"She never told me."

"She never told me, either," Liz admitted. "When we were discussing having a baby before she got sick, I guess I never really focused on the cost. We do okay and we've saved a bit, but mostly I guess I always trusted that if Marge thought we could afford it, we could..." For a moment, her expression verged on desperation. "I can barely hold myself together. I told her that I didn't think I was capable of raising a child without her. She was always the more maternal one. And do you know what she said to that?"

I looked at her, waiting.

"She said that I was her inspiration and that any child that I raised would make the world a better place. And that if there's a heaven, she promised that she would watch over our child forever."

The following day, it was my turn to say goodbye.

When I arrived at the house, Marge was sleeping as usual. I stayed for a while, keeping an eye on the clock so as not to be late to pick up London from school, but before long the baby monitor in the kitchen crackled and both my mom and Liz hustled back to the bedroom. A few minutes later, my mom returned to the kitchen.

"Marge wants to see you," she said.

"How is she?"

"She seems pretty coherent, but you should probably head back now. Sometimes she starts to get confused, and doesn't stay awake long."

Observing my mom's steady demeanor, I could see that she was every bit as strong as my father, for she was bearing the unbearable, each and every day.

I held my mom for a moment, then walked down the hall to the bedroom. As on Valentine's Day, Marge was wearing a pretty scarf, and I guessed that she had asked Liz to put it on her before I came in.

I pulled a chair from the corner of the room and scooted it toward the bed. Liz backed out of the room as I reached for my sister's hand. It felt warm but lifeless in mine. Unmoving. I didn't know whether she could even feel it, but I squeezed it anyway.

"Hi, Sis," I said to her softly.

At my voice, she blinked, then struggled to clear her throat.

"Read," she said, the word coming out garbled.

It took a moment for me to understand what she meant, but then I spotted the envelope that Liz had placed on the bed stand, and I reached for it. Opening it, I pulled out the single sheet of paper, took a deep breath and began to read.

Marge, It's late at night, and I am struggling to find the words that I wish would come more easily. In truth, I'm not sure it's even possible to convey in words how much you've always meant to me. I could tell you that I love you, and that you're the greatest sister a guy could ever have; I could admit that I've always looked up to you. And yet, because I've said those things to you before, it feels painfully inadequate. How can I say goodbye to the best person I've ever known, in a way she truly deserves?

And then it occurred to me that all of what I need to say can be summed up in just two words.

Thank you.

Thank you for looking out for me all my life, for trying to protect me from my own mistakes, for being a living example of the courage I so desperately wish I owned. But most of all, thank you for showing me what it means to truly love, and be loved, in return.

You know me: the maestro of grand romantic gestures, of candlelit dinners and flowers on date night. But what I didn't understand until recently was that those tender, orchestrated moments mean nothing unless they occur with someone who loves you just the way you are.

For too long, I was in a relationship in which love always felt conditional I was forever trying, and failing, to become someone worthy of true love. But in thinking about you and Liz and the way you are with each other, it eventually dawned on me that acceptance is the heart of true love, not judgment. To be fully accepted by another, even in your weakest moment, is to finally feel at rest.

You and Liz are my heroes and my muses, because your love for each other has always made room for your differences and celebrated everything you had in common. And in these darkest hours, your example has been a light that helped me find my way back to the things that matter most. I only pray that someday I, too, will know the kind of love that you two share.

I love you, my sweet sister - Russ My hands shook as I refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. I didn't trust myself to speak, but Marge's wise gaze told me I didn't need to.

"Emily," she wheezed. "You... have... that... with... her."

"I love her," I agreed.

"Don't... let... her... go..."

"I won't."

"And... don't... cheat on... her... again..." and here she managed the ghost of a wicked smile, "or... at least... don't tell... her..."

I couldn't help but laugh. My sister, even at death's doorstep, hadn't changed a bit. "I won't."

It took her a little bit to catch her breath. "Mom and... Dad... need to... see London... Be part... of her life."

"They always will be. Just like Liz."

"Worried... for... them."

I thought of my mom and all the loved ones she'd lost; I thought of my dad, weeping in the car.

"Do... it."

"I will. I promise."

"Love... you."

I squeezed my sister's hand then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

"I love you more than you will ever know," I said. After offering a tender smile, she closed her eyes.

It was the last time I ever spoke to her.

