I had grandkids now, several of them. Georgia and I had welcomed two more daughters—no sons after Eli—and all our girls were married and gone, raising kids of their own. Tag’s boy Mo went into the marines and eventually got into politics. He looked just like his dad, big and green-eyed with his dimpled smile and a helluva chin. But he listened like his mother, worked like her too, and thanks to Henry had a brain like an encyclopedia when it came to the details. Senator David Moses Taggert was a force to be reckoned with, and people had started throwing his name around as a possible presidential candidate. I just shook my head at that and hoped nobody would come sniffing around Levan, trying to dig up dirt on his family and friends. I liked the quiet.
I breathed in deep, filling my lungs with the silence and the sweet air, and stooped to pull a weed, clearing the intruder from my precious cluster of stones. When I straightened, I caught movement from the corner of my eye and turned to find Tag striding toward me, his shoulders as broad as ever, his back as straight, his smile as wide. His name rose to my lips and my heart lifted in greeting, welcoming my old friend. It had been a while, and I had missed him.