“I can feel it,” Zelda whispered theatrically into Emily’s ear. “This celebration’s midnight will be unforgettable.”
“It’s three-thirty in the afternoon,” Emily whispered back to the psychic, grinning.
“For some of us, time is just a suggestion.” Zelda released her, kissed Daniel’s cheek, and swept onward into the backyard, gathering a trail of awestruck guests and fascinated children in her wake. She stopped only to bestow more kisses on both cheeks of Roy, who’d materialized near the lemonade, then immediately pulled him aside with a conspiratorial arm.
Emily stepped out to lean on the porch railing and listen in.
“I have been longing to see your aura,” she told Roy, who blinked as if caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. “It was positivelysmolderinglast time.”
Daniel and Emily watched as Zelda set up an impromptu reading table on Bailey and Chantelle’s games table, rearranging the score cards and fanning out a deck of enormous tarot cards. Within minutes, a line had formed, all craning for a glimpse of what Zelda might reveal. She read palms, studied birthmarks, and pronounced the mayor’s energy “deeply green, with underlying notes of old gold.” The mayor looked both baffled and honored.
At least,Emily thought,she hasn’t brought up the statue.The behemoth nude figure study that Zelda had donated to the inn had been damaged during a hurricane, and it had been relocated to the gardens. Now, inside, all that remained were the patched places in the front lobby’s floor where the anchors had been, if you knew where to look.
“Emily! Come, join us!” Zelda’s voice rang out, and she gestured dramatically to the chair next to her.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for a reading,” Emily said, but her protest was weak. The crowd around Zelda cajoled, and Daniel egged her on from beside her, so Emily caved and padded down the porch steps. She eased into the seat next to her father, noting that Roy seemed genuinely relaxed, his posture easy.
Zelda clasped Emily’s hands in hers, the rings cool against her knuckles, and she flipped Emily’s one palm up. “Your energy is radiating. You are the sun and moon for the people in your care. It is beautiful, but you must also remember to replenish yourself.”
Roy grunted, but not unkindly. “She’s been running the place on fumes for years. Maybe you’re onto something.”
Emily scoffed, too. “We all have been. It’s a group exhaustion. One I wouldn’t trade.”
Roy reached out to grab Emily’s now-free hand. She smiled and squeezed. It was good for anyone to say that Roy was energetic, especially given his still-too-recent cancer diagnosis. They sat together, watching as Daniel took refills to the buffet table and as the guests—neighbors, friends, even a few total strangers—formed knots of conversation around the lawn. Daniel caught Emily’s eye from across the grass, and she raised her eyebrow and looked over at Mr. Kapowski, who was now relegated to a walking assist for Charlotte, who was gripping his hand and wobbling around the lawn. Daniel grinned back and went to rescue the older man.
Zelda patted Emily’s shoulder. “It’s a rare thing, to see someone’s dream become a reality in so many ways.”
Emily looked around. “I guess it is,” she said proudly.
***
By dusk, the lawn glowed with string lights. The party had shifted: the music softer, the laughter more subdued. The kids, tired from hours of scavenger hunts, lawn games, races, food, and sun, now sprawled on picnic blankets, their chatter a white noise wave. Emily let herself sink into the porch swing, the gentle give of the cushion as she swung lulling her.
The screen door creaked, and Daniel stepped onto the porch, plate of pastries in hand. He set them on the rail, then joined her on the swing, their knees touching. The silence between them was weightless. He glanced at her, eyes soft.
“Charlotte’s out. You okay?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s been a perfect night.”
He looked at her with that sideways smile. “You say that, but your foot hasn’t stopped tapping.”
She stilled it, and then laughed. “I can’t help it. The second I stop, my brain starts writing tomorrow’s to-do list.”
“We could leave it for a day,” he said. “Let tomorrow happen tomorrow.”
“The world might end,” Emily said, grinning.
“Or it might keep spinning.” He laced his fingers through hers. They watched as a trivia game was brought out to the back lawn, to the cluster of blankets on the grass.
Daniel squeezed Emily’s hand. “Should we join them?”
“In a minute,” she said. She tilted her head back, letting the last scraps of sunset wash over her face. “I want to just… watch for a bit.”
He nodded, content to share the quiet. The porch swings creaked as they rocked gently, the rhythm matching the rise and fall of voices from below. In that simple, repetitive motion, Emily felt the kaleidoscope of her day come briefly into focus. She watched her mother, Cassie, and Roy, chatting at the edges of the game. She thought of her own children, who would one day outgrow all this but might remember—just barely—the way an ordinary summer evening felt when everyone who mattered was there, the night sticky and magical.
Emily watched the lights Daniel had hung flicker against the dark sky. The world would spin, and there would always be more work to do. But for now, she held Daniel’s hand tighter and let herself rest in the warm, unrepeatable present. But even in her contentment, she couldn’t get rid of the thought that lingered in her mind as her gaze returned to Roy.
Why had his hands been shaking earlier today?
