be ‘never’. It had to be ‘now’.

Bags waited momentarily for a lull in the traffic and then stepped out between two parked cars into the street and flagged down the oncoming traffic. He cradled his guitar and started playing and singing ‘It’s Still Here’.  

I had promised him it wouldn’t be a pub performance but it had taken a lot of convincing to get him to agree to be a street performer. With traffic stopped and cars honking and people suddenly crowding around, I watched for any sign of the police and more importantly for Pippa to make an appearance.

The sound of the horns and the people and the music did the trick. Pippa came out to view the source of the disturbance. Her hand went to her mouth in shock as she recognized Bags. That was my cue and I signalled to Bags and he immediately changed tunes.  

The strains of ‘Love Me Tender” began to emanate from Bags’ guitar and I stepped forward and started to sing the lyrics. Pippa turned toward me and now both of her hands were cupped at her mouth. My voice cracked but I kept on singing.

Just before the last lines of the song, Pippa held up her hand, gesturing me to stop.

“Jeff, stop. Whatever this is…whatever you think you’re doing…it’s not going to…”

“No Pippa,” I interrupted. “Let me finish.” I signalled Bags in off the street. We didn’t need to disrupt traffic for this next part. “First, I’m Pink. I’ve always been Pink. I always will be Pink. Pink is like the lyrics of this song. Pink is like being tender inside. Love me tender. Love me that way. I’m Pink. I’m in the pink. I’m just right. I’m just right for you. You’re right for me.”

“Listen Pink, then…” she tried to interject.

“No, you listen, Pippa Bailey. I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you and I told you that’s never going to change.” I dropped to one knee and held out the ring that Rhonda had given back to me and held up my other hand to show her the ring on the finger of my other hand; the ring Pippa had left in the envelope with her vows. “Now Bags!” I shouted.  

Bags stepped up and played the closing music of ‘Love Me Tender’ and I sang the lines with Bags chiming in on the vocals. “For my darling, I love you, and I always will”. We were no Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra but I think I made my point. The people in the street watching this spectacle began to cheer and applaud.

Pippa looked us both over and then placed her hands on my shoulders as I kneeled in front of her. Was she going to embrace me or try to shake some sense into me?  

“What I was trying to tell you Pink, was whatever this is…whatever you think you’re doing…it’s not going to be forgotten. It’s about damn time!” She moved her hands to the sides of my face and kneeled down and kissed me. The kiss at the All City and the one the following day at my locker had nothing on that new kiss.

After the kiss, I held out the ring again. I believed at that point it was just a formality but it was the closing gesture.

“Pippa Bailey, will you marry me?”

She began to cry but the words came clearly. “Pink, my answer has always been yes. I was just waiting for a moment like this. Yes, a thousand times yes.” She kissed me again and the crowd went wild. Bags began to play the wedding march and everyone laughed and then cheered and applauded some more.

I looked over again at Pippa lying next to me. There was a contented smile on her face but she was clearly asleep. I gently picked up Carlotta and held her in my arms while I walked around the room.

“I don’t know if your mother heard that last part but it’s okay because she was there and now you’re here and that’s all that matters.” I bent my head and kissed Carlotta on the forehead.

“You’re mother and I got married about a month later. It took a lot of planning and a lot of help from family and friends but we pulled it together.”

We wanted to get married in Peterborough and we didn’t want to wait. We knew that. We went back to our hometown to tell our families. Bags went back and told Connie. She was happy for us and even happier her husband hadn’t been arrested.

My parents were ecstatic. I think they had given up on me ever settling down. My mother acted as if she had never met Pippa before. I had my suspicions that she knew Pippa had been the girl my mother had insisted I invite over to our house. I also think she had some idea Pippa had been there more than once.  

My father was a man of few words. He congratulated me and kidded me about becoming a family man with his grandchildren to come in the future. I didn’t say anything about discouraging Rod and Rhonda from naming their next child after him and I certainly wasn’t going to suggest to Pippa that we hold the ‘George’ option open when we had children.

Rod and Rhonda were probably the happiest for us.

“I guess you found your answers Jeff,” Rhonda told me when Pippa and I visited her and Rod to break the news.

“With your help,” I said. I told Pippa I’d explain that comment later.

“Treat my little brother nice,” Rod said to Pippa. I think he was being serious. It was odd that my older brother was expressing thoughts of looking out for me. “He’s not that good of a catch but he’ll do in a pinch.” There was the Rod I’d been expecting.  

The next interaction was with Pippa’s mother and it was more confusing than anything else. Pippa had told me that she had mentioned me as someone she was involved with and would see occasionally. I don’t think she had told her mother that occasionally was only once a year. Now it was going to be every day and her mother was extremely happy for the both of us. She hugged me and kissed me and asked me to take good care of her daughter. If she had recognized me as Steve Wilson from that one time, she didn’t let on.

Trying to find a venue for our wedding in Peterborough on short notice proved to be difficult. We were into the summer months and every church and hall was booked. I honestly believed that our friends and family weren’t as shocked by the announcement we were going to be married but by our insistence that the wedding take place within a month’s time.

