Chapter 22

I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. Mom was leaving us.

She visited in my dreams, smiling as she patted my cheek. “Don’t be sad, my son. I would have left sooner, but I had to see my namesake before I left. It’s time, I’ve fulfilled my wish, seeing a Merchant in our home again. Remember, even though I’m leaving this house, I’ll always watch over you. I’ll be the breeze across your cheek, the sun on your face. I think I loved you and Jen as much as I loved any of my sons. Think fondly of me, tell your daughter of the legacy she has to uphold.”

She visited the rest of the family, appearing in Sandy’s dorm room, Lindsey’s dreams, to Grace as she slept, still holding the teddy bear she had given her. Shaggy, Christy, and Jim all got goodbye visits, as well as their daughter.

Instinctively, we all gathered one Saturday afternoon, the whole crowd looking up at her portrait, tears flowing from all. We could all hear her in our heads as she said her final farewells, and we watched as the life left the eyes of the portrait.

We all mourned her, me especially. I woke to the sound of my baby’s cries on the monitor, and not waking Jen, I got her up, fixed her bottle, and walked her around until she burped, before taking her to bed with us. I stopped in front of the portrait.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Mom, but thank you again. You helped a lonely vet and a beautiful girl live a wonderful life. Even without the money, we would have always loved you. This child,” I said, holding A. J. up to her, “will grow up hearing the stories of your life and legacies. I hope I live long enough to see that happen, that she becomes a woman of integrity and wisdom, just like her mother and grandmother. Goodnight, Mom.”

For a fleeting second, I thought she was there, but it faded.

Epilogue

Oh! I almost forgot to tell you what we found in the third bay of our garage, when we finally got around to cleaning it years later. The prerequisite junk, of course, but three feet back was a tarp. Under the tarp, in almost pristine condition, was a 1960 Lincoln convertible, the largest American production car ever made. It was the last automobile Miss Agnes owned. We rolled it out, had the engine redone, waxed the body and buffed the leather interior until it looked and ran like it just rolled off the production line.

It scares the heck out of me, but Jen and Linds loved the thing, driving it in parades and showing it at car shows and street festivals. They drove it under our company banner, and there was usually three to six children, our children and later our grandchildren, sitting in the back, dressed to the nines, waving and throwing massive amounts of candy. We had set up a charitable foundation, The Merchant-Graham Organization, named for Miss Agnes and Gram, and funded it with seventy-five per cent of our wealth. Lindsey, Christy, and Jen ran it, and when Sandy graduated top of her class, going on to get her MBA at Wharton and her PhD at Oxford, they hired her and after four years turned it over to her and retired. There was a major uproar in the golf world when she decided not to go pro. Shaggy, Jim, and I spend a lot of time on the golf course, though, but our combined scores on just the front nine would be two weeks worth of play for her. Still, it’s a lot of fun to watch her when she enters local tournaments.

We contacted an artist famous for his portraits, and gave him a commission to paint exact reproductions of Miss Agnes. One resides in every home of what we considered her ‘children’. Shaggy, Jim, and Lindsey have it hanging prominently in their houses, and their children have long ago gotten over their custom of talking to it when they had a weighty decision to make. Some have even taken up the habit.

A man once said that you are only truly dead when the last person who remembers you passes. If that’s true, Miss Agnes will live on, for a very, very, long time. I couldn’t be prouder.