The next day I have an appointment with my grief counsellor, Harry Morgan and can’t wait to tell him about Celeste. But before I can say a word, he notices a dramatic improvemment in my mood.
“You seem so calm and content, Scott—and happy. Look at you—you’re positively glowing!”
He’s right and I feel it too. Oh, the odd time business takes me away from the house, but I leave the key with Celeste so she can go in and warm herself by the fire. And still, I find myself hurrying back to spend precious moments with her, to laugh and enjoy a pleasant afternoon chatting by the fire.
And my joy is reflected in my writing as well. Harry’s positively captivated by my manuscript, especially its heroine.
“Who is this girl, Scott? I confess I’ve fallen in love with her.”
“The truth is, Harry, it’s a wonderful girl I’ve met—Celeste Warren. She’s a painter and my main character. I tried to capture her appearance, her personality, and her patter. She’s my inspiration.”
“You’re a lucky devil, Scott. Don’t let this one get away.”
He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth.
Harry knew I had a tumultuous relationship and falling out with Brianna just before Si died. That February before Valentines Day was the worst of my life.
“I know what you’re thinking Harry—but try not to worry—I’m past all that now and ready to get on with my life.”
A look of relief crosses his face.
“I’m so happy for you—for both of you. So, when will I get to meet this bewitching lass?”
“Um, when I get up the nerve to tell her how I feel.”
His eyes grow wide. “What—a month now, and you haven’t done that? C’mon Scottie, you’re losing your edge.”
“Don’t worry, Harry—I intend to tell her. And speaking of Celeste, I better get back.”
A glance at the mantel clock tells me it’s just past two.
“Time and tide waits for no man,” he laughs, “you should certainly know that from the lake where you live.”
“I’ll confess my love to her and we’ll set sail for Key Largo,” I lisp in my best Bogie accent.
“Here’s looking at you, Kid” he shouts after me, as he stands at the door and waves.
Back at the house, Celeste is waiting by the fire. We talk and I tell her about my day, avoiding my discussion with Harry, of course, and then, on impulse blurt out, “Why don’t you show me that peninsula of land you were telling me about?”
Her eyes darken. “What—you want to go there now?”
“Why not? There’s still light outside.”
She looks hesitant, but reluctantly agrees.
We get on our coats and Jude comes along, causing us to laugh when her runs in circles around the yard, twirling in the air like Snoopy in the Peanuts cartoon.
She grabs my arm and leans into me. “Guess he’s happy, huh?”
That makes two of us, I tell myself and lean into her warmth.
I’m finally recovered from grief, I tell myself, and ready to move on.
But it all seems too good to be real and a niggling doubt is gnawing at me …
I push it away and admonish myself sternly. It’s time to move on with life…
But somehow I dread what lies ahead and have to force myself to keep pressing on.