It was looking like we’d have to postpone our wedding to later in the summer or possibly in the fall but then Bags came to the rescue. He worked his magic and secured us a space on the main campus at Trent. There was a common greenspace between two buildings and Bags had secured permission for us to be married there. Chair and table rentals were quickly secured and Rhonda and Sandra pulled together the flowers and booked a caterer. We had a party tent supplier on standby in case the weather didn’t cooperate. We were lucky. The sun shone down on us and blessed us with a beautiful day.

Of course, Rhonda and Sandra had to be part of our wedding party and I had to have Bags and Rod. I had worried over which one to select as best man so in the end I chose to have two best mans or men or whatever. Rod stood next to me during the ceremony like I had for him to Rhonda, and Bags sat next to me at the head table during the reception. Pippa insisted on rounding out her bridesmaids with her friend Beth. That left me scrambling for a third but with Sandra already standing up for Pippa, it only made sense to include Ben.

When we had gone home to connect with family and friends, we had made a point to visit with Sandra and Ben to tell them the good news. I hadn’t seen either in a long time but they didn’t seem overly surprised to find out we had finally ended up together.

“You two were responsible for us coming together,” Sandra told us. “It only seems fitting that you two finally get united yourselves. Where are you going on your honeymoon, the drive-in?” We all laughed about that.

Ben pulled me aside later and shook my hand.

“I guess you finally won that race,” he observed.

“It was almost a photo finish,” I replied.

“What do you mean by that?” Ben asked.

“Bastien was leading around the last corner. I only just nosed him out in the end.”

Ben looked at me quizzically and I told him I’d fill him in some other time.  

It was true about Bastien. I’d almost lost again to him. Pippa had been seriously considering marrying Bastien. He’d always been her placeholder. She knew it had always been but she’d convinced herself it was never going to me. When Bastien proposed she asked for some time before answering. Another thing she tried to convince herself of was that she’d be happy to be married to him. My grand gesture convinced her otherwise.

I didn’t feel sorry for the guy. I didn’t even try. He’d had his chance. When Pippa called Bastien and told him she was going to marry me, he seemed to be okay with it. He even wished her well. We invited him to our wedding as a token of friendship and no hard feelings. He didn’t come. I felt no real loss and it prevented me from gloating and telling him I was the winner and he was the loser. I didn’t care about being mature.

I went back to Toronto to take care of some final details. I gave my notice to Merrivale. When Pippa asked me what I was going to work at in Peterborough I told her a teacher could teach anywhere; even in South Korea if he had a mind to. That was another thing I promised to explain to her someday. I realized between Ben and Pippa, I had lots of explaining to do in my future.

I gave notice on my apartment as well. I started to get rid of things. I gave away some things, donated others, and sold what I could. Everything I needed was in Peterborough. I kept some personal items, books, my coffee table, the coffeemaker, and the queen-sized bed. Pippa’s apartment was a little smaller but we’d make do.

When Pippa finally introduced me to Beth, I recognized her as the woman who had been in the store the day I serenaded and proposed. Pippa was trying to finalize Beth buying into the business. Pippa decided to keep the store but retained controlling interest. It meant she didn’t have to work as hard or as often and would have more time for me. I never got around to thanking Beth for that.

Although I helped with some of the details of our wedding, I wasn’t allowed any input into Pippa’s wedding dress or the colour scheme for the bridesmaids. Pippa told me that the men had to wear navy blue suits and she picked out the ties. These were yellow with small white flowers on them. The only other thing she insisted upon were crisp white shirts. I was excited to see what she had chosen for herself and her entourage.

The day of our wedding was bright and warm. I was glad we were outside. The folding chairs were filled with friends and family members. Even some of my colleagues from Merrivale had shown up. My old mentor, Bruce, was front and center seated next to my parents. Pippa could control anything else but I insisted on Bruce being given a prominent spot. He had always been like a wiser older brother to me and part of my success.

Bags had worked out another detail that had almost slipped my mind. Having an outdoor venue didn’t allow for a piano or organ so Bags brought his guitar. Standing on the other side of Rod, he began to play when the minister signalled we were ready to begin. Bags asserted he would not play the wedding march and that he’d given his one and only performance of that in front of Carlotta’s after Pippa accepted my proposal. Instead, we had worked out another exhibition and Bags started in on “Love Me Tender.”

Everyone rose to their feet when the music began and we all began to sing together on the lyrics as the bridesmaids and Pippa entered from a building off to the left. My heart stopped and so did my singing. She had outdone herself. She had flipped the whole tradition of a wedding gown and bridesmaids’ dresses on its head. The brides were all dressed in crisp white dresses that matched our shirts and each held a bouquet of yellow daffodils. As if that wasn’t significant enough, Pippa was wearing the daffodil yellow dress. It had been altered to make it a little fancier but it was the same dress she’d closeted since our last wedding attempt. She wore her hair down without a veil but atop her head was a crown of white daffodils with pink centers. I think a number of the guests stopped singing as well as they became awed by the spectacle.

