Elsie
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Considering the ashes of the life I’d left behind, it was refreshing that the biggest problem I faced in Colbridge was forgetting to buy Halloween candy.
A big perk of my new life also happened to be having someone I could call to remedy the situation.
“Aw, you have my number saved,” I cooed. “Cute.”
I could practically hear the eye roll through the phone.
“You don’t know that,” he responded dryly. “Maybe I just recognized it.”
“Even cuter.” I grinned, even though he couldn’t see me. “Memorizing phone numbers is a big deal in this day and age.”
“What do you need, Elsie?”
“Maybe I’m just calling to wish you a Happy Halloween, William. Did you ever consider that?”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” I lied. “And also…IneedtwobagsofHalloweencandy.”
He snorted.
“Look, I’d go myself, but I’m sort of in the middle of something.” I stared down at my hand full of pumpkin guts before glancing at the clock above the stove. “And I know you’re probably leaving the café right about now, so—”
“Aw, you know my schedule,” he mocked my former words. “Cute.”
“Please, Will,” I begged. “This is the first Halloween in years that I’ll get to actually pass out candy to trick-or-treaters now that I’m not in some fourth-floor apartment, and I’m really looking forward to it. Basically, all of my Halloween hopes and dreams are riding on you.”
“On me, huh?”
“Never mind.” I huffed, tossing a handful of pumpkin innards onto the newspaper mat I’d made on the floor. “If you’re too busy—”
“Relax, Elsie. I’ll be there.”
“You will?” I breathed hopefully.
“Yeah,” he said. “So don’t go calling me Scrooge just yet.”
“Wrong holiday.” I snorted.
“Still applies,” he argued. “I’ll see you soon.”
I knew I’d become just another one of the townspeople who needed something from Will Hughes, but after moments like those, I could almost trick myself into thinking that maybe he didn’t mind.
I’d carved a very respectable Frankenstein by the time Will’s truck pulled into my driveway twenty minutes later, and was just setting it down on the front steps the moment he strode up the walkway.
“What’s that?” he asked, staring down at my creation.
My eyes shot to the two jumbo sized bags of candy in his hands, only lingering briefly on the forearms that were generously exposed by his rolled-up sleeves.
“A pumpkin,” I answered, quickly looking away.
“I meant, what’s on it?”
I stared at it with a frown.
“It’s Frankenstein, obviously.”
He tilted his head sideways in examination.
“Are you sure?”
“What else would it be?” I said, hand on my hip at the mild offense.
“My first thought was some type of serial killer, but considering the artist,” he stared pointedly at me, “I figured that couldn’t be right.”
I huffed, reaching forward to grab the candy from him.
“Well, I was sort of in a rush, so excuse my lack of Picasso-ness. Thank you for bringing this.”
“No problem.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I wouldn’t want to go down in your novel as the man who ruined Halloween.”
I felt my cheeks flame, hating that he knew I’d even alluded to him in my story, never mind the fact that he was quickly taking on the role of leading man.
Deflect, I thought.
“Where’s your costume?” I looked him up and down.
“Did you really think I’d be wearing one?” He raised a skeptical brow.
“I hoped,” I told him with a cheeky smile. “But I’m sure you must’ve just left it at home, right?”
“More like I left it in the Spirit Halloween store back in 2008.”
I snickered.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to…” he gestured toward the house with a vague hand wave, “whatever it is you’re doing in there.”
“Wait,” I called, “don’t you want to stay and see the first trick-or-treater?”
The desperation in my own voice surprised me, nearly as much as the urge I felt to keep him standing there. I didn’t want to see him leave just yet. There was something about his presence that was enjoyable in a way I’d never admit out loud to him.
I could almost consider him a friend, not just because of convenience or loneliness or the scarcity of people my age to be found in town, but because of a real, genuine enjoyment of his company.
He paused, and for a moment I felt like an idiot for asking him to stay for something so trivial.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, as if his answer depended entirely on mine.
I wonder if he spent so much time helping me because he pitied me. Or because of how lonely I’d told him I was. It would probably be a kindness to him if I let him go home, enjoy his night.
But sometimes I was selfish. And that part of me really didn’t want to watch him get in his truck and drive away, even if I knew it’s what he wanted to do.
“Well, I think you must,” I said, feigning an air of ease despite the inexplicable fluttering of my heart. “I can’t have you being all alone and grumpy on Halloween after all, can I?”
And despite the numerous arguments I expected him to make in favor of going home to enjoy his solitude, he didn’t put up any fight at all.
Will, as it turned out, was not a cat person.
