All Is Bright by Sarah Pekkanen Page B

now anyways.” That part was true; my graphic design business was, luckily, quite portable, and business had only increased as I’d picked up more clients in California.
    “And don’t worry about Nana,” I’d said before Dad could bring it up. “I’ll come home and check on her at Christmas.”
    But visiting Nana in her assisted living home wasn’t the only reason why I’d returned, I realized now. I’d been yearning to see Janice again. To feel her forgiveness.
    “How about five o’clock?” Janice was saying.
    “I’d love it.” My voice trembled and I blinked, hard.
    She started to walk away, turned back, and said, “Honey? It is
so good
to see you.”
    * * *
     
    Six hours later, I turned the corner and walked down Grif’s street, smiling as I remembered what had happened after senior prom. We were both exhausted from dancing and hitting after-parties and finishing it all off with pancakes at a twenty-four-hour diner with a group of friends. When he’d finally pulled up in front of my house at four a.m., his red bow tie was dangling around his neck and my shoes were on the floor of his parent’s station wagon.
    “My feet are killing me,” I’d groaned, reaching for the two-inch heels that had rubbed blisters on my toes.
    “Oh, yeah?” Grif had said, raising an eyebrow. “Feel like you can’t walk another step?”
    He’d gunned the motor and pulled up over the curb while I shrieked. He drove clear across my front yard before finally braking with his fender almost touching the steps leading to my front porch. I’d laughed for a good five minutes before I finally unbuckled my seat belt and kissed him good-bye.
    Now I raised my hand to ring his old doorbell, just as I had hundreds of times before. “Come in, it’s open,” Janice’s muffled voice called from somewhere inside.
    The hinges of the front door still complained as it swung open, and everything else in the house was exactly the same, too, down to the hanging ferns and soft-looking furniture and rich maroon paint on the walls. The dark wood banister was wrapped with greenery, and a sprig of mistletoe hung from the ceiling between the living and dining rooms.
    “Hey, Scout,” I said, rubbing behind the ears of the ancient golden retriever who’d ambled over to greet me. His snout was almost pure white and his eyes were rheumy, but his tail wagged as eagerly as ever.
    “Elise? Welcome!” Griffin’s father, Stephen, rounded the corner from the kitchen, a mug of cider in his hand. He looked exactly like Grif would in another thirty years—tall and fit, with classic features.
    “Thank you so much for having me,” I said.
Way too formal
, I chided myself. I thrust the gifts I’d bought in San Francisco—a handcrafted teapot with a box of peppermint tea for Janice, and a box set of Miles Davis CDs for Stephen—toward him.
    “Thanks. Happy you could make it,” he said easily, tucking the gifts under his arm. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “We’ve got a buffet set up in the kitchen. Neighbors are going to be wandering in and out all night. Come on and get the best stuff before they gobble it up.”
    I exhaled and felt warmth flood through my body. It was as if I’d been here just yesterday.
    * * *
     
    I was working my way through a second sinfully delicious whoopie pie when the telephone rang.
    “Griffin!” I heard Janice cry a moment later.
    I brushed my hands against my pants to remove the crumbs and stood up. I wanted to say hi to Grif, too. To let him know I was thinking of him. Missing him, even.
    “Yes, Dad’s right here,” she was saying. “Come on, honey, Griffin wants to talk to both of us at once.” Stephen bent over and Janice held the phone receiver midway between their ears. They were silent for a long moment, then erupted into cheers.
    “Oh my gosh!” Janice squealed.
    “Congratulations, son!” Stephen chimed in.
    I knew—before Janice called out the news to the assembled neighbors; and even