Pippa’s mother walked her down the aisle and Pippa held a bouquet that matched the flowers in her hair. Her mother guided Pippa up to me and put her hand in mine. I grabbed her other hand and looked into her eyes. Everyone else stopped singing but Bags kept on playing as Pippa and I serenaded each other on the last line, ‘For My Darling, I Love You, And I Always Will’. That had been my idea and Pippa happily agreed. No cheering or applauding followed but there was many an audible sob heard from the gathered throng

The rest of the ceremony paled to the introduction but was beautiful nonetheless. The exchanging of our vows brought more tears to onlookers. Finally, after many years and a few tribulations, we read those words out loud to each other. I had known hers in advance after reading them from the envelope she had left with Rhonda. Mine were remembered by Pippa from my version of our story I had told her at The Old Grind. I didn’t need to rehearse mine. I’d never forgotten them.

We took pictures in the greenspace while the chairs were removed and the caterers set up for the dinner. There were speeches all around and laughs and tears and toasts to the happy couple. Bags told the story of us abandoning a bus late at night to look for the running girl. He toast his best friend and the running girl who had stopped long enough for me to catch up to her.  

The sun went down and the stars came out and there was music and dancing. The DJ played many an Elvis tune and Pippa and I danced to everyone. She even sang along into my ear on ‘You Were Always On Mind’. I’d never been happier. This was better than when it happened at Bags’ wedding. This time I was going home with the bride and she was going to stay.

I danced the customary dance with Pippa’s mother. She smiled and hugged me and kissed me and thanked me for a beautiful day and for making her beautiful daughter extremely happy.

“I don’t think I’ve properly welcomed you to the family,” she said as our dance ended. She leaned in and whispered, “welcome to the family, Steve.” She walked away giggling and I just stared after her and then burst out laughing myself.

Pippa and I began our married life after a brief honeymoon. I won’t tell you about that Carlotta but you’re in this next bit. It’s another one of my favourite parts.

I couldn’t find a teaching position that fall so I did supply work and built up a presence in Peterborough. When I wasn’t working or spending time with Pippa, I started writing our story. I already had the fictional ending and I decided to keep it in. The real ending was one I kept for Pippa and myself. Gradually, it all came together and reminiscences of acquiring the name Pink, almost getting shot on our film location, all of the racing and competitions and our budding on-again-off-again relationship went into the text. I even kept in the fictitious Carlotta Pink Bailey and Pippa giving birth to her in Quebec City. I polished and honed and spent the better part of a year finishing it. I gave it the title of ‘Pippa’s Passing’. Bags had suggested that as the title for my pub performance and somehow it still seemed appropriate.

Of course, no one wanted to publish it. I received standard replies to the effect of ‘not what we’re looking for” or “too episodic for our taste, or “good effort, best of luck in your future publishing endeavours.” I would have despaired if wasn’t for one smaller publisher who appeared to have read my entire manuscript and responded with kind words about the quality of the work and complimenting me on a unique and moving ending. Their only criticism was that it was a memoir and they didn’t publish memoirs. They also looked forward to receiving future submissions of my writing. That was something. Maybe this memoir, as they described it, was too personal for other people but they liked my style and there was that invitation to submit to them again in the future. Again, that was something. I wasn’t discouraged. I knew there would be more.

In my second year in Peterborough, I was offered a contract in an elementary school. My reputation had grown from work I had done there the previous year on a fill-in basis. They were also impressed with my Merrivale experience. I was a full-time teacher again and I was a writer with one unpublished book but with ideas for more. I was also a husband…a happy husband.

That fall, I became something else. I became an expectant father. I was over the moon. Only a little over a year earlier I had been a lost soul who thought he had lost the love of his life forever. I was really going to be that family man my father had referred to when I told him I was marrying Pippa. Recalling my father’s words I began to discuss names for our baby. Carlotta Pink was obvious. I didn’t think we could get away from it. If it was a girl it was always going to be Carlotta Pink. But what if it was a boy?

“How about Roger?” I asked of Pippa one evening. We’d been mulling over many names but the thought struck me and I had to suggest it.

“Pink, that’s beautiful. Roger. It’s perfect.”

“You wouldn’t settle for Roger George?” I asked. Rhonda had given birth the previous year to another girl and named her Jill after my mother. Maybe reviving the George option would be appropriate given I had killed him off at the beginning of ‘Pippa’s Passing.’

“Roger George Carter,” she mused. “I like it. I’ll take it into consideration.”

Of course, it was never going to be Roger George. Not at first. It was always going to be Carlotta Pink. “It was always going to be you.”

I looked down at our baby in my arms. Everyone knew we’d been expecting but we hadn’t notified anyone when Pippa went into labour. We’d have to tell friends and family sometime but again I realized at that moment there didn’t exist a need. My immediate future was this baby and my wife who lay sleeping in the bed.

“Carlotta Pink Carter, I’ve loved you and your mother since the first time I saw you both. Nothing’s ever going to change that.” I snuggled her and kissed her again. I walked her over to the bed and lay Carlotta next to Pippa. I put my hand on Pippa’s cheek and kissed her. I leaned in and whispered to her, “how do you like this ending?”