The drive up the mountain was peaceful in a way I hadn't expected. Sarah chattered from the backseat, providing detailed commentary on the evening's events.
"Tommy's pumpkin was not that big. Mine was way rounder. I should have won."
"Noted. We'll file a formal complaint with the pumpkin authorities."
"Thank you."
"Your artistic vision was clearly underappreciated by the judges."
Emma laughed softly beside me. In the darkness of the car, illuminated only by the dashboard lights, she seemed younger somehow. Lighter. The shadows that usually lived in her eyes had retreated.
"The pumpkin authorities take these matters very seriously," she told Sarah solemnly. "I'll write a letter of support."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Justice for Sarah's pumpkin."
By the time we reached the cabin, Sarah's words had slowed, then stopped entirely. I glanced in the rearview mirror to find her slumped against her booster seat, mouth slightly open, completely unconscious.
"She's out," Emma whispered.
"Festival exhaustion. It hits hard."
I parked and retrieved a thick wool blanket from the storage chest on the porch. It was one Rebecca had made years ago, before Sarah, before everything changed. The clearing at the edge of my property offered the best view, away from even the minimal light pollution of the cabin's windows.
I spread the blanket on the grass, smoothing the edges carefully. Emma lowered herself down, tucking her sundress around her legs against the chill. I went back for Sarah, lifting her carefully from the truck. She didn't wake, just snuggled instinctively against my chest as I carried her to the blanket and laid her down between us.
We settled on either side of her, lying back to face the sky.
And what a sky it was.
A million diamond chips scattered across black velvet. The Milky Way blazing a luminous river through the center, bright enough to cast the faintest shadows. Constellations I'd known since childhood wheeling overhead in their eternal dance.
For a long moment, we just looked up. The silence wasn't awkward; it was full. Charged with starlight and pine-scented air and the soft sound of Sarah's breathing between us.
"I'm sorry about the gossip," I said once more, quietly enough not to wake Sarah. "I know that wasn't comfortable for you."
"Let them talk." I could hear the smile in Emma's voice. "Small-town curiosity is a force of nature. Can't fight it, can only redirect it."
"Still. You shouldn't have to?—"
"Cole." Her voice was firm. "I'm exactly where I want to be. Lying on a mountain looking at more stars than I've ever seen in my life. With you. Stop apologizing."
Her words settled over me like the blanket beneath us, warm, soft, unexpected.
"That bright one," I said after a moment, pointing upward, "is Vega. Part of the Summer Triangle."
"Summer Triangle in autumn? That seems like false advertising."
"Stars don't follow calendars. Very inconsiderate of them."
She laughed softly. "What else?"
"That W shape is Cassiopeia. The vain queen who boasted she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs."
"Let me guess, the sea nymphs weren't thrilled about the comparison?"
"Not even slightly. Women rarely appreciate being compared unfavorably."
