Epilogue
The summer night was balmy, the well-groomed garden lit with tasteful torches and filled with sparkling people.
Broc nursed a tumbler of overpriced whisky as he hid in the shadow of a hedge clipped in the shape of a hippo. There was a lion and a duck as well, but they were all smaller than his statue that hid under a huge sheet in the middle of the grounds.
He’d hated when the truck and crane had shown up to haul the finished piece away. Part of him hated it being done, part of him was glad, and—his foot tapped—a big part of him was nervous about what his spaceman would say when he saw the final sculpture.
Dawson, dressed in a tux, stood with Broc’s mum, near a fountain, both laughing over something. Probably him, but he didn’t mind. He had been so relieved that the most im