My dad packed up his tool chest that night, and all of us kissed Liz goodbye. Now it was time for the two of them to be alone.

I don't know what, if anything, they said to each other over the next couple of days Liz never told us, other than to say that Marge enjoyed a day of surprising lucidity before she finally slipped into a coma. I am glad that Liz was there for that, and I pray that they both had a chance to say most of what was left to be said.

A day later, my sister died.

The funeral, at the gravesite, was a short affair. Marge had apparently given strict instructions to that effect, but the brief ceremony attracted dozens of mourners, all of them bundled up under the cold and gloomy sky.

I gave an abbreviated eulogy, of which I have little memory, other than that I spotted Vivian standing at the edge of the crowd, far from my family, Liz and Emily.

Prior to the funeral, London had asked if she could dance for her Auntie one last time. So after the mourners had dispersed, streaming away to their cars, I helped London attach her gauzy wings. With no music, and only me as an audience, London fluttered gracefully around the freshly turned earth, like a butterfly flitting in and out of the shadows.

This much I know: Marge would have loved it.

EPILOGUE.

At the park, I sit in the shade while London runs and climbs and plays on the swing. It's been hot the last couple of weeks and the air is so thick with humidity that I keep spare T-shirts in the trunk of my car to change into at times like this. They don't stay dry for long, but I suppose that's typical for late July.

In the past four months, the Phoenix Agency has signed three more legal firms as clients, and now represents firms in three different states. I've had to find a new office, and two months ago, I hired my first employees. Mark had two years' experience with an Internet marketing firm in Atlanta, and Tamara is a recent graduate from Clemson, with a degree in film. Both of them are "digital natives," and text using both their thumbs, as opposed to the hunt-and-peck method preferred by their boss. They're intelligent and eager to learn, and they've made it possible for me to spend time with London this summer.

Like last summer, my daughter is constantly on the go. Tennis, piano, and art, along with dance at a different studio, one run by an instructor who inspires hugs from the kids. I drive her to and from her activities, and work while she's busy; in the afternoons, we can often be found at the neighborhood pool or at the park, depending on her mood. It amazes me to see how much she's changed since our first summer together. She's taller and more confident, and when I'm driving her here and there, I can often hear her sounding out the words she sees on billboards.

My house isn't as large as my former home, but it's comfortable and both of Emily's paintings the one I'd bought at the show, and the one she'd painted of London and me grace the walls of the living room. Even though I've been living there since late May, there are still boxes I haven't yet unpacked, and I had to rent a storage unit for the furniture from my previous home that I no longer needed. I'll probably sell most of it eventually, but with all the recent changes in my life, I just haven't had the time. I'm still getting used to living in Atlanta, after all.

Vivian and I met the day after the funeral, and in less than an hour, we had worked everything out. Though I offered, she declined my offer of alimony, and as for the property settlement, she asked for only half of the equity in the house, savings, and investment accounts. She let me keep the funds in our joint retirement account, but then again, money for her was no longer the concern it once was. At that same meeting, she revealed that she was secretly engaged to Spannerman others would learn of it after our divorce was finalized and while I could have been hurt by that, I found to my surprise that it didn't bother me at all. I was in love with Emily, and like Vivian, I'd reached the point where I was ready for a new chapter in my life.

However, money had never been the real bone of contention between us custody was. So I was both relieved and a bit skeptical when she leaned over and said in an earnest voice, "I want to apologize for the letter my attorney sent." She placed a hand over her heart. "I was venting in her office, and didn't realize how my words would get twisted. I know you would never do anything inappropriate with London, and when I finally saw the letter my attorney had sent, I felt sick to my stomach." She sighed. "I can't imagine what you must have been thinking about me."

She closed her eyes, and in the moment, I chose to believe her. Part of me longed for that; I didn't want to think she had ever been capable of such things but the truth is, I'll never know how things actually transpired.

"When Marge asked to see me that night, she told me flat-out that London needed both of us, that I would be hurting London by pursuing sole custody. Needless to say, I was angry. At the time, I felt it was none of her business. But her words affected me more than I wanted to admit... and over time I began to realize that she might be right." On her wrist, she twisted a thin gold bracelet around and around.

