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“It’sthis way,” he said quietly, pullingHazeldown a narrower path toward an area beneath a tall, skinny birch.Hehadn’t been back here since the day of the funeral, but he still remembered exactly where his father’s grave was.
Overthe past few days, he’d had a growing sense of unrest.NotoverHazel, and not over the book, which was still going well despiteSeth’sreservations.Hewas writing again, and no matter what ended up happening with the book, if it ever saw the light of day or not, he’d always be grateful for the project that brought him back to himself, and for the woman behind it.
Butnow, feeling more settled in himself than he had in a long time, he knew there was something he needed to do.Aloss he needed to face.Toaccept, as hard as that was.
Theleaves above the area whereJohnShephardlay were a vibrant orange, rippling softly in the breeze.Hefound the stone easily, large and a dove gray color with a photograph ofJohnin a round frame at the top.Adam’sbreath stuck in his lungs as he took it in.Thelast time he’d been here, everything had been unsettled, with piles of dirt and disturbed lawn.Today, everything looked orderly and peaceful, and it hit him just how long his father had been gone.Twoyears had gone by slowly and all at once, it seemed.
Hecleared his throat around the lump of emotion lodged there. “Herehe is,” he said, gesturing at the headstone that read “JohnShephard, 1959-2021.Belovedhusband, adored father, and a pillar of the community.Rememberedwith love and never forgotten.”
Heinhaled a shaky breath, eyes stinging as he stared at the epitaph, simple and true.Asense of loss washed over him, so intense it nearly knocked him over, and as though she could sense what he needed,Hazelslipped her arm around his waist, holding him tight.
“Hewas the best,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Hetaught me everything.Howto ride a bike.Howto chop wood.Howto be a useful part of the community.Howto be a man, and not in any macho bullshit sense.Howto love and be loved and look after the people around you.Healways looked after everyone.”Hisvoice wobbled on the last word, and he cleared his throat. “Andno one supported me more in my writing than he did.Whenthe firstRobertBradybook came out, he kept an entire box of them in the trunk of his car so he could pass them out to anyone he happened to meet.”
“Hesounds amazing,”Hazelsaid, squeezing him tight. “IwishIcould’ve met him.”
“Metoo, sweetheart.Hewould’ve loved you.”
Theword hung in the air, bright and shimmering, and she snuggled into him. “Hewas handsome, like you,” she said.
“Andhe was funny.Hehad this loud, deep voice that you swore you could hear from halfway across town.Hewas a maniac for holidays, likeHalloweenandChristmas.Alwayswent all out decorating the house.Noone loved a turkey dinner like he did.Whenhe—”Hecleared his throat again.Griefand loss were pulling at him, but the words were flowing out of him like water. “Whenhe died, we did a turkey dinner for his wake.”
“Itwas sudden, right?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Hewas on the porch, drinking his morning coffee, like always.Hehad a massive heart attack and he was gone.Momfound him less than ten minutes later.”Heshook his head. “Ihope he wasn’t scared or in pain, not that anything ever seemed to scare him.JohnShephardwas a man who faced life head on, no matter what.Hewas the life of the party and a shoulder to lean on for anyone who needed it.Andhe was smart.God, was he smart.Healways knew what to do or what to say.Whenhe died,Ifelt likeI’dlost myNorthStar.”
“He’sstill with you,”Hazelwhispered, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “Youjust have to look for him in different places.”
Hesighed. “Maybe.Yeah.”Fora long time,Adamhad been certain that there was no such thing as ghosts or legends or magic.Thatit was all the stuff of fairy tales andDisneymovies.Butnow, knowingHazelhad gone to the falls and wished for her true love only for him to literally be smacked in the head with awareness of her the very next day…Hazelfelt like magic.Writingagain felt like magic, too.Andif those were real, maybe the other things were real, too.
Theystood in silence for a moment, and thenHazelrubbed his arm affectionately. “HowaboutIgive you some time?I’llgo for a little walk and meet you back at the car when you’re ready.”
Henodded, and she rose up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.Asshe walked away the wind whipped up, swirling orange and yellow leaves around her legs, andAdamalmost jumped out of his skin at the deep, familiar voice that seemed to speak right into his ear.
Oh,Ilike her.Youkeep her around.
Anothergust of wind kicked up, bringing with it the scent of evergreen and woodsmoke.Thescents he associated most with his father, andAdamsmiled, fighting back tears.Slowly, he sat down on the cold grass, leaning back against a huge pine that sat across from his father’s grave.Hepicked up a pinecone that lay near his leg, rolling it around in his hand, and a sense of peace came over him.Itfelt almost tangible, like someone laying a blanket over him.Warmand comforting.
