It's October, we're back in Vermont. The leaves have already changed and are at the end of peak season. Regardless of it being the end of the season, it's beautiful. Some of the trees are totally bare, but some still cling to red, yellow and orange leaves. The majority of the foliage seems to be littering the ground as we drive on old back roads and through wooded areas. The air is crisp, but the sun is still out and shining.

Everything about this drive is nearly perfect. Myka sits next to me in the passenger seat as we drive down the highway. This is the kind of place I like driving, where I don't have to deal with too many cars and it's calm. I step on the gas a bit much time and again to keep Myka awake. She prods my arm and calls me leadfoot on those occasions. She has on her geeky little sunglasses that flip up, her leg is propped up against the side of the door, she has her hair pulled back so the breeze doesn't move her curls everywhere.

Despite her best intentions to completely ignore the teachings of Pete, Myka has learnt a thing or two from him. One of them being a love of ice cream. She usually goes for some kind of gelato or sorbet, but I occasionally catch her eating something a bit creamier and indulgent. It's good for her to cut loose every once in a while.

"Would you care to make an ice cream stop?" I casually suggest as Myka taps her foot against the door.

"Ooh, that sounds good."

We drive a few more miles down the highway until we get off at an exit leading to a local road. At the intersection of the exit, Myka looks around at the signs, surprised at where we are.

"Are we going to the Ben & Jerry's Factory?" I turn the corners of my mouth into a grin. "We have to send Pete a photo." She mischievously adds with a smile as she looks back towards the road.

It's after Columbus Day weekend, so the crowds seem to have returned home. That and with the weather turning colder, it's a bit quieter than one would typically expect from an ice cream parlor. Children are in school, so I don't have to fight over the last brownie - if it comes to that, that is.

We walk up what seems a like a hundred stairs to the top where the factory entrance is. My eyes widen at the bright colors of every piece of furniture, every wall, every corner of this place. Decor be damned, I really just want some ice cream.

Myka grew up with freezers and refrigeration; I'm still in awe over putting leftovers in a container in the fridge and they keep for days on end. Ice cream is still a treat for me, which she likes to tell me reminds her of her grandparents who always said the same thing. For a moment, I wonder what Christina would have thought of such a place. She, like me, would probably have been more interested in seeing the ice cream made on the factory floor, then would have found a charming way to get one of the employees to give her an entire pint rather than just a sample. My mind wanders to thoughts of Christina and how much I would have loved taking a family holiday with her and Myka.

Myka. She would have absolutely adored Christina. I could have easily seen the two of them playing outside together, running around, jumping into piles of leaves, enjoying everything about this time of year. There was a time when I'd have thought that the modern world was no place for a child, but I look at our family back in South Dakota, Myka's playful expressions, how much she loves me, how wonderfully we function as a couple, and think that they would have got on tremendously.

As we sit down outside with our treats, I look over at Myka studying the mountains and their many colors. Her leg is bouncing back and forth, completely at ease and happy with everything about our day.

"You going to take that photo to send to Pete?"

Myka giggles and holds up my ice cream container, complete with the whipped cream and brownie. It's much richer than her own, so it is better to send off to Pete. I quickly snap a photo, sending it along to him with a short message.

Doing inventory in the Warehouse isn't nearly as much fun as traveling. Pete takes off his gloves when he hears the message notification chime. He recognizes it as H.G.'s ringtone and grins at the thought of her message. Since her return, the two of them have got into the habit of sending texts and photos, usually joking in nature and silly things that she knows he would like and vice versa. It has been her way of making amends for past behavior.

Opening the message he sees a smiling Myka, eyebrows raised, holding and pointing to a really delicious-looking sundae and reads:

Scrumptious things I've eaten today.

H.G. sure knows how to flaunt, he thinks.