"Whenever London came to Atlanta, all she did was talk about you. How much fun she had with you, the games you played together, the places you went." Her voice trembled. "I never wanted to take London from you. I just wanted her with me. So when Marge said you would move to Atlanta... I was floored. I never imagined that you'd leave Charlotte, or your parents. I always felt that you started your own business because you weren't serious about finding work in another city." At my protest, she held up a hand. "That's why I wanted sole custody in the first place. Because I love London, too, and only seeing her every other weekend was killing me. I guess I never believed that you would go to such lengths to remain in her life."

She looked directly at me. "You're a great father, Russ. I know that now. If you're willing to move to Atlanta like Marge said, and you want to split time with London, I think we can probably figure something out."

Which is exactly what we did. For starters, London was allowed to stay with me in Charlotte to finish out the school year; two days later, the moving van filled with our stuff rolled toward Atlanta. When Vivian travels which still keeps her out of town three or four nights a week London stays with me. I also have my daughter every other weekend, and London and I have a standing date night on those Fridays she's with me. To avoid a repeat of the past year, Vivian and I have decided to alternate holidays in the future. So I can still read bedtime stories to my daughter when she stays with her mom, I bought a mini iPad, and London props it against a pillow to see me via FaceTime. Even better, once school starts, I'll still be able to pick her up at school every day, and she'll stay with me until Vivian finishes at work. I'm assuming that means that London and I will have dinner sometimes; other times, London will have dinner with her mom; but I'm confident that Vivian and I will figure it out.

I find myself being thankful to Vivian for all those things, cognizant that in all the years I've known her, my ex-wife has never once failed to surprise me.

Even, sometimes, in good ways.

I dreaded telling Emily that I was moving.

Most people would applaud my decision to choose my daughter over a new romantic relationship, but I also knew that a woman like Emily comes along once in a lifetime. Charlotte and Atlanta were close enough for a short-term relationship, but could it really work in the long run? Like me, Emily had been born and raised in Charlotte and her parents and sister lived nearby. We hadn't been seeing each other for very long; to that point in our relationship, we hadn't so much as even kissed.

"You could do better than me," is how I began the conversation. There were smarter and kinder men, wealthier and better-looking suitors, I went on. When Emily interrupted me to ask what this was about, I spilled everything: my conversations with Marge; my meeting with Vivian the day after the funeral; the realization that I needed to move to Atlanta. For London. Could she forgive me?

Standing, she put her arms around me. We were in her kitchen at the time, and in that moment, my eyes flashed to her studio, where she was working on yet another painting. It was one she intended to give to Liz. As she'd done with the image of London and me, Emily was painting a version of the photo taken of Marge and Liz beneath the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

"I've known for a while that you were going to move to Atlanta," she whispered into my ear. "Marge told me when I went to see her. Why do you think I put my house up for sale?"

Emily and I now live less than a mile from each other. We're each renting for the time being, because we both know that it's only a matter of time before we start shopping for rings. There are those who might think it's too fast my divorce was finalized only three months ago but to this I would respond, How many people have the chance to marry their closest friend?

For London, knowing that Bodhi not only lives here but will go to the same school there's an excellent one nearby has made her transition that much easier. Right after I watched London zip down the slide, I glanced toward the parking lot and saw Emily pulling in. Bodhi jumped out and made a beeline toward London, and when Emily smiled and waved, I knew with certainty that my day had gotten a whole lot better.

And by the way, if anyone's interested: On Emily's first night in Atlanta she moved here a week after London and I did we celebrated with champagne and ended up in bed. Ever since, I've felt as if I've finally come home.

It hasn't been easy for my parents, or for Liz. On the weekends that Vivian has London, I make the drive to Charlotte, and I visit my parents. Liz is often there, and our conversations drift to Marge as a matter of course. These days, we no longer weep at the mention of Marge's name, but the aching emptiness remains. I'm not certain that any of us will ever completely fill the void.

Yet there are glimmers of hope.

When Liz and I were chatting last weekend, she asked me in an offhanded way whether I thought she was too old to become a single mother. When I assured her to the contrary she merely nodded. I didn't press her, but I could see that Marge's gift to Liz was already bearing the fruit of possibility.

Later that same afternoon, my dad mentioned that the owner of the plumbing company was running it into the ground and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to stick around to watch that happen. When my parents came to visit London and me in Atlanta earlier this week, I caught my mom looking through the real estate section of the newspaper.

