Home for the Hawley-Daze (Hickory Hollow #1)

Chapter 1

I t was jarring how, despite all the changes, the town somehow also looked exactly the same. Hickory Hollow was a map dot in the wilds of northern New York, tucked close to the Canadian border, where I’d spent almost half of my childhood. I’d been a sullen and angry pre-teen and teenager, with good reason, and I hated every second of living here. Okay, that was an exaggeration. But I couldn’t wait to escape. So much so I’d joined the Marine Corps just to get out. I hadn’t been back since the day I left.

I’d done my twenty and now I was a civilian. Last year, when I decided I was done and dropped my packet, I still didn’t expect to come back here. Had, in fact, planned on purposefully never setting foot back in Hickory Hollow again. But Arlo’s face had lit up, and there were tears in his eyes, when I told him my separation date.

“You’ll be here for the holidays!” He’d proclaimed, excitement crinkling his features.

And I’d agreed. Because Arlo was my only family, and he deserved my time. It wasn’t his fault my childhood had been a mess. He’d done the best he could with a hurt and angry ten-year-old when I’d been dropped in his lap.

My mother had been out of the picture since I was an infant. My dad had done his best, and he’d raised me well. But an accident at work, one moment’s inattention and a novice mechanic’s fumbling mistake, had taken him from me. Social services had failed to locate the woman who had given birth to me, but even if they had, she wouldn’t have been fit. She loved getting high more than she loved me. When Jareth McKinnon died, the only family left was his younger brother.

I’d known Arlo existed, knew he was my uncle, but I’d never met him. Dad had left Hickory Hollow before graduating high school and made his own life halfway across the country. They didn’t talk, but Dad always said that was his choice, and Arlo had been a good little brother. I never did get the story. The one time I’d asked, Dad had said he’d tell me when he was older. After I came here, I didn’t want to know, and Arlo never shared.

But I’d never forget meeting Arlo for the first time, seeing those brown eyes that were so much like my dad’s, the ones he’d passed to me, on a stranger’s face. Arlo had shaken my hand, then squeezed my shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, Barrett,” he’d rumbled. I hadn’t believed him. Years later, I was man enough to admit that it had been. Even if I hated the tiny town Arlo brought me to, even if I once again longed for city life, like I’d had in Chicago. Arlo had done his best, and I was always safe and fed. And loved, though I didn’t recognize it at the time.

Unlike my dad, when I left, I made sure to stay in touch. I never hesitated to call or email, and always kept Arlo up to date on my life. He’d been there at Parris Island, beaming proudly, when I graduated from basic. He’d visited when I’d been assigned to duty station in Georgia. He’d made it to Oceanside when I’d been promoted to Gunnery Sergeant. But in twenty years, I’d never come back to Hickory Hollow.

Until now.

As I drove down Center Street, I clocked the changes. The Post Office still stood in a squat brick building on the corner of Center and Water streets, but the trees that once hid it from view were gone. The bank, which had always occupied the opposite corner, was now a dispensary, though the building was the same. The senior center had gotten a facelift and St. Mary’s Catholic Church sported a new sign. Some houses were gone, others were new. The grocery store was now some sort of plant shop with a fancy sign proclaiming it Bark and Bloom, and a new building had popped up beside it called Yarn Voyage. So different, yet still so much the same.

On the corner of Center Street, where the northwest fork would take you out of town, The Emerald Lantern looked exactly the same as it always had. Even the paint, though relatively new, was the same exact shade of off white.

The parking lot was empty at this time of day. Arlo didn’t open for business until four in the afternoon. Even though the pub served food as well as drink, Arlo wasn’t a proponent of day drinking. At least, that’s what he always said. I still believed it was because he insisted on working every night—except Sundays, when the pub was closed—and he didn’t want to get out of bed too early. But it was late enough that I knew Arlo would not only be awake, but in his office, doing all the administrative work that needed to be done.

Arlo lived upstairs in a two-bedroom apartment that had only a living room and bathroom, and the tiniest kitchen in existence. When I’d first moved in, Arlo had started looking for a “more appropriate” place to raise a kid. But not only were vacant homes thin on the ground—at least in town—but I actually liked it. It had taken me a while to admit it, but eventually, I’d spoken up.

“I don’t wanna move,” I’d mumbled, ten years old and not yet willing to give him an inch, no matter that it wasn’t his fault. “Hearing everyone downstairs means I’m not alone.”

Arlo cuffed my shoulder, but never said another word about moving.

I parked in the back, next to Arlo’s beat up, late model Chevy pickup. I left my ruck in the backseat, knowing it would be safe enough, and then took a second to just breathe and steel myself before I pushed open the door. I stretched, my back popping, and shook out the tingles. I hadn’t stopped for even a bathroom break in at least five hours, and even though my SUV was roomy enough to accommodate my six-foot four frame, I was stiff.

Nerves coiled in my gut. Which was stupid. I was a Marine for fuck’s sake. See the hill, take the hill. This was my uncle and where I’d spent almost half of my childhood. There was no reason to be nervous. Another deep breath, and my feet moved, still not used to sneakers instead of my LPCs.

