Snow began to fall, a cold wind blowing from the northwest.
After such a busy weekend with so many guests, the house seemed quiet. While Mitch built a fire in the woodstove, Megs reheated their leftovers from Knockers. After supper, they snuggled on the sofa in front of the fire.
“This town, your friends, me—so many people love you.”
He chuckled. “You didn’t w-want to m-move here.”
“I didn’t, but, to be fair, Scarlet Springs isn’t what it was back in the early Nineties. There was a grocery store, a gas station, the inn, that awful pizza joint—and not much else. It was like a ghost town waiting for someone to shut off the lights.”
“Hold on.” Mitch got to his feet, walked to his office, and returned with the journal, which he had opened to a specific entry. “Read this. Then we can … p-put the … j-jour…journal away … for now.”
Megs took the journal from him, skimmed the page, and laughed. “I remember this. We had decided to create a rescue team, and you wanted us to settle here. As I recall, you had to work hard to sell it.”
A smile on her face, Megs began to read.
September 3, 1993
Mitch walkedhand-in-hand with Megs down Main Street, trying to remember Scarlet Springs as it had been when he was growing up. “The Seventies were hard on this town. High gas prices and a few bad ski seasons really hurt it economically. So many families, like mine, moved away.”
Megs spoke in a sarcastic voice. “I can’t imagine why they would do that.”
Mitch knew she wasn’t impressed, and he couldn’t blame her. There were empty houses with For Sale signs that had faded in the sun. The town’s only restaurant sold shitty pizza and featured extra protein in the form of dead flies on the unwashed tables. But the Forest Creek Inn was still standing, along with Rose’s New Age Emporium across the street. The schools were exactly the way he remembered them.
There were signs of new life, too. The town had recently built a new firehouse. A shop selling geodes and semi-precious stones had just opened on Main Street.
Mitch pointed this out. “It’s coming back to life.”
“Speaking of new life, there’s a place next to the pretty rock store where they cryogenically freeze your severed head after you die on the off chance that science will find a way to bring you back from the dead.”
Mitch laughed. “Okay, Scarlet Springs is strange, but that’s what I’ve always loved about it. It’s not a town of middle-class conformists and perfectly manicured lawns. It’sweird. I’m a Yosemite dirtbag, for God’s sake. Normal is overrated.”
“Okay, you have a point. Ihatesmall towns. You know that.”
“Not all small towns are the same. There aregoodpeople here. This is nothing like the town where you grew up. I promise.”
“What’s his story?”
Mitch followed the direction of her gaze and smiled. “Bear! It’s good to see him.”
“Bear?”
“No one knows his real name. He started showing up in town a long time back. He’s a gentle giant with the mind of a child. Something happened to him, but no one knows what or where he came from. He lives somewhere in the mountains west of Scarlet. He’s got the Bible memorized, chapter and verse, and stands in the roundabout and preaches. Once he knows you, he never forgets your name.”
The curiosity on Megs’ face became compassion. “Poor guy.”
“I don’t think he believes he’s poor.” Mitch waved to him. “Hey, Bear! Good to see you again.”
Bear walked over, studied Mitch’s face—and stared. “Mitch Ahearn.”
“That’s right.” Mitch clapped Bear on the shoulder. “It’s been almost twenty-five years since I last saw you. How are you?”
“A joyful heart is good medicine.” Bear grinned, looked at Megs.
“This is my partner, Megs Hill. She’s a climber like I am.”
“Megs Hill,” Bear repeated.
Megs held out her hand. “It’s good to meet you, Bear.”
