The Past-Life Chronicles

20 - Epilogue

"Good maneuvering there, kiddo." My stepdad, Greg, ruffles my hair as we head up the dark walkway lit with little solar-powered orbs.

I grin up at him. Someday, I'll have to tell him that it's nice to have a dad again. Just not right this second, when we're about to greet—

"Come on in, you guys!" The front door flings open, revealing a slender silhouette wearing a knockout cocktail dress. "Hey, little brother! Long time, no see!" She squeezes Henry into a hug, then reaches for Greg. "Hey, Dad!"

But she hugs Mom the longest, and while they embrace, I cross the threshold into the house, stepping onto the fine ceramic tiles.

"Hi, Willow." Brad the banker appears around the corner, wearing oven mitts and an apron over his Oxford button-down.

"Hey, Brad." I lift a hand. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Willow, there you are! You snuck past me!" My sister, Heather, pulls me into her skinny arms. I return the embrace, patting her toned back.

"Ugh. Why are you always in such better shape than I am?"

"Pilates!" she replies cheerfully.

I slip my car keys into my purse, and Heather's eyes widen. "Willow, did you drive here?"

"She dii-iid," answers Mom in a sing-song voice, and I groan.

"Guys. I'm not five years old."

"Well then, I won't tell you how proud I am of you." Heather rubs my upper arm excitedly, then steers me up her professionally decorated hallway toward the dining room. "Guess who beat you here?"

I already saw his car in the driveway when I first pulled up, but all the same, my heart thumps like an 808. He looks smokin' hot in his leather jacket, hair behind his ears, smelling like patchouli, blue eyes twinkling at me in a way that makes me as limp as the cranberry Jell-O sauce on the table.

"Hey, beautiful." Mason wraps an arm around my shoulder and plants a kiss atop my head.

I lean my face against his chest to hide my enormous smile. "Hey, babe."

We quickly break apart as Heather corrals everyone to the table.

"Hey." I reach for her forearm. "Thanks so much for inviting my boyfriend. His mom's away this week, so he would've been pretty lonely." I glance back at Mason. "And hungry."

"Lucky Persephone," says Mom, overhearing. "She's on a cruise."

Heather snaps a finger. "That's where I know you from, Mason! When Willow first introduced us on my birthday, I thought you seemed familiar. You're Persephone's little boy! Well," she catches herself, "not little anymore."

"Wait." I look between my boyfriend and sister. "You two have met before?"

"All three of us have!" Heather ribs me, laughing. "Willow, my goodness! Don't you remember? I mean, I guess you were both really little. But yeah, we used to go to circle with our moms and play together. Back when the coven met at that old UU church—don't you guys remember runnin' up and down them steps, playing tag?"

I don't know what surprises me most, the fact that Heather is speaking so openly about our Wiccan upbringing, or that I think I might vaguely recall what she's talking about.

Mason scrutinizes me. "Huh. Now that you mention it..."

"I never realized you might've met back then," says Mom from her seat at the table, as Heather's husband, Brad, pours her a large glass of wine. "But it makes sense. Some of us used to bring our kids and we just sort of let you roam free while we were preoccupied with circle."

"You know, I thought it felt like we'd hung out before." I reach up to swipe a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"I guess we do go back." He grins.

"Not as far as we do," murmurs Henry, passing me on his way to the table.

"I'm gonna let him have that one," Mason mutters to me, before I can respond. "But only because if it wasn't for that, you'd have never sought me out. And we wouldn't have had our sessions, or our dates...and I wouldn't get to have your perfect lips," he brushes his against mine as he speaks, "or your gorgeous—"

"Hey, now." I smirk, my heart fluttering like a swarm of butterflies, and his hands fall away from my hips.

Everybody else is busy finding a seat or helping Brad carry in hot dishes from the kitchen. I take Mason's hand, guiding him to our chairs. I don't release him, even once we're seated. My family falls silent as Brad intones an impressively religion-neutral prayer, and we all bow our heads.

Across from me, Henry half-glances up. For the briefest of moments, our eyes connect. I look back down. Beneath the table, Mason squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.

Accepting theunknown—in either direction of time—isn't always easy. But I believe that, greaterthan the mystery of what lies behind, is the possibility of all that's ahead.