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As if on cue, there’s a knock on the front door. When I let Evan and Dante inside, Evan immediately shoves another Yule log cake into my arms.
“I feel like we never got to enjoy it the first time,” he explains.
I smile and lead them into the kitchen before pouring each a cup of coffee.
Once everyone is settled with their coffee and cake, we gather around the massive Christmas tree that dominates the living room. The mantle is decorated with stockings and holly. Eleanor sits on the ottoman, her hands resting on her belly, while Dante and Evan take the velvet couch. I drag the armchair across the room for my mother and perch on the ottoman next to Eleanor.
We take turns displaying the gifts we got for each other with a chorus of delighted oohs and ahhs—crumpled-up pieces of wrapping paper litter the ground.
Eleanor got my mother a vintage brooch with real jade. My mother knit us both baby blankets and booties. Dante and Eleanor got each other matching EVP readers. Eleanor got Evan a first edition of Shirley Jackson’sThe Haunting of Hill House.
“I get that it’s a little on the nose,” Eleanor says sheepishly.
Evan shakes his head and clutches the book to his chest. “It’s perfect.
“Shall we start cleaning up?” My mother suggests.
“Not yet. I still have one more present for Eleanor,” I say. I feel around for the tiny velvet box in the pocket of my pajama pants. I cross the room and kneel on one knee before her. She gasps as I fish the box out of my pocket.
“Eleanor, I know we’ve only known each other for a few months, but I think it’s safe to say that we’ve been through what constitutes a lifetime for most couples. You make me a better person. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“Yes!” Eleanor gushes launches herself off the ottoman and flings her arms around my neck. We passionately kiss together as I slip the ring onto her finger. It belonged to my grandmother. The band is a series of intricate yellow diamonds. Eleanor rotates her hand, watching the diamonds dance in the light.
“What a rock!” Dante hoots. Everyone laughs, and for the first time in a long time, Idylewylde Hall is full of love.
Epilogue
Eleanor
OneYearLater
When the doorbell rings, reverberating throughout the house, I answer the door with a baby on each hip.
“Come in,” I insist as Joseph Jr. tugs on my hair. He’s got Joseph’s eyes, my bright red hair, and an adorable cowlick. His sister, Adelaide, hides her head in the crook of my shoulder and clutches a handful of my shirt in her fist. She’s got dark hair and blue eyes. Once Iphigenia broke out an old family photo album, we discovered that she looked just like Iphigenia when she was a baby.
“You’re Eleanor, right?” A tall blonde woman wearing a red windbreaker and jeans asks. Her hair is cropped close to her scalp, and she’s got a narrow face with an aquiline nose. Behind her, a man and a woman glance around the porch, taking in the sconces and the new landscaping. The man’s wearing a Seattle Mariner’s baseball cap, dark jeans, and a hoodie. He’s carrying a camera bag in his right hand.
“Correct! I believe we’ve been emailing. You’re Jen, right?”
“Yep, and this is Spencer,” she points to the man, “And Sydney. They’re my assistant producers.” Sydney looks to be in her early twenties. She’s got wide brown eyes and a square face framed by a blunt bob. She fidgets with the hem of her oversized sweater as Spencer and Jen walk into the foyer.
“Did you find the place okay?” I ask as everyone takes off their shoes.
“Well, the ferry certainly threw us for a loop,” Jen says.
“Ah, yes. I know it’s unorthodox, but you get used to it. Do any of you get seasick?”
“Me,” Sydney pipes up. I can understand why she looks a little pale now.
“Let me get you a ginger ale, and we can start. Jen, we can do the interview portion in my husband’s office if that’s okay. We cleared it out the other day, so you should have more than enough room for your equipment.”
“That sounds great,” Jen says.
I grab Sydney a ginger ale from the refrigerator and twist the cap off before handing it to her. “So, do you know where this documentary will be available when you’re done?” I ask.
When I got an email three months ago asking to be in a documentary about haunted houses of the Pacific Northwest, I almost thought it slipped out of my spam folder. After Joseph used some of his tech friends to vet the crew, we discovered that A Haunting in Seattle was not only legitimate but it was also set to premiere at several major film festivals next Spring.
“We’re hoping for Tribeca and Cannes,” Sydney explains after she takes a sip. The color returns to her cheeks.
