End of Story(79)

Aaron slowly rose to his feet. “Lars, I...”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” interjected Vivian. Then she grabbed his arm and tried dragging him toward the door.

Lars shook his head.

Pain crossed Aaron’s face. “You could at least let me explain.”

“There is nothing you can say that I’d want to hear, man,” said Lars. “My mom told you to get out.”

Aaron hung his head in defeat. And I did not fist pump the sky. Yay for maturity.

“You don’t come near either of us again,” said Lars. “Understood?”

With a final nod, Aaron left, following his terror of a mother out the door. Phew. The silence in the dimly lit room was complete for a moment. All eyes on the door. But nothing else happened. They did not reappear. The night’s drama seemed to be done. Thank goodness.

“Well,” said Ella with a drawl. “That felt really awkward to me. Was that awkward for anyone else?”

“Stop trying to be the funny one in the family.” Tore frowned. “There’s only room for one and the title is already claimed.”

Ella stuck out her tongue at him.

“Children,” chided Henning. He passed out small glasses with a shot of clear liquid. When we all had one, he raised his glass in a toast. “To family. Skol.”

I smiled and took a sip. And promptly wanted to spit it out, but managed to choke it down. Then I whispered, “What was that?”

“Aquavit,” said Lars.

“It tastes like licorice.”

“Yeah.”

“Susie,” said Deborah, taking a seat nearby. “I owe you an apology. I didn’t welcome you as I should have. I will do better in the future.”

My smile felt lopsided. I didn’t know what to say.

“You guys should throw another party,” said Tore. “You deserve a do-over.”

“After what this one cost?” asked Henning, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

“We could do it at home on the deck.”

“It’s an idea,” said Deborah with a shrug. “Though it would be a lot of work.”

Ella smiled. “We’ll all help.”

“Tore could do his baked salmon,” suggested Cleo.

Henning screwed up his face. “Have you tasted my youngest son’s cooking? No, thank you. I don’t even trust him with the grill. Tore’s gifts lie elsewhere.”

“You’re just jealous, old man,” said Tore. “I’m a legend in the kitchen and you know it. Back me up, honey.”

Cleo held up her hands with a grin. “I just don’t feel it’s right to come between you and your father.”

“When I first met you,” said Henning, “I thought, now there is a kind and compassionate woman. Too kind to tell you, Tore, how bad your cooking is.”

Tore and Henning bickered while Cleo watched on, amused. She too set aside her glass of aquavit, so I wasn’t the only one who hated anise. Ella and Deborah were busy chatting about something. All of the tension had left the room. Thank goodness for that.

Lars leaned closer. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled. “Nothing you can’t fix at home with some kisses.”

He pressed one to my forehead. “You got it, Princess. Whatever you want.”

“I’ve been thinking. I’m going to burn the divorce certificate.”

“You are?” he asked, surprised.

I nodded. “I trust you. I trust us. And that’s good enough for me. We don’t need any messages from the future or whatever the heck it is telling us we can’t make it. We deserve a chance to be together without that black cloud hanging over our heads.”

“Okay,” he said. “Just do me a favor and take a couple of days to make sure this is what you really want. I don’t want you to regret anything. Decide too late that there’s some exorcist you want to get to look it over or something.”

“Agreed.”



Nineteen


I woke up the next morning in the middle of the bed. Alone. Dammit. But Lars wouldn’t be far away. The sun rimmed the curtain edges in bright white light. Summer would be ending soon. The nights were getting cooler as proven by the extra blankets on our bed. It had been a heck of a year. It was my first summer as caretaker of this house, and I’d even managed not to kill many of Aunt Susan’s plants.

Halloween needed to hurry up so I could get out her decorations. Talk about all-time favorite holiday. She had a plastic life-size skeleton nicknamed Stanley who hung from the front porch, along with a veritable army of ghosts that fluttered alongside him in the wind. Pumpkins and gourds would line the front steps. A tombstone sat in the bed of lavender by the sidewalk. One of my earliest memories was of Aunt Susan making a witch costume for me while I waited not so patiently. I’d worn the black dress and pointed hat for years until I burst the seams.

I’d be the person standing at the front door handing candy out to trick or treaters as she’d done every year...that would be bittersweet. But it was nice to be able to look forward to things. The grief seemed to shift a little more every day and her absence no longer made me feel quite so hollow inside. Memories didn’t hurt in the way that they had. Instead there was an awareness of what a blessing it had been to have her in my life all of those years.