As I mentioned before, my sister always had a plan.

As for me, Marge had known all along what I needed to do, and in the weeks following her funeral I often wondered why she hadn't simply told me to move to Atlanta instead of letting me fumble my way to the answer on my own.

Only recently did I figure out why she'd held back: After a lifetime of looking to her for guidance, she knew I needed to learn to trust my own judgment. She knew that her little brother needed just one more push to become the man she always knew I could be the man who finally had the confidence to act when it mattered most.

It was a year to remember and a year to forget, and I am not the man I was twelve months ago. In the end, I lost too much; the grief I feel about Marge is still too fresh. I will miss her always, and know that I couldn't have weathered the past year without her. Nor can I imagine who I'd be today without London, and whenever I look at Emily, I clearly envision a future with her at my side. Marge, Emily and London supported me when I needed it most, in ways that now seem almost preordained.

But here's the thing: With each of them, I was a different person. I was a brother and a father and a suitor, and I think to myself that these distinctions reflect one of life's universal truths. At any given time, I am not the whole me; I am but a partial version of myself and each version is slightly different from the others. But each of these versions of me, I now believe, has always had someone by his side. I'd survived the year because I'd been able to march two by two with those I loved the most, and though I've never admitted it to anyone, there are moments, even now, when I feel Marge walking beside me. I'll hear her whisper the answer when I'm confronted with a decision; I'll hear her urging me to lighten up when the world is weighing heavily on me. This is my secret. Or rather, it is our secret, and I think to myself that I've been lucky, for no one should ever be forced to march through life alone.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

There are always so many to thank in the aftermath of completing any novel.

My children, Miles, Ryan, Landon, Lexie and Savannah, who continue to inspire me.

Theresa Park, my agent, and Jamie Raab, my editor, have been by my side for twenty years, and I'm always grateful for their insights and efforts when it comes to making my novels as good as they can be.

At Park Literary + Media, the brilliant, resourceful and supremely capable team of Emily Sweet, Abby Koons, Alex Greene, Andrea Mai, Vanessa Martinez and Blair Wilson. They do for authors what no one else in the industry can, and I owe much of my success to their far-reaching efforts.

At United Talent Agency, Howie Sanders and Keya Khayatian have been my essential advisers, tireless advocates and creative brain trust for almost twenty years. They've seen me through many dramatic ups and downs, and their strategic brilliance and unflagging loyalty are unparalleled. I'll never be able to repay Larry Salz for all of his strenuous efforts on behalf of NSP TV, but I'm deeply grateful nonetheless. David Herrin will always be my guru and oracle when it comes to the business of data and social sentiment, a genius in his own right. Danny Hertz was indispensable to my team, and I wish him all best in his exciting new career.

Scott Schwimer, my indefatigable entertainment lawyer and friend, has been my sword and my shield for twenty years now. His personal loyalty and keen business sense go far beyond what anyone could expect from his lawyer; he's also been a patient, reassuring sounding board for me through all kinds of challenging situations.

My publicists Catherine Olim, Jill Fritzo and Michael Geiser have gone above and beyond the call of duty these past few years. No one could ask for more vigilant and talented representation in the world of PR their personal commitment and professional effectiveness have always amazed me.

LaQuishe "Q" Wright is the undisputed leader in her field of entertainment-related social media, and she never fails to wow me with her savvy and professionalism. Mollie Smith has also been a hugely valued member of my social media team, whose reliability, responsiveness and design sense continue to enhance everything I do.

At Hachette USA and UK, the team of people I have to thank is too numerous for me to cite in full, but I hope they know how much I appreciate the specific efforts of each of them. To name just a few: Arnaud Nourry.

Michael Pietsch.

Amanda Pritzker.

Beth DeGuzman Brian McLendon Anne Twomey.

Flamur "Flag" Tonuzi Claire Brown Chris Murphy Dave Epstein.

Tracy Dowd Caitlin Mulrooney-Lyski Matthew Ballast Maddie Caldwell Bob Castillo.

Kallie Shimek Ursula Mackenzie.

David Shelley Catherine Burke.

At Warner Bros. TV, I'd like to thank Peter Roth, Susan Rovner and Clancy Collins-White for their support and gracious professionalism. Likewise Stacey Levin, Erika McGrath and Corey Hanley for their efforts at NSP TV.