Write Me Home

by Crystal Walton

  Ethan rubbed a hand towel over his face and tossed it on the passenger seat while glancing at the speedometer. Deputy Harris wouldn’t pull him over. He knew the reason Ethan was back in this forsaken place. Same as the whole town probably knew. How could he have been the last to get word?

  The early morning sun beat against his neck, driving aggravation deeper into his pores. Yeah, he’d been the one to walk out five years ago. That didn’t mean Mom could cut him off from family affairs. This was a low blow. Even for her.

  The wheels hugged the road above the creek while hints of honeysuckles and mowed grass breezed through his topless Jeep Wrangler. Why did his hometown have to smell this good?

  If he hadn’t just driven three hours straight from an all-nighter at the fire station, he might’ve dared to let himself enjoy the ride. Most of upstate New York had a similar feel, but nothing beat summers in the Catskills. Beauty was one thing he couldn’t fault Haven’s Creek for having.

  The single grocery mart within twenty miles passed on his right, followed by the rundown sign for Camp Misneach on his left. He kept driving. Past the Morrison farm, past a 1960s version of an Exxon gas station, and down two curvy side roads until his tires crunched over the gravel driveway leading to his grandma’s house.

  The bits of rock barely outnumbered the memories hitting him dead in the chest. Growing up, this had been a second home for him and Isabella. He braked in front of the house and cut off that train of thought along with the engine. Even after ten years, he still couldn’t think about losing her.

  He shut the Jeep door behind him, drew in a breath, and stared at the porch his grandpa had made with his own hands. The trouble with trying to construct a new life? You can’t unearth the original foundation.

  Aside from a single path that stopped halfway across the yard, the grass looked like it hadn’t been mowed in weeks. He skipped both steps leading up to the front door where the wooden beams whined under his heavy boots.

  “You’ll never be able to sneak up on someone, making all that racket,” Nonna called from inside.

  Well, at least she was feeling like herself.

  He let himself in. The trademark aroma of Italian roasted coffee greeted him right before her longhaired dachshund stormed the entryway. Teeth bared, the dog crouched and growled at his boots. Ethan squatted to rub her fluffy ears. “It’s okay, Lady. Remember me?”

  “She might if you ever came to visit.”

  As if to accentuate Nonna’s point, Lady turned and scurried toward her with her nails clinking against the floor panels. After receiving a quick pat on the head, she curled up on an oval dog bed scrunched inside the bottom of an old hutch in the hall.

  Spoiled dog.

  Ethan stopped a foot inside the kitchen. “Nonna, what are you doing?”

  She turned and brushed her flour-covered hands on her apron. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making pasta.”

  Of course she was. What else would she be doing after just having a heart attack?

  She looked him up and down, taking in the full scope of the station gear he hadn’t had a chance to change out of yet. He lowered his suspenders to his sides and flicked a glance toward the bathroom. A quick wash-up probably wasn’t out of order.

  Arms crossed, she continued to stare. Wiry strands of peppered hair strayed from a bun as round as each of her cheeks. Even at only four foot eleven, she could pass for an NFL linebacker when she had that look in her eye. “You can take those boots off, mister. There’s no fire to put out here, and you missed the ambulance days ago.”

  Thanks to Mom not telling him.

  Swallowing the retort, he ambled over, curled an arm around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  She gave his waist a squeeze. “Don’t they feed you at that fire station of yours?”

  “I get plenty to eat, Nonna.”

  “Mm hmm. Looks to me like they’re short on razors, too.”

  He ran the backs of his fingers over his cheekbone. He was so used to the stubble, he forgot she probably wouldn’t be. He knelt to unlace his boots, lugged them off, and set them alongside the hutch. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”

  She waved off his concern. “Doctors overreact.”

  He leaned against the counter and picked a handful of grapes from a fruit bowl beside the set of canisters she’d had since he was a kid. “I hear doctors might know what they’re talking about. Kinda goes with the whole decade-of-training thing.”

