"I'm going to need to find a job in Silver Ridge," I say.
"What do you do, anyway?"
"Marketing. Freelance mostly. I can do it from anywhere."
"There's a woman who runs the festival promotion," he says. "She's been doing it herself for twelve years and she's been looking for help since spring."
I lift my head and look at him in the dark. "You can't know that."
"I run the festival. Of course I know that."
I put my head back down. He pulls me closer.
"I'll introduce you Monday," he says.
"I haven't officially decided yet."
"You said you're staying."
"I said I'm staying. I'm also making you work for it."
A pause. Then: "Fair enough."
Colm
One Year Later
Macieisonthekitchen floor arguing with the dog.
The dog is a large, unhelpful shepherd mix named Spruce, who came from a logger last March and immediately understood that his job was to eat dropped food and be adored by a toddler — is sitting in front of her with his ears up, listening with what appears to be genuine interest.
"Spruce," Macie says, very seriously. "The bear goeshere."
She places the wooden bear on the floor between them. Spruce sniffs it. Macie points at him.
"No."
Spruce sits back. Satisfied, Macie moves the bear to a slightly different position.
I'm at the counter with my coffee, watching this negotiation. The bear goes everywhere. It went to daycare until the daycare asked us very politely if it could stay in Macie's bag, and it goes to Juniper's Diner, and it went to the clinic last month when Milahad her twelve-week appointment and Macie sat in my lap and held it the entire time and occasionally offered it to the doctor.
The twelve-week appointment. I am still not done with how that felt.
Mila comes out of the bedroom in yesterday's sweater with her hair loose, carrying her boots because she never puts them on until the last possible second. She's moving slower this week than last —first trimester is just more this time,she told me, and I saidokayand went away and read approximately forty articles about it and have been keeping my opinions to myself, which she would describe as personal growth.
"Fest day," Macie announces from the floor.
"Festival day," Mila agrees, sitting down on the bench by the door to put her boots on. "Shoes, Macie."
Macie picks up the bear and stands. She looks at Spruce. "You stay," she tells him. "Guard the rocks."
There is a small collection of rocks on the windowsill that Macie has been assembling since August. Spruce has never once shown interest in the rocks. Macie instructs him to guard them every time we leave.
Spruce puts his chin on the floor.
"Good boy," she says, and goes to find her shoes.
Mila looks at me over her boot lace. "She promoted him to head of security."
