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“Just in my head a bit about the festival.” We’d talked about this several times since the invitation to be grand marshal had come in.

“I understand.” Mom’s voice shifted to the soothing tone she’d used anytime I was stressed. “Remember, you’re loved here and people want to honor your hockey accomplishments and all you contribute to this community. Just take it all one step at a time and remember to breathe. And try to have some fun with it. It is Pride after all.”

“You always know just what to say. Will I see you before the festival meeting tonight?”

“We’re headed to the theater since some of the performers arrive today,” Mom said. “Drop by if you’ve got time. Otherwise we’ll see you tonight.”

“Will do. Love you both.”

“Love you too,” she said back.

I disconnected the call and headed back to the house.

Beyond my anxiety about the festival activities, it was the first time since high school I was going to be around Andre Thompson for more than a nod of acknowledgment.

The difficult dynamics between us had started back then. He’d had a fiery enthusiasm, rallying the student body to show its school spirit or to get behind causes. In his world, everyone had to be involved. He hadn’t hidden his frustration that I never took part.

I’d wanted to help Andre so many times, but I couldn’t make the commitment between studies and practice.

Having to work with him during the festival was weighing on me more than any other aspect of the weekend.

In the house Nicolas stood at the large windows, taking in everything.

“Sorry I was gone for longer than I expected.” I joined him at the windows.

“No problem. Ms. Easton finalized everything and I left your stack of papers on the table. And these are yours.” He handed me four keys. “The alarm code is with the contracts too.”

“Thanks.” Something caught my eye out in the woods. I focused deep into the trees at a cut tree stump. A brown, red, and orange painted bowl was on top of it. “Is that what I think it is?” I pointed to where I was looking.

Nicolas grinned and nodded. “Yup. It’s still there.”

“Oh, wow. We built that when I was”—I had to think a moment—“ten?”

“Sounds about right.”

Nicolas, our friend Liam, Nicolas’s dad, and I had built a place for Mabel’s food. Mabel was a legend in these parts. No one had ever captured actual evidence of the cryptid, but the Montgomerys believed.

So did I after Nicolas’s dad told a story about Mabel one night we were all camping in the woods. I was pretty sure I’d caught glimpses of her three times on visits.

“I went and filled the bowl this morning,” Nicolas said. “We’ve been paying Tommy Harrington to bring food every couple of weeks. Dad wanted to keep Mabel happy, even though we weren’t here.”

“I’ll continue that tradition. Make sure to stay in her good graces.”

“Right? Don’t want an angry Mabel on your hands.” Nicolas knocked into my shoulder and smirked at me.

“How long are you staying in town?” I asked.

“Headed home after a breakfast meeting with the banker.”

I nodded. “Coming back for Pride?”

“I’m bummed to miss out, but Angel has a lot going on for Boston Pride, and I need to be there for him.”

“You’ll be missed. Say hi to Angel and your dad for me.”

“I’ll do that.” He looked at his watch. “I should get going.”

I followed him across the room to the foyer. I hadn’t noticed when I came back in that he’d put a backpack and a duffel by the door.