by Nina Bocci
“What’s this for?”
“To help us remember the good times.” Even though I was leaving, I’d have people back here as an anchor.
We looked at each other as best we could under the darkening sky. “This place won’t be the same without you, Charlotte,” he said, taking my hand in his.
My belly erupted in flutters. My usual defense mechanism was humor, so I went that route, tamping down the nervous energy that I started to get when he looked at me. “Quite literally.” I laughed, pointing over his shoulder.
“They will be building houses over there soon,” he said, nodding his head toward a sign that was stuck in the wet ground. It read FUTURE SITE OF THE LOVE LANE COMMUNITY. The sign sat on the edge of a steep embankment that would be the location of a new housing development. All the houses would look over the rest of the town below, and a massive yellow dump truck was already parked there for when construction started.
“It’s a silly name, isn’t it?” I scoffed. “Love Lane.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s nice, you know, if you like someone.”
My eyes swung to him, wide and curious. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m just saying it’s not that bad,” he mumbled, kicking the dirt. “It’s sad that people are going to be so close to this spot, though. It won’t be a secret anymore.” He looked up, and my heart plummeted when I saw the tears in his eyes. “This was supposed to be just for us.”
I nodded, holding back my own tears. “My dad said they’re not building up this far, but it’s only a matter of time before someone does,” I said, patting him on the knee.
“I’m going to miss this place.” I stared up at the chipped white railroad-crossing sign, my hand resting on the BEST FRIENDS sticker.
“Aren’t you going to miss anything else?” he asked, sitting beside me and stretching his legs out. Side by side the size difference between us was comical. His legs were bony, pale, and shorter than mine. My father said I’d had a growth spurt and that eventually he would have one, too, but there was also the chance that he was going to be slight in stature like his mom and not built broadly like his father, who was practically a giant.
It wasn’t just our height, though, that made us appear so different in age. He still looked like a little boy, whereas I—much to my dad’s dismay—was moving solidly toward preteenville. Doctor or not, my dad was jarred by the fact that his baby girl needed a training bra. My hair was growing faster, becoming more wayward with its curls, and my skin was starting to get the telltale signs that acne was going to be starting soon. Hormones were awful.
The only real similarity between us was the road map of scars, scabs, and black-and-blue marks that marred both of our limbs. It was thanks to hours of horseplay outside with friends. Friends I wouldn’t see every day anymore.
“Charlotte?” he said, bumping my leg with his.
“Oh, sorry, I was thinking. What did you ask?”
He sighed. “I asked if you were going to miss anything else.”
I smiled sadly. “I’ll miss my dad most of all. Three hours is a long way away to visit me, and he’s already so busy.”
“Are you going to miss anybody else? Teachers, classmates …” He paused, shrugging his shoulder. “Friends?” In hindsight, I should have realized what he was referring to.
Friends.
Him.
“I’m afraid.”
“Of leaving? New York is so cool! And you’re going to be so close to the city. Just a train ride away! We went with Cooper and his parents. There are shows on Broadway that you’ll love and the park has a zoo!”
I smiled weakly. “I know that. Dad mentioned it when he was trying to cheer me up.”
I sniffed, wiping my tears away with my shirt. “I’m worried everyone’s going to forget about me.”
A lump in my throat prevented me from continuing.
Taking my hand, he held it gently between his. “I’ll remember you, Charlotte.”
“I think I see them!” someone shouted from behind us.
He looked at me; the look of sadness and heartbreak that must have mirrored my own was written over his face. We lunged at each other at the same time, and I held him in the tightest hug I could muster up.
My tears plopped onto his shoulder, and I felt a wall, brick by brick, form around my heart. Protecting it from the hurt that I was feeling. This wasn’t a pain I ever wanted to feel again. I wouldn’t allow it.
What I didn’t realize was that by shutting out the pain of leaving him, I pushed him away completely. And I wouldn’t know what I was missing until I returned to Hope Lake.
1
The bus rolled to a stop. A blinking yellow light hung over a pair of rickety train tracks. They looked defunct with the chipped white safety bars remaining at attention on the rusted metal poles. Squinting through the darkness, I spied a large green sign next to it. It swung back and forth in the May breeze.
HOPE LAKE
25 MILES
It was barely legible in the dense fog. It’s what happened in valleys like this—the fog would blanket the town until the sun burned it away. Everything settles in Hope Lake. The weather, the people. My mother’s voice echoed in my head. Remember that, Charlotte. Don’t go back, it sucks people in.
I remembered her words wearily, rolling out my neck. Every inch of me was stiff, cramped from the fabric seat and the stale bus air. It didn’t help that I was wedged against the window thanks to the mountain-size guy in my neighboring seat. His long legs were outstretched into the darkened aisle, perfect for tripping an unsuspecting person on his or her way to the onboard restroom. He was snoring away, oblivious to the fact that he kept half the bus awake with the sound. It only added to my sour mood.
The ride should have been a couple of bumpy hours by bus to my destination, a sleepy Pennsylvania town in the middle of nowhere. But with weekend traffic, roadwork, and a dozen drop-off stops that I didn’t realize were a part of the route when I bought the one-way ticket, it had taken almost five and a half hours, and it still wasn’t over.