I’d been changing into my Halloween costume when I heard his borderline frantic orders, telling something to ‘go away’ before I opened the door to the amusing scene in the living room.
When I’d left him there, I’d sat him down on the couch in front of the television that was playing Halloweentown, only to find him now in the center of the room, looking as close to unnerved as I could imagine Will could get.
“Can you get this thing away from me?” he asked, staring down uncertainly at the orange tabby circling his leg. “It’s looking at me with bad intentions.”
“Creamsicle,” I corrected. “Please don’t refer to my cat as ‘this thing.’ It’s rude, you know.”
“Okay,” he said a bit more frantically. “Can you get Creamsicle away from me? Now, please.”
“Aw, you’re not afraid of cats, Will, are you?” I scooped the tabby up, rubbing his soft fur against my face.
“Don’t let its claws get so close to your face.” He frowned, watching our interaction with a cautious look. “You never know when it might attack.”
“It’s a cat.”
“A feral cat.”
“Oh, please.” I scoffed, dropping Creamsicle to the floor. “It was Mr. Briggs’s cat, and you know it.”
“And it had already habitualized itself to a life on the streets.” Will stared between the cat that was meandering out of the living room and my own costume that he was just now able to notice. “Did you really have to match with it?”
I stared down at my outfit and laughed.
“I’m not a cat,” I emphasized. “I’m Tigger. From Winnie-the-Pooh? You know, because I’m so hyper.”
“Well, on that there’s no dispute,” he said, calming down now that the fearsome beast I called a pet was safely out of the room.
“Have there been any trick-or-treaters?” I asked him hopefully.
“You mean in the thirty-six seconds you’ve been in another room?” he asked. “No. Also, it’s still light out.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking toward the window, “but sometimes parents take their little kids out earlier before it gets too cold.”
I moved to the window, pulling back the curtain to see if anyone was coming. But the street was still empty.
“No one’s going to walk up to a house with you creepily staring through the window like that,” he said. “Come sit down and wait like a normal person.”
“I can’t help it.” I exhaled before taking his advice and dropping onto the couch beside him. “I’m just excited.”
“Clearly,” he said, staring at me. “Nice whiskers, by the way.”
“You’re no fun.” I huffed, clutching a pillow against me.
“No one’s ever accused me of being that,” he agreed, flipping through the channels.
“Was that the doorbell?” I asked, head snapping in the direction of the door.
“Nope,” he said, eyes fixed on the television.
“How do you know?”
“Because your doorbell doesn’t work.”
“You should probably fix that, huh?” I grinned at him. “Okay, that’s definitely the sound of footsteps, isn’t it?”
“No.” He sighed. “But now I’m slightly concerned by the amount of auditory hallucinations you apparently hear.”
“Hey.” I swatted him. “I’m just—”
“Excited?” Hazel eyes turned to me. “I know. You’ve mentioned.”
“Don’t be such a grump,” I told him. “It’s not my fault you hate kids.”
“I do not hate kids.” He made a noise of affrontment.
“Well, you don’t seem to particularly like them.”
“I’d like my kid,” he said gruffly. “That’s all that matters.”
“You would have a kid?” I asked, nearly giggling at the idea. “I can’t picture that.”
He stared at me in offense.
“Why not?”
“Well,” I shifted till I was sitting on my knees, “you just like being alone so much. And you don’t seem to like people very much.”
“Once again, I’d like my people.”
“Your people?” I inquired noisily.
“Yeah,” he said uncomfortably. “My wife and my kids…” He trailed off, returning his attention to the television.
Will’s wife, I mused, what on earth type of woman would that be?
And why did I already resent the image that my mind conjured up at the thought?
I opened my mouth to offer some deflective comment, attempting to distract myself from whatever the strange feeling arising in me was, when a decidedly real knock at the door stole my attention.
“I’ll get it!” I called, grabbing the bowl of candy hastily enough to let a few pieces spill out the sides.
I threw open the door, revealing not only an orange sky and rapidly setting sun, but a mother and son duo waiting eagerly for just what I’d hoped.
“Trick or treat,” greeted the little cowboy through a lispy voice.
“Happy Halloween!” I held out the candy bowl toward his eager hands, knowing I’d let him take every last piece on account of how adorable he was.
“Just one, Luca,” his mother warned, before smiling warmly in my direction. “Hi, we haven’t met yet, but I heard someone had rented Mr. Briggs’s house.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Will?” The mother looked just over my shoulder, eyes widening in recognition at the man who stood beside me.
“Oh, hey, Kris,” he said, equally surprised to see her there.
“You two know each other?” I asked stupidly, staring between them.