  Nonna smoothed the dough with her rolling pin. “A lot of good it did this one. That boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m as healthy as an ox.”

  “An ox with a bad heart?”

  She whipped around, rolling pin in hand.

  This couldn’t be good. Ethan gulped down a grape and backed into the corner by the sink.

  She marched right up to him and tapped the pin against his chest. “Don’t be using that sass with me, young man. My heart’s strong enough to give you a good whipping.”

  He didn’t doubt it. After growing up with her as his second mom, he’d learned never to mess with an Italian grandma. He shoved another grape in his mouth to keep from smiling first.

  She tugged him down, released a hearty laugh, and kissed both his cheeks. “Ah, mio nipote, I’ve missed you.” She kept her weathered hands on either side of his face. “Thanks for checking on me, but I’m fine, dear.”

  “Dad said the doc mentioned needing to change your diet.” He slanted a glance past her toward the two empty butter wrappers lying beside a mixing bowl.

  “Nonsense.” She whirled back toward the kitchen island and fluttered a hand at the basement door. “Nothing a little red wine can’t cure.”

  Obviously, the heart attack hadn’t affected her stubborn genes.

  “Diet. Humph. Next thing you know, they’ll be trying to ship me off to one of those retirement homes.”

  Ethan didn’t envy anyone who’d dare to try. This wasn’t only a house. It was her heritage. Built by her husband, nurtured with her own hands. She’d make sure she took her last breath here. He was positive of that much.

  The knife’s blade quivered as she strained to cut a straight line down the dough. She’d aged more than he’d expected. How much time did he have left with her? His throat tightened. She was right. He should’ve visited more often.

  He dusted the flour her rolling pin had left on his shirt, wishing regret were as easy to shake off, and opened the fridge for some milk. Near-empty shelves stared back at him. He settled for a glass of water and joined her at the island. “Has Mom been by?” The least she could’ve done was bring her own mother groceries.

  Nonna scooped up a series of noodles with the flat side of her knife and slid them into a stainless steel pot. “You know she’s busy, dear. All that city council stuff.”

  Was that supposed to be justification? The veins on the top of his hands rose.

  She lifted the pot by both handles and almost toppled over.

  Ethan rounded the island in time to catch it. “Here. Let me.” Whether or not she wanted to admit it, she needed someone here to help her.

  Beside him at the counter, she withdrew two mugs from a cabinet and curled both unsteady hands around the coffee pot handle as she poured. He accepted the coffee while swallowing the disappointment that it wasn’t her famous espresso instead. But then she’d be drinking it, too, and that was probably the last thing her heart needed.

  Speaking of which, he’d better come up with a way to sneak her espresso machine out of here when she wasn’t looking.

  “You should see your mama while you’re here.”

  His sip of coffee choked halfway down. He held his mug away and turned to cough. “That’s . . . not . . . happening,” he said between wheezes.

  Nonna caught his gaze and didn’t let go. “She’s tua madre, Ethan.”

  “And you’re hers. Apparently, that doesn’t mean much in this family.”

 
; She clanked her mug against the counter and muttered something in Italian.

  Lady flung her head up and barked.

  Nonna fanned a dishtowel at her. “Oh, stop your yapping.” She fixed a glare on Ethan again. “Neither of you can change the past. Now’s all you have. It’s time you two settle this rubbish. Enough is enough.”

  Except that’d require Mom actually speaking to him first.

  He led Nonna to one of the bar stools on the other side of the island before her blood pressure skyrocketed. He’d come to help, not tax her heart even more. “Let’s not talk about that right now. Why don’t you let me pick up some groceries for you? I’ll make you a healthy lunch, and we can sit out back and visit awhile. Okay?”

  “Don’t turn those baby blues on me, young man. You may have your Nonno’s eyes, but that doesn’t mean I have to fall for them.”

  He laughed but didn’t relent on his hopeful expression.

  She crossed her arms above her round belly. “Fine. But don’t be coming back here with any of that cardboard stuff.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Though, getting her to cut back on butter and cheese might be a challenge. He swiped his boots from the floor and nodded at the dog. “Guard the house while I’m gone.”

