Page 37 of Trick or Treat with the Mountain Man
Tyler rumbled, “Are you ready, girl?”
I nodded. “I sure am. Let’s go home.”
Two years later.
Tyler.
Baby Portia was cooing on my hip.
Ava and Abby had run up ahead, leaving Silas and me behind.
In the long run, Ava and I had gotten married. We’d had a tiny ceremony out at the Little Pink Wedding Chapel, a place some of her friends owned.
Ava had refrained from inviting the whole town on my account. It had been a simple wedding, with her friend Becky officiating the ceremony.
In my eyes, it had been perfect. Then nine months later, like clockwork, she’d spit out our little one.
She’d insisted on the name Portia after some Roman ancestors in her family tree from a bazillion years ago. So, I’d insisted on the name Bella as her middle name. So she could PortiaBella.Almostlike the mushroom.
Somehow, Ava had let me get away with that.
Portia completed us. Completedme.
I’d never known what fatherhood would do to a man.
It had been bad enough, loving Ava so hard it hurt. Then Portia came along, and I couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. Withouteitherof them in it.
But I was getting distracted.
Silas grunted, “You ready?”
“Not yet. You go on ahead. I’d like a minute out here to see if Cordelia comes back.”
She’d been quiet ever since they’d moved her remains to Saint Louis.
Silas said, “You know… I haven’t mentioned this to Abby. But Cordelia comes back every Halloween. I think she just comes to say hi. The rest of the year I don’t sense her at all.”
A big smile spread across my face. “Maybe next Halloween I can come visit and chat with her, too.”
Silas nodded. “Yup.”
Then he grunted and headed back over to the main house.
I sat down on the couch with Portia in my lap and looked around. It was still my old couch, even though it was Silas’ couch now.
He’d converted the old place into an art space, like he’d said he would. There was room for an artist to sleep, eat, shower, and create. And the space was quiet for them.
Or…quiet enough.
The walls weren’t lined with art, though. Instead, there were reproduction prints of photographs covering the walls. All the photos were of Cordelia, Orson, Wallace, and their kin.
Silas had even printed up a living history of their story so everyone who visited knew all about Cordelia and her tale.
It felt right somehow.
I sat out there for a long time, having a one-sided conversation with Cordelia, although I wasn’t sure if she heard me.
Then, Ava showed back up, wandering in like a spring breeze.
