//------------------------------//
// Epilogue 
// Story: My Neighbor's Neighbor 
// by Antiquarian 
//------------------------------//

One year later…

That winter, Mr. Arrow slipped on ice and twisted his ankle walking up his driveway. Fortunately, the Apple siblings had been out shoveling at the time, and they’d driven him to the emergency room. Mr. Arrow had always been a hardy man, and the damage mercifully hadn’t been too severe, but he would need to use a cane while he went through physical therapy. It just so happened to have been his left ankle, which meant that he could still drive himself around, and the winter had taken a turn for the dry after the last storm, so he didn’t need to worry about shoveling the drive. 

Until, one day, a snowstorm blew in. Mr. Arrow sat in his front room, watching the snow fall and mulling over whether or not he’d be able to move enough the next day to shovel out at least one path for his car. While he watched, he saw several cars pull into the Apples’ drive. Six girls in their teens and a small dog emerged. The happy young women waited, shivering, on the front porch until Applejack opened the door to admit them. 

Mr. Arrow smiled. He’d seen these young women around many times and, while he questioned some of their more colorful hair styles (kids these days), they’d struck him as being well-brought up and kind, if a little high-spirited. It pleased him to see that the Apple children had found friends with integrity. It would help them mature and thrive. The thought made him happy as he went to bed, letting worries about shoveling the drive be a matter for tomorrow.

He woke to the sound of scraping shovels and muted voices early the next morning. Somewhat befuddled, he dressed and limped downstairs. Opening the door, he was shocked to find the Apple siblings and their friends clearing his front walk. They chattered quietly to each other as they worked, obviously trying (and sometimes failing) to keep their voices down in case he was still asleep. There was evidence that an impromptu snowball fight had broken out at least once, but for all their merrymaking his drive was more than half cleared. 

Mr. Arrow was deeply touched by the generosity of the children. He thought it spoke volumes to the quality of the Apples’ friends that they would help a stranger, and to the quality of the Apples that they would choose such friends. The old man accepted their kindness with good grace and told them he would cook breakfast for them. Some of them tried to refuse, but they were persuaded to accept the offer by a young woman wearing red. There was something familiar about her voice, but he couldn’t put his finger on it and, bundled up as she was, he was unable to identify her by her appearance. Still, he was grateful for her assistance. 

The old man had just finished whipping up a hearty breakfast for them when they came in from shoveling (and a full-blown snowball fight, judging by their thoroughly snow-caked garb). Soon his mud room was full of sodden jackets and boots as one young man, eight young women, and a small dog cast off their winter apparel. One by one, each of the friends came up to introduce themselves.

Last to approach was the woman who’d been wearing red, a woman he now recognized. Gone was the self-loathing and despair of that rainy Fall day, replaced with self-confidence, warmth, and a ready smile. “Hello, Mr. Arrow,” she said, happiness dancing in her eyes.

Mr. Arrow’s face lit up with joyful surprise. “Rebecca?” he exclaimed.

“’Rebecca?!’” echoed the others in confusion. 

The young woman laughed. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say you Apples have got quite a guy for a neighbor.” 

“We knew that,” said Applejack, folding her arms. “What’s the deal with this ‘Rebecca’ thing?”

‘Rebecca’ ignored her and held out a hand to Mr. Arrow. The old man thought he saw tears in her eyes as she said, “Sunset Shimmer. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Mr. Arrow clasped her hand in both of his own. “The pleasure is mine, Sunset. The pleasure is mine.”