27. Epilogue Willa
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE: WILLA
One month later, I stood in my office doorway watching Tenley, our new receptionist, navigate her first week at the front desk.
She was twenty-seven, full of energy, and she had a knack for making visitors feel welcome the moment they walked through the door. Exactly what we’d needed when the fall program brought more foot traffic than any of us had anticipated.
“Just tell them we’ll call back within twenty-four hours,” I said when she glanced my way, the phone pressed to her ear.
She nodded, repeated my words almost exactly, and hung up with a smile.
“You’re doing great,” I told her.
“Thanks.” She gestured at the schedule board mounted behind the reception desk, the one Traig had color-coded within an inch of its life. “I’m still learning the system.”
“You’ll get there. It took me weeks.”
I returned to my office, one with a door and a window that looked out over the west pasture and a desk that didn’t require sharing space with Fred’s aerial acrobatics.
The schedule board from my old spot at reception hung on my wall now, transplanted when I’d moved in two weeks ago.
Fall semester dates filled the left column, color-coded by creature type. Blue for bloombacks, green for grumbletoads, yellow for driftwhisps. The spring session ran down the center, with preliminary parent inquiries noted in the margins.
My handwriting wove through Traig’s columns. Creature engagement notes. Behavioral observations. The things kids had said that we needed to remember for next time.
A hybrid system, better than either of ours alone.
Fred dozed in a patch of sun near the window, his wings tucked against his sides, his grumble a soft purr. Amanda sat on the windowsill above him, her crown pink, her letter opener resting across her lap.
Nix glowed in the corner. I’d put him back in his pen three times, but he kept finding a way out.
The three of them had reached an understanding nobody could explain, and none of us were willing to question. Amanda hissed when Nix zipped past. Nix didn’t discharge near Fred’s napping spots. Fred grumbled at both of them every now and then.
Movement in the hallway caught my eye.
Greth was walking down the hall but paused at my doorway. His gaze clung to Tenley at the front desk.
He stood there for a full ten seconds, saying nothing.
Then he nodded once and kept going.
I bit back a smile. This was the fourth time today he’d done that. Yesterday he’d done it six times.
He never said anything. He appeared, stared at Tenley, nodded, and left.
“That’s Greth,” I’d told her yesterday when she’d asked. “He’s quiet.”
“Does he always just…stand there?”
“No. Usually he doesn’t stop at all.”
She’d looked confused. I hadn’t elaborated.
Greth had been leaving things in the entryway too. Small paintings, no bigger than my palm, propped on the windowsill or tucked near the coat hooks. A sleeping snugglethorn. A mossnibble nest rendered in such detail I could see the individual threads of Krem’s shirt.
Gorgeous art.
Now there were seven small canvases scattered around the front area, and Tenley had started asking whose work it was.
I hadn’t told her yet.
Greth would get there eventually. Maybe.
I sat behind my desk and pulled up the intake form on my computer, the redesigned version I’d spent two weeks building after the last school session showed us exactly where Traig’s original system got in its own way.
He’d made one adjustment when I’d showed it to him.
I’d let him, because this was how we worked now.
A family in Presque Isle wanted to meet some thornsprigs.
They had a greenhouse and thought the plant sprites might keep pests away from their more exclusive plants.
They were right. Thornsprigs were very territorial.
I logged their information, sent the response Traig and I had written together, and added them to next week’s schedule.
My tote bag sat on the floor beside the desk, slouched against the wall.
I reached for my water bottle and felt something else at the bottom.
My notebook.
I pulled it out slowly, the cover soft and worn from months of being carried everywhere. The pages fell open to an entry in the front.
Traig brought me coffee before I arrived.
I closed it.
The good things were right here, in the coffee mug on my desk that Traig had filled this morning, in Fred’s soft grumble and Amanda’s pink crown.
I didn’t need to write them down anymore.
The afternoon passed as usual. A family stopped by to meet Gerald, who was in a social mood for once and let three children pat his woolly sides.
Laina appeared in the entryway around three, Sofia perched on her shoulder, one hand resting on her belly in the unconscious way she’d been doing for the past few weeks.
“Brovish wants to know if you two are coming to dinner on Friday,” she said. “He’s making something with trellfruit that he won’t stop talking about.”
“We’ll be there.” I gestured at her hand. “How are you feeling?”
Her smile widened. “Good. Tired, but good. The morning sickness is torture.”
“Two months now?”
“Almost ten weeks.” She patted her still-flat belly. “My mom’s planning to come up soon so she can touch my baby bump. And Brovish has been impossible. Yesterday he wouldn’t let me carry a box of tissues because it was ‘too heavy.’”
“It’s sweet.”
“It’s overbearing.” But her expression said she didn’t mind at all. “Drogar’s already planning to teach them how to climb trees. Krem’s started a developmental milestone tracking system. And Greth painted a tiny nursery scene. He left it on our kitchen table one afternoon without saying anything.”
