Our first stop is the Village Oven for a quick bite.
A cheese sandwich?A chocolate cookie?
Who am I kidding?
Ella watches me at the counter, waiting to see what comes out of my mouth.The moment she hears “chicken pie”, I hear her laughter.
“Last week you reminded me of how much I love it,” I tell her with a shrug.
She beams at me for a second longer than I expected, and my heartbeat quickens.
My dad engages in conversation with Miss Nour, who is equally delighted to meet him.She has never heard of him, but he has heard about Evermere and the people who were part of my life here.Because I’ve been sharing it with him, and because Ella had shared it with him before.
Ella and my dad exchange words and laughs at nearly every stop we make around Evermere together.He says he had imagined how the village would look, how the tall trees would define the main street, how the mountains that Ella described would be breathtaking to look at.Because he loved the stories that she had told him about this place.
Our last stop of the day is the beach.
We don’t take him to the one where Ella and I used to balance our feet between rocks and duck under fallen tree trunks to get there.
Instead, we take him to the one just a couple of beach entrances down, the one with actual parking spots and a wooden boardwalk over the sand.The one where Ella and I also used to go when we caught buses and didn’t have much time in our schedules for wild trails or adventurous detours.
It’s all the same crystal-blue ocean, the same towering green mountains wrapping around it.Just as breathtaking.
I park the car, and Ella and I help my dad back into his wheelchair.
“Here we are, Dad,” I say, steering his wheelchair onto the wooden walkway so that we can go closer to the sea.
We pass by a man struggling with a pop-up tent, moving his arms around, trying to fold it down, while his kid sits patiently in the sand, watching.I notice Ella’s eyes follow his movements for a moment.
“Excuse me for just a second,” she says to us, then walks over to the man.We stay back and wait for her.
She could not watch a stranger struggle to reach a higher shelf.
She could not ignore someone trying to carry a heavy suitcase down the bus steps.
She could not walk past someone looking lonely and desperate over a tent’s instructions.
“It’s much simpler than it looks!I really appreciate the help,” I hear the man say.
“Oh, no problem!I remember how much time I spent turning the tent around the first time I had to close one,” she says, as the man politely thanks her.
“I’m sorry,” she returns to us a few seconds later.
“No need to apologize, dear,” my dad replies kindly.
“My brothers used to have lots of camping pajama parties in our backyard,” she explains with a smile.
My dad chuckles.I’ve told him about Ella’s siblings.About how her family always welcomed me into their home, how it was never silent or boring there.About how her mother always smiled at every face that walked through the door and took them in under her roof.A lot like Miss Amara, who opened her arms to every soul she met.I’ve also told my dad a lot about her.
Ella got it from both of them.She got it in double.
I stare at her for a moment as we walk along the wooden boardwalk.Her eyes are on the blue horizon, a soft smile on her lips.
“It’s even more enchanting than I imagined it would be,” my dad says, again, because he had already said it on the drive through the green.
Ella catches my eye, her expression soft and full of something I can’t quite name.
I love that she’s loving watching my dad be in awe of every part of today.
