Page 43 of Wrong Number, Right Unicorn

I laughed, and Errol hugged Grams.

“I guess that’s settled,” Grams said. “And your kids can go through the gate in the fence.”

Errol had done just that as a child when he played with Pat and Sandy’s children.

The next few weeks were filled with paperwork, contracts, inspections, and meetings with my bank manager. We’d put my house on the market and had two families who were interested. Errol’s had sold quickly, but I’d been hesitant to sell this one, just in case we needed it.

But we were stuck with clearing out decades of stuff I didn’t have the heart to toss out when my grandfather died.

“Look.” Errol held up an old newspaper clipping. “It’s your birth announcement.”

He kept that? It was pinned to a photo of him with my folks holding me as newborn, long before my parents and I became estranged. I vowed that I’d be the best parent I could be and keep my kids close for as long as possible.

“How do I get rid of any of this?” I picked up my first-grade report, pictures I’d drawn, and my grandfather’s commendation from the local neighborhood watch association. It was a life. No, two lives, his and mine.

“How about we take photos and you create a digital album? You can look at it whenever you want but you won’t be encumbered by all the stuff.”

I liked that idea, and I set to work, ordering paperwork into piles and taking photos. But I shed more than one tear as I placed paperwork in the trash.

Having sat on the floor most of the day sorting through memories, I was exhausted, and Errol suggested a break.

“How about we give your unicorn a treat?”

Ice cream, he shouted, making my ears ring. He’d developed an unhealthy desire for the creamy concoction which couldn’t have been good for his teeth.

“Such as?”

“We take him just outside town to the national park. It’d be a first.”

I’d been getting braver, giving my beast more freedom, but only just outside the orchard. We’d never been in the great big outdoors where wild beasts roamed except that one time at my parents’, but I’d had their beasts, who were much bigger than my unicorn, to protect us.

Please, please, please, he begged.

Okay, but the first sign of trouble and we’re back to the orchard.

Errol instructed me to leave everything where it was. “It’s not going anywhere.”

My hands trembled as I gripped the wheel, but my unicorn couldn’t contain his excitement. Even some shifters believed unicorns didn’t belong in the wild but on the pages of picture books or in a mural on a kid’s bedroom wall.

Errol held my hand as I emerged from the car. It was ironic that he as a human, who I’d always regarded as frail, was comforting me, the shifter.

“You’re going to do great.”

I got out a folding chair for my mate and undressed. My unicorn was bouncing around so much my heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t good. Maybe we shouldn’t shift. But I was looking for anyexcuse to cancel the outing. Instead, I had to gather my courage and alpha up.

Or unicorn up.

Taking his horn and hooves, my beast galloped through the trees, leaping over a fallen log, swerving around a clump of trees and hurdling a narrow stream. He skidded to a halt on discovering berries, allowing me to corral my thoughts.

The sounds of the forest—trickling water, trees rustling in the wind, rodents squeaking, and small mammals racing through the undergrowth—weren’t so scary when I examined them one by one. And the firm earth beneath our hooves, the sweet berries filling my beast’s mouth, and the scent of wildflowers—formed a backdrop to my unicorn’s and my enjoyment.

This was what he was supposed to do, not be cooped up in a man-made orchard.

When he’d feasted enough, we made our way back to my mate.

“How was it?” he asked as I dressed.

“Magnificent. And my unicorn thanks you.”

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