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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Epilogue - Risoluto
After the third encore, the audience was finally persuaded that the concert was over. It took some time for the auditorium to empty, but finally the cleaning staff could begin their work. At the stage door, a crowd waited expectantly for the star of the show. Eventually he appeared, a heavy coat over his tuxedo to block out the chilly winter wind. He signed autographs for those who wanted them and exchanged pleasantries with the members of the orchestra as they left the building, all heading for the shelter of their cars. Finally the crowd dispersed and the man was about to go back inside to the warmth of his dressing room when he felt the small arms clutching his leg.
"Well, my baby," he bent down and picked up the five-year-old girl, holding her firmly. "Did you have a good day?"
She nodded and giggled. "Yes, Daddy. Momma and me had a lot of fun."
"Momma and who?"
"'I' then, silly."
She tried to frown at him but he kissed her on the tip of her nose and she wriggled instead. He encased her in the folds of his coat and turned to find his wife leaning against the wall, some distance away. Walking over, he wrapped his arms around her for a moment before walking with the two of them through the door that led backstage.
The house in which they were staying was familiar to both Jarod and his wife and, as they stood on the balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean that night, both recalled the events that had drawn them together there.
"I'm impressed that your friend trusted us with this place again."
"We-ell," Jarod smiled. "I had to promise that he wouldn't come home to find bullet holes in the walls this time."
"And then to go off with his boat..."
"I returned that!" Jarod gave her a mock-glare. "Anyone would think that I was in the habit of taking things and not giving them back!"
"And who's to say you aren't?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me what?"
She placed both hands on her chest and gave him a look of mock innocence, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously.
"My heart."
Jarod rolled his eyes with a groan. "Oh, what a terrible cliché!" He gave a wicked chuckle. "That definitely deserves retribution."
"Oh, really?" She looked up at him. "I'm petrified."
He scooped her up his arms. "You should be," he lowered his face to whisper menacingly in her ear. "You should be absolutely beside yourself with terror."
His lips met hers and, as he carried her back inside, the sun slid below the horizon and night began to fall.
The book was so small that not many people took much interest in it. Only a few devotees of poetry bothered to pick it up but most who did were captivated by the verses that it contained. The poet was unknown but the man who, several weeks later, produced a book of musical accompaniments to the verses was a name that was recognized by many keen musical devotees. Those who had the opportunity of combining the two forms of art agreed that the verses gave some greater power to the music and that the notes emphasized the lines of verse. It would, however, have been a surprise to many to learn that the inspiration for both was a small girl who was the delight of her entire family.
Jarod was sitting in the corner of the sofa, his wife leaning against him and their child playing on the floor, when she sat up and looked up him. "Do you know what today is?"
"I haven't forgotten your birthday, have I?"
"No," she laughed. "But you have forgotten another important anniversary."
"Hmm," he sat up also and stared at the ceiling for a moment. "Our wedding anniversary was only last week, Louise's birthday is still six months away and the anniversary of our defeat of the Centre was only a month ago." He looked up at her in consternation. "What have I forgotten?"
She rolled her eyes. "And people say you're a genius!"
He grabbed her wrist, as she was about to get up, and kept her beside him. "No, you don't. You're going to tell me what important event I've forgotten."
She picked up the book of her poetry that sat on the table in front of them and, pulling her hand away, tossed it into its lap.
"You'll find it," she smiled as she picked up their daughter. "Just look hard."
He sat with the page open and stared out of the window, unable to believe his stupidity. How on earth could he have forgotten this day of all days? He looked up to find her standing in the doorway, watching him with a smile curving her lips and her arms folded.
"So," she teased. "Did the 'genius' remember?"
"The 'genius'," he responded in similar tones, "is considering never responding to that term ever again." He got up from the sofa and walked over to her, the book still clutched in his hand. As he wrapped his arms around her, he brought his lips close to her ear. "Forgive me?"
"Well, I don't know." She pulled away a little. "You'll have to earn it."
"Oh, no," he chuckled, his voice deep as he walked with her up the stairs. "I don't know if I can manage that." He paused as he pushed their bedroom door shut and he walked towards her, a smile on his lips. "But I can certainly try."
Several hours later, the small book lay forgotten on the floor, open at the page that he had been reading earlier. The poem that was written there was the shortest of the collection but one that was a favorite of both the author and her husband.
A kiss, that very softest touch of nature
Is something not restrained to humankind
The rosebuds kiss each other in the breezes
Their leaves tightly together sit entwined
A first kiss is still often best remembered
Between two small, shy children - girl and boy
Or so it was between us when we both were young
A memory of my life now filled with joy
The dates of such important and profound events
Should never be forgot on either side
The day, inscribed in gold in each one's book of life
Such as ours on each year's joyous Noel-tide
