The day was beautiful, bright, and sunny, the white clouds like cotton candy in the sky. The flowers waved beneath their feet, the petals drifting gently into the ocean. The air smelled of sea salt, and of chocolate, which Charlie was eating.
"By the sea," Charlie's mum sang cheerfully. "That's the lovely thing about private beaches."
"It's really worth the two hours of walking," Willy told her, dropping the picnic basket with a THUD.
Mr. Bucket emerged panting from the trees, pushing Charlie's wheelchair before him. Grandpa Joe was bounding along beside him, looking very frisky. "Keep an eye out for seashells, Charlie."
Charlie's eyes were instead fixed upon his little raspberry kite, which hadn't managed to rise more than five feet off the ground. Grandma Georgina was pointing at it, clapping with delight.
"Come and sit down, everyone," Mrs. Bucket called. Willy opened the picnic basket and pulled out a large bar of chocolate, only slightly melted from the sun. Turning around, he found himself facing Wilbur.
"Chocolate?" Willy asked brightly.
Wilbur gave him a frosty look. "Cavities."
He began to turn away, but Willy caught hold of his wrist.
"Dad. I'm going to come live near you."
That got his attention. No waiting for a reply, Willy plowed on.
"I need to be with you, ok? I can visit more often. We can work things out."
"You have your factory..."
Willy tilted his head towards Charlie, who was carefully holding the kite up to the wind. "Once he's healed, he can have it all. He is my heir."
"But—"
"I don't need the factory." Willy said, voice shaking. He sighed. "I do need it. But I'll give it up if it'll fix things."
"Willy?"
"Y-Yes?"
Looking heavily regretful, Wilbur took the bar of chocolate and bit into it. He choked.
"Dad, you're supposed to take the wrapper off."
"I can just feel my teeth rotting." Wilbur swallowed, wrapper and all, and said gently, "Willy. Don't leave your factory."
Willy's outstretched hand dropped to his side.
"He needs you to teach him." Wilbur put his hand on Willy's shoulder. "Don't make the same mistakes I did. Go. Be what you were meant to be."
"You'll come for dinner on Sunday?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world."
There were shouts of glee as the kite took off, soaring up into the air. Willy and Wilbur moved to watch it, standing side by side.
Charlie took Willy's hand.
Willy took Wilbur's.
And they all stood together, old and young, dentist, chocolatier, grandparent, mother, father, son, heir—all bound by the same thread of caramel coloured fate.
Because, my dear children, everything has something they were meant to be, but we are all, as one, the dreamers of the impossible.
THE END