  Lady stretched her paws off the bed and yawned.

  Classic.

  Outside, the overgrown grass stole his attention. He caught the door before it closed. “Doesn’t the Miller boy mow your grass for you?”

  “Stopped last month,” she said on her way down the hall. “He’s heading off to college.”

  Already? “Didn’t he just start high school?”

  “Four years ago.” She patted his arm. “The world carried on after you left.”

  Maybe for some people.

  Nonna leaned into the trim while Lady rubbed against her feet. “Camp Misneach closed, too. About a year ago, after Colin died.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He was a good man.” She kept her gaze on the porch, brow furrowed. “I hear his granddaughter’s taking over the place.”

  “Really?” That was quite the undertaking. “She must be sharp.”

  “I reckon she is.”

  Or incredibly naive. Either way, not his business. Ethan looked over the yard again. “Is there gas for the mower?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  He paused mid-turn, gaze locked on the path of half-mowed grass. “Wait a sec. Tell me you didn’t try to mow on your own.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been taking care of this place since Nonno died.”

  Which was fine twenty years ago, but now? No wonder she’d had a heart attack. “Nonna—”

  “Hurry on, now. We’ll be waiting.” She prodded Lady back with her foot. “Make sure you bring back whole milk, too. None of that watery kind.”

  Shaking his head, Ethan jogged to his Jeep. Arguing with her had never gotten him anywhere. He tossed his boots into the back, hopped in, and fished around the floorboard behind the seats for a pair of flip-flops until his pinky finger grazed one. He unburied the other and clapped them together over the window. Good ole Hurleys. They’d covered a lot of ground.

  He surveyed the jungle-of-a-yard again as he traded his balled-up socks for the flip-flops. Hopefully, they had a little tread left on them. He had a feeling they were going to need it.

  Back on the road, he checked the clock—7:30 a.m. With any luck, it was still early enough on a Friday to avoid running into anyone. He slid his sunglasses on and extended an arm into the cool air rolling off the mountainside, but the peacefulness clashed against a gnawing unrest eating at him.

  A three-hour commute was too long to check on Nonna every day. But what was he supposed to do? Move back here? The thought sawed into his gut with his seatbelt. He’d cut ties with this town at his first chance. Left memories buried under ashes—where they were supposed to stay.

  He flipped on his blinker, turned into Fran’s Grocer, and coasted into a parking spot. The Jeep idled, but his brain kicked into overdrive. Could he really move back home? Where would he live? No way Nonna’d let him crash at her place. She’d insist she didn’t need a babysitter.

  And what about work? The station? He couldn’t just drop everything in Auburn and pick things back up here as if he’d never left. There was nothing here for him.

  Except Nonna.

  The image of her struggling in the kitchen tore into him. He’d expected her stubborn streak. It was in her bones. But her bite didn’t compensate for the toll her age was taking on her body. At the very least, she needed time to recuperate from the heart attack.

  If she wouldn’t follow the doctor’s orders on her own, what other choice did she leave him but to step in? Mom could look the other way if she wanted, but he wasn’t going to let someone he loved down. Not this time.

  Exhaling, he turned the keys in the ignition and glanced up to meet Fran’s wide eyes staring at him from behind the cash register inside the mart. The town busy body. Perfect. So much for flying under the radar. If he moved back here, he’d have a whole lot worse than local gossip to face.

  He climbed out of the Jeep and slid his sunglasses to his head. “Man up, DeLuca. This isn’t your first fire to conquer.”

  chapter two

  Adventure

  Cassidy McAdams turned off the air conditioning in her Passat and cracked the window instead. She’d forgotten how cool mornings got in the Catskills. Just like she’d forgotten the way these hills made her stomach drop. Her smile faded. After not coming back for ten years, what else did she expect? Would she even still recognize the camp?