My chest tightened. “That’s very Greth.”
“It is.” Sofia chirped and launched from Laina’s shoulder to mine, settling against my neck. “She likes you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
Laina left with a wave, and I returned to my desk with Sofia still perched on my shoulder, her tiny claws gripping my shirt.
Drogar stepped into my office a few minutes later.
“Have you heard about the food vehicle?” he asked.
I looked up. “The what?”
“Food vehicle. Krem says it is called a food truck, but it’s not really a truck. A van, maybe. I’ve been studying human vehicles, and I can confirm it is not a truck.”
“Then why not call it a food van?”
“I will.” He shot me a quick grin. “A human will bring one here to sell food to the visitors. I mentioned her before, right?” He frowned. “Maybe not. Her name’s Anika. She’ll come next week to see the space and decide if she wants to do it.”
“That’s great. More visitors means more needs. Food’s a great idea.”
“It is.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Anika. That’s a nice name.”
“You’re right.”
“A very nice name.”
My lips quivered. “Drogar.”
“What?”
“You haven’t even met her yet.”
“I know, but I have a grand feeling.”
“Good feeling?”
“That too.” He straightened away from the doorframe. “I should make sure an area on the eastern side of the parking lot is ready. For the food van. It needs the best spot.”
He left, whistling as he went.
Sofia chirped on my shoulder.
“You’re so right,” I told her. “I saw it too.”
Traig strode into my office at five.
“Ready to go home?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He waited while I shut down my computer and gathered my things. Fred fluttered over, Amanda riding on his back, and they followed us through the woods to our cottage.
Inside, I made dinner while Traig reviewed something on his tablet at the table. Fred settled under the table, grumbling. Amanda claimed her windowsill perch, her crown shifting between pink and orange.
Nix appeared from somewhere, probably the space behind the refrigerator where he’d been nesting despite Traig’s repeated attempts to relocate him. He watched me cook, no doubt hoping I’d toss him vegetable chunks—which I did.
“The Huangs sent a message,” Traig said without looking up from his tablet. “They want to know if they can bring Rue and Fern to the next school visit. Show the children how well the bloombacks are doing in their new home.”
I stirred the pasta. “That’s a great idea.”
“That is what I thought.” His fingers moved across the screen. “I’ll add it to the schedule.”
I plated the food and carried both dishes to the table, setting his in front of him before sliding into the second chair, the one that had been empty for three years before I’d filled it.
We ate and when we’d finished, Traig set his fork down and caught my eye.
“What?” I asked.
“I got a message from the Council today.”
“And?”
“My parents have formally severed the family connection. The House of Valtresh no longer recognizes my name or lineage,” he said evenly. “I’m exiled.”
The words sat between us.
“How do you feel about that?” I asked.
He was quiet for a long moment, his fingertip sliding along the rim of his mug.
“Relieved,” he said. “Is that wrong?”
“No.”
“I spent my whole life trying to earn something from them that they were never going to give.” His gaze lifted to mine. “And now I don’t have to try anymore. The cost of choosing this life was losing them, but I already lost them years ago. This makes it official.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with that?”
“I am. I have everything that matters right here. You. My brothers. The rescue league. This cottage. Fred bumping into things.” His mouth twitched. “Amanda threatening people with letter openers. Even Nix is welcome on occasion.”
I laughed, the sound coming out shaky.
“They can keep their name and their expectations and their standards I could never see clearly enough to meet,” he said.
“I don’t need any of it. Exile is supposed to be a punishment.
But it’s freed me from the one thing I should’ve walked away from years ago.
So yes, I’m relieved. And I’m not looking back. ”
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles. “Then neither am I.”
His mouth twitched. “I was thinking about your notebook, how you don’t write in it anymore. Why not?”
I looked around the cottage, taking in the male I loved and the creatures I’d given my full heart.
“I don’t need to anymore,” I said. “The good things are right here. I know them without writing them down.”
“You’re right. We have all we need.”
We washed the dishes together, his shoulder bumping mine, my hip grazing his thigh. When we were done, he made tea and I made decaf coffee, and we carried both mugs out to the back deck.
The rumbleback was already at the water trough, its stone armor catching the last light. A second one had joined him tonight. A mate?
We settled into our chairs.
Somewhere in the woods, something large moved through the underbrush.
“I’m putting the summer session proposal together,” he said. “It will need reviewing.”
We planned to run smaller sessions for the local camps.
“I’ll tell you which section needs to breathe,” I said.
“And I’ll accept your changes.”
“That’s good of you.” I leaned my head against his shoulder.
The rumblebacks finished drinking and strode back into the trees.
The sun sank lower.
This was what I’d been hoping for all my life, back when I’d needed proof the day had contained good things.
I didn’t need that anymore. This life was the record now.
“I love you, Willa,” Traig said.
“I love you too, Traig.”
We sat on the deck and watched the sun set behind the trees, looking forward to a full life together.