Epilogue
Eight Months Later
The path through the woods seemed like something that had always been with Mac, in reality and in dreams. The maples and pines causing the sun to fall in dappled light on the dark soil, the stream babbling and running through the woods’ heart—these were magical to him, a place of not only awe but of reverence. These woods were where he’d grown up, where he’d retreated to when times were rough. And if ever things in life were going poorly, he could escape here in his dreams and in his imagination, even from as far away as the Pacific Northwest.
But he wasn’t in the Pacific Northwest, not anymore. He was here, in the woods behind Grandma Grace’s trailer, tromping through the forest, up and down hills and alongside the brown-colored creek, in a kind of heaven.