“I’ll never complain about the subway again,” I groaned, shifting side to side, hoping to jar the lumbering snorer, and my rear end, awake.
The bus rumbled along in the darkness, eating up the last five miles slowly. The snorer jolted awake when the driver sounded the booming horn as we finally pulled into the tiny bus station in a town called Mount Hazel. I wasn’t back yet, but this was as close as I could swing relying on public transportation this late at night.
I descended the bus stairs, my purse and carry-on bag slung over my shoulder, and looked around. Everything seemed nice enough, at least in the transition between night and the wee morning hours. A small, clean bus shelter sat near the street, free of graffiti. The rental car place behind it looked freshly painted and well-kept. The only noticeable problem was that it was closed. Wasn’t everything open twenty-four hours like it was in New York? As the last passenger disembarked from the bus and got into an awaiting car, I realized I didn’t have many options to get those last couple of miles to Hope Lake.
“Ma’am, are you expecting a ride?” the kindly bus driver asked, scratching his well-past-five-o’clock shadow with his meaty hand. “I can wait a bit so you’re not alone with, uh, everything.”
He peered around me to the semi-pitiful stack of suitcases that I had begged and borrowed from people with the promise of returning them as soon as I could. The ragtag bunch contained most of my worldly possessions. He had removed them from the built-in bus storage and neatly propped them against the side of the small, darkened depot.
It may not have seemed like a lot when my roommate, Parker, and I were packing up the necessities, but now seeing it in two piles with no way of getting it to where I was going, it appeared mountainous.
I smiled. “I did have a rental car, but clearly that’s not happening.” I waved back to the closed Enterprise booth. “I didn’t realize they weren’t open twe
nty-four hours like they are at home.”
“No, ma’am, not here. Most stuff closes about five or six in the evening.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. Sign said they closed hours ago,” I admitted sheepishly, checking my watch. It was just after four in the morning.
He looked at me disbelievingly. “So no one is coming? Are you from Mount Hazel?”
I shook my head wearily. “I’m headed to Hope Lake.”
Realization dawned on him. “Is there someone I can call for you? I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”
He yawned, and a nugget of guilt wedged itself in my stomach. This guy didn’t have it any easier than I did with the traffic and delays. He was just as tired, or more. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks, though.”
The driver looked uncertain. I didn’t know if there was some unwritten code that would prevent him from leaving a passenger alone. “If you’re sure,” he said finally, looking around the empty lot. The side with the rental cars was filled. I wondered which would have been mine.
“I’m just going to sit tight until the Enterprise people come,” I said, glancing at the hours on the glass door. “They should open at eight o’clock, so it’s not too bad.”
The only things surrounding me were the sound of crickets, a couple of hooting owls, and a suspicious-looking three-legged cat with a Mohawk that was wandering around the parking lot.
“Maybe you could call someone for a ride?” he suggested, seemingly unconvinced with my willingness to just sit under the streetlight. “Those fancy-app drivers are just starting to come around here.”
“Really, I’m okay,” I insisted, not wanting to add anything else to my nearly maxed-out credit card. The rental car was prepaid without a refund. “I have a book right here …” I paused, pulling out a tattered print copy of The Alchemist that I’d borrowed from the Brooklyn Public Library. A hefty charge would be waiting for me by the time I got to return it. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
Nodding, he reluctantly walked to the far end of the lot. His black pickup truck sat under a flickering lamppost that was teeming with some sort of large moth.
I tried giving him the most reassuring smile I could when he tooted the horn and pulled onto the quiet, deserted road. I didn’t falter in my decision to sit it out until I heard the damn owl hooting again.
The outdoors and I were not copacetic. It was warm and sticky, and it wasn’t even summer yet. My skin tingled thinking about the insects. I wasn’t a Girl Scout. I needed AC and a glass of wine. Can I make it back to New York before the end of August?
Clearly, I didn’t think this plan through.
I swallowed thickly. Do I even have a plan?
Sort of!
I pulled out my phone and dialed Parker. She’d be up now readying for work.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” she mumbled through a yawn.
“Are you working?” I sunk down onto one of the suitcases.
“Yep, just slid two cakes into the oven. On track for a banner day.”
Parker owned a boutique bakery called Delicious and Vicious. Her cakes were traditionally flavored with not-so-traditional messages and theming to go along with them. Her business had boomed a couple of months back after being featured on the Food Network.
“I need you to keep me company for the next few hours,” I explained, curling my legs under me. “A plan would have been smart.”
“No shit.”
“Shut up, I just meant that the car rental place is closed.”
She sighed into the phone. “Get an Uber, Charlotte. Or better, call your dad.” She punctuated each word with a short pause. It was an argument we’d had for the past few days. I didn’t want to let him, or anyone in Hope Lake, know that I was coming.
“Obviously, you’re going to have to see him, and explain things, eventually. You know, like when you show up on his doorstep and say, ‘Oh, hey, Dad, I’m home—’ ”
I interrupted. “Here.”