  Steadying the wheel with her knee, she tugged a band from her wrist and whirled her hair up into a ponytail. The turnoff was around here somewhere. She eased off the gas pedal at the sound of her tires screeching. Whoa, that curve came up fast. Her cat moaned from the back seat.

  “Sorry, Jax.” Squinting, she scoured the left side of the road for the wooden sign. “There.” She braked a car-length in front of it and adjusted the sunglasses that’d slid down her face. With her arm stretched across the back of the passenger seat, she glanced at the cat carrier before reversing. “Guess we found our first repair to make, huh, buddy?”

  Her Passat rocked from pothole to pothole up the long, gravel driveway. At the top, she pulled into the parking spot closest to the main building, snagged a clipboard from her briefcase in the floorboard, and jotted down her first notes.

  1. Hedge shrubs. 2. Mend welcome sign. 3. Fix potholes.

  Something told her one notepad wasn’t going to be enough. She clicked her pen in and out against her chin while surveying the old building from behind the windshield.

  4. Order a pack of legal pads.

  With the clipboard stashed under her arm, she clambered out of the car and into a breeze blowing down the hill. Amazing how the scent of hay could trigger memories she hadn’t thought about in ages. Had the place shrunk, or was it just her?

  A panoramic glance around the empty basketball court, closed-up canteen, and neglected fields colored over her childhood memories with the stain of loss. It was as if Grandpa had taken the heart of the camp with him when he passed.

  Maybe it was better that way.

  She pulled out Jax’s carrier, stuck a finger through the crate, and rubbed the line drawn down the middle of his face—orange on one side, white on the other. “You ready for this?”

  Jax cowered in the back corner.

  Cass laughed. “Me neither.” She blew a loose curl from her eyes and wrenched her bags’ straps up her shoulder. Ready or not, she’d already signed the papers.

  She scrambled up the wooden steps and across the deck to the screen door. One touch to the sun-scorched handle sent the door flying open. “Dang it.” She caught the screen with her sandal while flapping her hand in the air. Jeez, she needed an oven mitt to touch that thing.

  After hopping to resituate her bags, she transferred the clipboard to her teeth a
nd fished for the keys in her purse. With a good push, the front door welcomed her into the mildew-scented hallway. Lovely.

  The screen slammed into her ankle and knocked the clipboard to the floor, followed by her bags. She grabbed the banister and bit her knuckle to keep from swearing.

  A peek over her shoulder brought a peeled-back, white flap of skin hanging under a stinging gash into view. Just perfect. She glared around the entryway. “Yeah, nice to see you, too,” she called out to the empty building.

  She set the cat carrier down and squeezed open the latch. Jax bolted out, but she caught his collar and picked him up. “No getting lost. You hear me?” She kissed his head. The second she let him down, he tore off down the hall. “And no eating any vermin, either,” she yelled.

  Spiders, on the other hand, were fair game. She wiped the dust left from the banister off her hand. One thing was for sure. She had to clean up her ankle before diving into anything.

  With her purse and toiletry bag in tow, she limped to the back bedroom. Another train of memories stopped her just inside the doorway. She slid her bags onto the dresser and smiled at the 1970s décor. Grandpa’d refused to upgrade. For posterity, he’d said.

  Had he always planned to leave the camp to her? Not that she blamed him for bypassing his own son. The corporate world would always be more important to Dad than anything family related. And yeah, she’d loved coming up two weeks each summer as a kid, but live here? In the mountains? She’d be lost trying to live country life without Grandpa around.

  She blinked away the unsolicited rise of emotion. It was a nonissue, anyway. She was here on business, plain and simple. Get the facility up to standard, get the books out of the red, and sell the place. She’d be back to her life in the city in a few months. Her last two consulting jobs should tie her over till then. As long as she made enough profit to pay off Mom’s mortgage on the flower shop, it’d be fine. Grandpa had always thought of Mom as his own daughter. He’d want the best for her, wouldn’t he?

  Her heart sank as she looked around at what he’d entrusted to her. Nice try. It’d crush him to know she planned to sell, but what was she supposed to do? She’d run out of options.