Greg nods. “Yeah, but I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t,” Rachel says. “Greg, I will always love you, but I can’t love you the way you want me to.”
He closes his eyes again, nods. “I know,” he whispers.
Rachel stands on the tips of her toes and presses a chaste kiss against his cheek. Arms wrap around her, draw her closer. She feels Greg lips against the top of her head, hears him breathe in deeply as he nuzzles her hair.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel whispers.
“Me too.”
He releases her and takes a step away. “If you ever need anything, call me, okay?”
She smiles and wipes at her damp cheeks. “Promise.”
Greg reaches out and brushes his thumb over her cheek, catching a stray tear. “See you around.”
“Yeah.”
Rachel walks out on the porch as Greg leaves, and watches Griswold Road long after his Mercedes had disappeared.
As Rachel put the final touches to Mrs. Crenshaw’s living room, where a banner shouts WELCOME HOME and colorful balloons float against the ceiling, Mercia hisses, “They’re coming,” from the window.
Orion walks out of the dining room and halts beside Rachel, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “Are they back already?”
Mercia scrambles away from the window and toward Orion and Rachel. “Happy faces,” she whispers.
The click-click-click of the walker grows closer, moving with determination.
“Nan, lemme help ye up the stairs.”
“Stop hovering, Dougal,” she snaps. “I’m not a damn invalid yet.”
“She sounds fine,” Orion whispers to Rachel.
“Break a hip and suddenly even a teenage boy is helpful,” Mrs. Crenshaw mumbles.
Rachel stifles her laugh by biting the inside of her cheek.
The front door opens and Dougal steps inside, out of the way, before the walker comes into view. Rachel has to admit she looks much healthier today, in her own clothes, than she had in the hospital. With her hair meticulously done into a tight bun, and the apples of her cheeks shining with rouge, Mrs. Crenshaw’s walker seems more like a prop than a helper.
“Dougal’s dawdling suddenly makes sense,” Mrs. Crenshaw says, suppressing a smile as she sees the decorations. Her gaze falls on Orion. “I’d curtsy, but my doctor advised me against strenuous activities.”
Orion guffaws. “I’m sure he did. Welcome back, Nancy.”
Mrs. Crenshaw’s almost imperceptible nod is accompanied by a small smirk. She turns her attention to Mercia. “A Holstein witch made the journey to this side of town? Well, you lot must’ve thought I was really at my end then. I still have a few years left in me, girl. Don’t you worry.”
“Actually, Nan,” Dougal says, and clears his throat. “She’s my guest.”
Electric blue eyes turn on him, widening. “I thought your mother said you were batting for the other team.”
“That’s Alex, Nan. The middle brother?”
Mrs. Crenshaw waves her hand through the air as if it’s inconsequential. “All you Mackays look alike to me.”
Rachel bursts out laughing, joy bubbling through every part of her body. She crosses the distance and leans over the walker to wrap her arms around the fragile woman.
“I missed you,” Rachel says and means it.
Mrs. Crenshaw tentatively puts one arm around Rachel and pats her shoulder. “I missed you, too,” she whispers back.
Rachel releases her and steps out of the way.
Mrs. Crenshaw backtracks out of the front door. “Dougal, bring me a blanket. I want to get some fresh air into these old lungs before the winter comes.”
The party files onto the porch.
Mercia and Dougal move onto the lawn, where she conjures a kaleidoscope of butterflies. They talk among themselves, laughing at whatever private jokes they share. Orion sits across from Mrs. Crenshaw, who pokes fun at him often. He smiles, sometimes laughs at his own expense.
“Show some respect to your elders, Nancy,” he says, much to Mrs. Crenshaw’s delight. It’s probably been ages since she’s been called young, after all.
Regardless of how Golvath affected Shadow Grove, at the end of Griswold Road, there’s mirth in the air. Rachel’s almost sure even the faeries and pixies and knockers in the forest are happy that Mrs. Crenshaw is back.
Rachel excuses herself from her company and makes her way to the kitchen, where the cupcakes she’s baked had cooled off enough to be frosted.
This is normal. This is home.
Rachel can’t broach the subject of her parentage with Mrs. Crenshaw yet. She probably won’t for a while, but for the first time in weeks she’s happy. Of course, she can’t hide the fact that her mother—no, it’s just Jenny now—isn’t at home. Mrs. Crenshaw hasn’t said anything, but Dougal must’ve told her what happened. People have, after all, already speculated over Jenny’s whereabouts, always gossiping and coming up with wild theories. Nobody blames her for leaving, though. Some simply envy her for having the courage to put this place behind her.
When the pink frosted cupcakes are done, Rachel arranges them onto a tray, and carries the treats outside.
“If this is about me and Rachel—”
Rachel stops in the living room.
“Whatever you and Rachel get up to is none of my business,” Mrs. Crenshaw cuts Orion off. “I’ve never worried about my girl. If you hurt her she’ll chew you up and spit you out, anyway, so that’s the least of my concerns.”
“So, what is it then?” Orion sounds confused.
“You and I both know Fae need stability. You can’t be living with one leg in this world and with the other leg in the Fae Realm. It’ll rip you apart,” she says, the seriousness in her voice unmistakable. “We’ve both seen it happen.”
There’s a pause, before Orion says, “You want me to choose now?”
“I don’t want you to do anything, Princeling. I just need you to understand that if you’re not careful, you may turn into something you don’t recognize in the mirror, and it’ll fall on Rachel and Dougal’s shoulders to put you down.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“See that it doesn’t, especially if you and Rachel
