Page 57 of Love Again

“At least we can work together.”

Her phone buzzes and there’s a text from Laurel. Devon reads it out loud:

Come up to the cottage for dinner tonight? We’ll meet you halfway up the trail.

She sits for a moment.

“What’s with the nonresponse?”

“I’m worried Laurel is trying to—oh, never mind. Let’s go.” She texts something back. Reaching over, she feels the collar of my suit. “You’ve been in that heavy, damp suit all day. Let’s stop at Keller’s and you can grab some clothes before we head home.”

I’m suddenly left with a lightness in my chest. She said “home.” More than anything else she’s said since my return, this gives me hope.

΅

The walk up the side of the mountain to Laurel and Mateus’s cottage is gorgeous. I brought clothes to Devon’s, then showered and changed there. I’d been in clothes both too wet and for too long, and in cold weather. Keller would kill me.

Devon and Mateus walk ahead, and I’m amazed at how well he does with his prosthetic. The guy has no limp. Other than swinging his left leg out slightly to avoid high roots or stones, there’s nothing that would clue someone in. Plus, I’ve worked out with him and he is powerful with great flexibility. I had two friends lose their leg, one to diabetes and one to an accident, and I admit, I had no idea anyone could be this fit after suffering such loss.

Laurel is a sweetheart and Cory is adorable. He trudges between the two sets of grown-ups, running up and down the trail, finding “treasures.”

“Aunty Chloe told me to look for troll food,” he says, dancing along the trail and pocketing light green bits of lichen and moss.

Laurel laughs. “What did Aunt Chloe say they eat?”

“This,” he says triumphantly, holding up another very light-green piece of lichen in one hand and a bright red berry in the other.

“You sure that’s what they eat?”

He shakes his head and looks at the treasures in his hands. “She says they’re vegetablerins,” he says knowledgeably, nodding his head.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a small, plastic specimen bottle. “Do you want to keep them in here?” I say. He runs up and then stops about five feet short of me. I unscrew the lid and reach out to hand it to him, and he takes a couple of steps closer.

“What do you need to tell Luke?”

“That I’m feeding the trolls?” His tone is hopeful.

“No, you need to tell him something else. Can you remember? If not, I will remind you.” Laurel’s tone, neither judgmental nor expectant, is merely informative.

“Oh! Thank you,” he says as if from a script. But it’s a good script, and it will serve him well.

“You are very welcome,” I say, thinking that the exchange is over. But Cory trips over one word.

“Why is it very?” he asks.

I’m caught off guard and a little bewildered.

Laurel comes to the rescue. “Luke means he’s extra glad he could help you.”

“Okay,” says Cory, clearly not quite understanding his mother either but also perceiving that this line of questioning isn’t going to reveal any digestible answers.

“He’s amazing,” I say, watching Cory run up ahead.

“He’s a good little boy,” says Laurel. “He’s been helping Grandpa Andy most of the day. He’s putting in an aquaponic fish-pool thing. Cory is going to sleep hard tonight.”

Devon and Mateus disappear over the edge of a manicured hill where a lawn begins. A post marks the top of the trail. As I hike up, a palatial home appears, tastefully done with beautiful gardens. It’s a three-story structure with columns in the front. It isn’t ostentatious. It’s homey, with clean lines and a sense of security.

“My God, this is gorgeous,” I say.