“I’msorry it’s taken me so long to come here,” he said, bracing his arms on his bent knees, the pinecone dangling from his fingers. “Iknow almost everyone else has been to visit except me.Ijust couldn’t…Ididn’t want to face it.”Hesighed. “Iknow,Iknow.Ican hear you telling me thatIhave to feel it to heal it.Ithink you got that fromOprah.So,IguessI’mfeeling it now, because fuck, doImiss you.”Hisvoice came out raw and he didn’t fight back the tears that wanted to fall. “Apart of me was so damn angry.Angryat you for leaving, angry that it happened so suddenly, angry thatIhad to figure out everything without you.I’mnot angry anymore.ButIdon’t thinkI’llever stop missing you.”
Hetook a minute to catch his breath and stem the tears. “Mom’sgood.Autumn’sa pain in the ass, as usual, butIcouldn’t run the inn without her.Jack’s…figuring stuff out.You’dbe proud of the father he is.Oliver’sstill teaching, and people are starting to notice his art.Heworks really hard at it.Ifyou seeDrewwherever you are, tell him we all say hi.”DrewwasOliver’sbest friend who’d died from colon cancer about a year ago.God, he’d lost his best friend and his father within a twelve-month span,Adamrealized.He’dalways known that, but the magnitude ofOliver’slosses was hitting him in that moment.He’dbeen so stuck in his own grief, in his own head, that he probably hadn’t been there forOliverthe way he should’ve been.He’dhave to make up for that.
“Beckett’sworking atPourDecisions, having fun.AndFinn…you probably know this, but after you died,Finnleft.Hetook off with his computer and his cameras and he hasn’t been home since.Heleft us behind, and he leftSiennabehind.Wekeep up with him through hisYouTubechannel, but…Idon’t think he’s okay.We’reall just giving him space for now, butIthinkMom’sgoing to lose her patience with it soon.”
Thewords flowed out of him as he talked about the few changes he’d made at the inn, like the new furniture for the terrace off of the sunroom, the revamped menu in the restaurant,Autumn’smonthly tours to the falls, the interesting guests they’d had. “ButIhaven’t changed much, because not much needs changing.Itwas perfect the way you had it, minus that horrible, glitchy software you insisted on using.That’slong gone and good riddance.”Hechuckled softly, feeling lighter as he spoke.Wishinghe’d done this a year ago, all the while knowing he hadn’t been ready.
“Asfor me,I’mwriting again, whichIthink would make you happy, but that’s not whyI’mdoing it.I’mdoing it because it makes me happy.Ifeel most like myself whenI’mwriting.Butno matter what happens,I’mnot giving up the inn.Beingthere makes me feel close to you.Isee reminders of you everywhere, and that was really painful for a long time.ButnowI’mglad they’re there.Theinn was a part of you, and it’s a part of me.”
Thewind picked up again, gusting in the trees, shaking the branches and showering leaves down onto the cemetery below.Itfelt like being in a snow globe made of leaves, all swirling beauty.Andthen he heard the voice again.
Tellme about her.
Adaminhaled in surprise and the scent of evergreen was so strong it was almost astringent, filling his lungs with its sharp scent.Asmile played across his lips.
“Hername’sHazelWoodwardand she’s a guest at the hotel.Atleast, she was.That’show we met.She’san author from the city, and we’re co-writing a book.I’mpretty sureI’min love with her, butIcan’t say anything yet because it’s only been a couple of weeks, and we haven’t talked about the future.But…”Hetossed the pinecone up in the air, catching it easily. “Ithink she’s it for me,Dad.Iwish you could’ve met her.She’ssmart and funny and loves books and writing as much asIdo.She’ssweet and kind.Andshe’s so beautiful it makes my heart stop every time she comes in the room.I’venever felt like this before.”Hechuckled to himself. “Autumntook her to the falls her first night here.Therewas a full moon, so they did the whole ‘kissed by the mist’ thing, and nowAutumn’sconvincedHazel’smy soulmate.”Theword was like honey on his tongue, sticky and unexpectedly sweet. “Shemight be right.”
Thewind blew, stripping leaves from trees, andAdamwas sure he heard his father’s laugh in the whistling air around him.Hisfather had always believed in the magic of the falls, the ghosts at the inn, and that there was more to life beyond what a person could see with the naked eye.
Adamwas starting to think he believed, too.
