“Nope.” Lips twitching, I led her to Dr. Peters’s house next door. The man—who had been practicing since well before he delivered me and all my siblings—answered the door in his white coat with a stethoscope around his neck.
“No clowns this year,” he groused before either of us could speak.
“The theme is Cozy Harvest Haunt,” Celine explained. “Nothing scary. Just autumnal vibes with spooky fun.”
Doc crossed his arms, humming. “Okay. But the clown last year gave me nightmares.”
“It was a mime,” I corrected.
“Exactly. Everyone knows they’re just silent clowns,” he mumbled.
We got Doc to agree to decorating with pumpkins and ghosts and moved on, hitting most of the houses on the town green, leaving fliers and chatting with the folks who were home. Unsurprisingly, the majority of Maplewood citizens were excited about getting into the festival spirit. We needed a win after the challenges of the last year.
And house by house, as Celine made notes on her clipboard, her posture softened a little. She grew more confident too, perfecting her elevator pitch for the Cozy Harvest Haunt theme.
“Lanterns over jump scares. Think hay bales and ghosts instead of gore,” she explained to the Whittakers. “The Millers are recreating the Lover’s Leap Falls stories with skeletons dressed in replica Revolutionary War uniforms.”
People listened.
Because she was good at this.
“Can we do autumn-themed vampires?” Nora Hatch asked. “Like they wear cozy sweaters and drink maple blood lattes?”
After agreeing, we moved on.
By the end of our route, the page attached to the pink clipboard was full of notes. Most everyone we came across committed, and many had lots of fun ideas. Including a four-foot-tall paper mâché raven that sounded like a bad idea but wasn’t my problem.
In front of my sister’s coffee shop, where Celine had parked her minivan, we stopped. She leaned against the hood, staring off into space for a moment, some of her hair having escaped her ponytail and curling around her neck. Her dangly earrings had drawn my attention to the curve of her neck at least a hundred times today, mesmerizing me. She was precious and delicate, despite her strength and fierce demeanor.
“You okay?”
She nodded, but hesitation flashed in her eyes.
“Tell me,” I said softly.
“I’ve got to pick up my kids soon,” she muttered. “They’re at the after-school program today. Julian has never been able to do that kind of thing before, but they play gaga ball for hours, and he begged me. So?—”
“Celine,” I said softly, cutting off her spiraling.
“Sorry.” She turned away, facing the van. “I’m just in a weird place emotionally.”
I thought about walking away, giving her space. But a tiny voice inside me was saying “show up.” So I did.
“I can listen.” I rounded the front of the vehicle and opened the passenger door. “I probably can’t help or fix anything. But I can listen.”
She opened her own door, frowning at me. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“I’m your friend,” I said firmly.
Her expression only darkened further at my choice of words. But it was true. Despite my initial reservations about her, I liked her. I cared about her. Sure,occasionally those thoughts went a little beyond friendly, but I wasn’t going to say that part out loud.
I climbed in and shifted, facing her.
Lips pursed, she surveyed me, then the driver’s seat before she finally slid into it.
Instead of starting the car, she put both hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, pulling in a deep breath. “We went to a birthday party last weekend. Julian had so much fun. And he finally has friends. There were days when I didn’t think that was possible.”
Hands in my lap, I stayed silent, letting her work it all out.