The back door creaked, the sound so familiar it was hit with unexpected nostalgia, and the floorboards squeaked in the same spots as I made my way down the short hall toward the bar.

“Who’s there?” Arlo called out. A moment later, he appeared in the office door, his hair a little grayer in person than it had looked on our video calls. Arlo’s mouth dropped open, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And then he opened his arms wide, walking toward me with a quick step. “Welcome home, son.”

Neither of those things were true. This wasn’t my home, and I wasn’t his son, but I wasn’t going to contradict him. Especially not the latter. Though Arlo had never tried to replace my dad, he was as good as one, and I respected that. I found a smile for him and leaned down into his hug. The McKinnon men were tall, but I beat Arlo by at least four inches.

I pulled back before he did, but he let me go. Then he stood there, gaze roving over my face, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. That was probably fair. I was sure part of him didn’t actually believe I would show up. To be honest, there had been a part of me that hadn’t been sure either.

“You made good time,” he said, pride in his tone.

I nodded. Camp Pendleton had been my last duty station, and I’d left Oceanside, California four days ago.

“I had plenty of audiobooks and podcasts to keep me occupied, and only really stopped to sleep. I like driving.” I said the last with a shrug.

Arlo chuckled. “Don’t I know it.”

He shook his head, probably remembering the times that, as a teen, I’d ended up across the border or halfway to a bigger city downstate. Though we never really talked about it, Arlo knew of my need to escape, and since I wasn’t getting into trouble, and I always came back, it had never been much of an issue. His only request was that I let him know where I was. I always had.

“Not much snow yet?”

“It’s barely December. We’ve had a couple of snow showers, but it hasn’t stuck yet. It will.” Arlo laughed again and clapped me on the arm. “Lookit us, discussing the weather in the hallway. Come on. You want a beer?”

Arlo didn’t wait for my answer before he turned and headed into the bar. I dutifully followed along. “Thought you didn’t believe in day drinking.”

“You’re here. And you’re staying at least through New Year’s. That’s a cause for celebration.” He gestured toward one of the stools lining the mahogany bar, even as skirted through the pass-through. He picked up a pint glass then pulled a draught of Sam Adams Boston Lager, no doubt remembering I wasn’t fan of ale, which were the other two he had on tap. After sliding the glass to me, he filled his own with Blue Moon.

I let the head settle for a moment before I took a sip. It was rich and smooth, and exactly what I needed in that moment. I focused on the beer and not my uncle, because I knew if I did, I was certain what I’d see in his face. Yes, I’d promised to stay through the holidays, but Arlo was hoping I wouldn’t leave at all. I hated to disappoint him, but there was no way I could stay.

I thought he knew that, deep down.

“You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Right? There’s no rush to run off to your next adventure. Maybe you’ll even find a reason to stay.” Arlo leaned against the bar but kept his attention focused on me. I opened my mouth to refute that, but he held up a hand, and a smile graced his lips. “I know. I know how you feel about Hickory Hollow. And I’m not saying it’s not valid. But maybe things are different now. That’s all I’m saying.”

Rather than refute that outright, I shook my head with a chagrined sort of smile. “And what could I do in a town such as this?”

Arlo chuckled and simply swept a hand, indicating the pub as a whole. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

At that, I scoffed. “You’re not even sixty-five yet.”

Arlo grinned, and for just a second, I saw my dad in his face. Even after all this time, nearly thirty years after he passed, there were moments when I was reminded that Arlo was his brother. They didn’t really look alike, apart from the eyes, but Arlo had a smile that never failed to hit me like a punch in the gut.

“I’d never put pressure on you, Bear,” Arlo said, voice soft and using the nickname only he used. “It’s just an option. I’d love for you to work with me, but there’s no hard feelings if you choose a different path.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Arlo squeezed my shoulder, then took another sip of his beer. “I mean it. I’ve never lied to you, and I’m not gonna start now.” He raised his eyebrows, and I had to chuckle and nod. It was one of the first promises he ever made to me and he’d never broken it. He studied me for a long moment, then nodded once himself. “If you’ve gotta go, then you’ve gotta go. I just hope maybe you’ll find your way back on occasion.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Because I’d never lied to him either. Arlo seemed to know that because instead of waiting for a response, he stood, drained the rest of his pint glass, and set it on the bar.

“I’ve got paperwork to finish. You know your way around. Holler if you need anything.”

He cupped the back of my head, scratching his fingers in my hair which was starting to grow out of the high and tight I’d worn it in for twenty years. I wouldn’t let it get too much longer, but it was kind of nice to have more than an inch of hair for a change.

With that, Arlo headed back to his office. I tracked his movements until he disappeared around the corner, and then focused on my own beer as if the dark amber liquid had the answers to the universe. It didn’t, of course. And really, I knew my own path.

I’d spend the next month here, hanging out and figuring out my next steps. But come January, I’d move on to the next phase of my life. It was as simple as that.