“What?”
“I’m here, not home. Home is where you are. Here is not home. This is a bump in the road. A sad little pit stop in my life. Nothing more, and certainly not home.”
She huffed. “One thing is for certain.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to be writing the Hope Lake tourist advertisements,” she barked, laughing as she repeated, “ ‘Sad little pit stop.’ ”
“I’m serious. I can’t let this, whatever, distract me and make me lose focus of the end goal. Getting back to New York.” I paused, feeling a sense of unease wash over me. “To civilization,” I finished.
“Whatever it is, a pit stop, a roadblock, or the start of something new, you can’t just sit on the side of a highway alone in the middle of the night. It’s like a Stephen King novel. Or better yet, an M. Night Shyamalan movie. He’s from Pennsylvania, right? I’d be worried sick.”
“You’re enjoying my imminent demise a little too much, thanks,” I lamented. “Wait a minute, the ‘start of something new’? You’re either living in a Hallmark Channel movie or High School Musical, Parks.”
She sighed, no doubt dreaming about Zac Efron. “Whatever, send me your exact location so if you go missing, I can have a lead to give to the hot country detective who’ll want to question me about your disappearance.”
“This isn’t the country exactly,” I corrected. “It’s just not the city.” I put the phone on speaker so I could share my location with her via text.
“Brilliant explanation, Sherlock. You know that anything outside of New York is the country to me. Okay, I’m sending you an Uber now. You’re limited out there in the sticks on what type of vehicle will come pick you up, so hopefully whatever comes fits all your crap.”
I sighed. “You don’t have to do that, Parker. That’s not why I called you.”
There was a long pause. I could hear pots and pans clinking and clanking in her kitchen.
“I know it’s not.” I hated the thought of my recently not-so-broke friend sending her super-broke friend a charity Uber.
Then, something howled. It was coming from the thick wooded area next to me. Are those eyes in the darkness?
Okay, maybe I didn’t hate the charity Uber that much. I wasn’t going to last five minutes out here. This didn’t exactly bode well for my being stuck in Hope Lake for the foreseeable future.
“I’ll pay you back,” I insisted, knowing that it would be a bit before I could. Things were tight. It helped that I was saving on not having to rent a place when I got to Hope Lake.
Parker grumbled. “Unnecessary. This is me helping you after you helped me manage everything after the coverage from the Food Network. Now, if you just took the job I offered you, you would still be here with me, in New York, instead of leaving me here all alone.” She sighed longingly. “Now I have to let my idiot brother’s idiot friend move in.”
Even with all the press, she had thankfully stayed the same witty, generous best friend I had for the past twenty years. Even if it meant offering her untalented-in-the-kitchen best friend a job.
“I’m sorry about that, but we both know my working as your assistant would have been disastrous. I burned water and destroyed your favorite caramel pot. With my luck, my first day on the job would involve my burning down the entire place instead of a small stove fire. No, thanks.”
Parker laughed just as a car drove past. Not the Uber.
“I didn’t think it was possible to be that bad at boiling, but, surprise, it was. I’m sure the fire department is still telling that story.”
I pinched up my face, not that she could see me. “In my defense, I forgot about the stove because my phone rang and I got tied up.”
“Fair enough, I know that was the last phone call you were hoping to get,” she said kindly, having been there to witness my pathetic mood after I got the bad news.
The caller was the head of HR at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, After almost three months of trying to find something new, I officially gav
e up the search in New York after my last job prospect didn’t work out. Sure, I could have gotten a job almost anywhere else, but I wanted a job in my field. Wasn’t that why I was still paying off my student loans? The position at the BBG wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for, but it was close enough and I would have been happy. Plus, there was the idea that the change of scenery would have been a good move for me. Getting out of the flower shop and into more of a business role with greater responsibilities and a chance to move up would have been worth it.
It was just after they courtesy-called to say they went with another candidate with more community-engagement experience that I decided to head back to Hope Lake with my tail between my legs. There were options, of course.
Sure, I could have found a way to stay—cater-waitering, something soul sucking in Times Square, tour guide on the Gray Line tourist buses—but how long would that have lasted before the boredom crept in? I was in debt, desperate, and after a come-to-Jesus conversation with Parker about my options, Hope Lake seemed like the best, well, hope to get my life back on track.
Plus, I figured that if I ducked out of the city for a couple of months, the gossip that my former boss Gabrielle had started about me would die down and I wouldn’t be shunned in the floral world any longer.
“Hey, not to beat a dead horse, but has there been any more Gabby gossip floating around?”
Parker sucked in a breath. “Do you want me to be honest?”
My stomach dropped. I thought it would get better if I left. “No, but yes,” I responded, nibbling away at my thumbnail.
“She said you were trying to steal clients from her and that some of the accounting was off. Which we know is a lie, but it’s added to people not wanting to hire you because they think you’re shady. I’m really sorry, Charlotte. It’s my fault that she’s going after you.”
The worry latched onto my heart and squeezed. If this kept up, August wouldn’t be enough time for the damage to fade away.
