Chapter 2
PRESLEY
“Duckie!”
Otis tugs on my hand, using all the power in his little body to pull me in a different direction.
I look down at my baby boy—who isn’t really a baby anymore, but a full-on preschooler—trying to decipher what he’s looking at.
These days, it could be anything, his developing brain working overtime to soak in as much as it can, all whole Otis narrates the entire adventure.
“Duckie!” he repeats, yanking harder.
I follow his gaze, and sure enough, there’s a duck.
Not just one, but multiple little fluffy ducklings.
All happily swimming along in a kiddie pool.
My eyes flick to the man behind the table, dressed in all white, with feathers adhered to the fabric and a swan’s neck wrapped around his neck, making him look like Bjork in the early aughts.
Oh…the ugly duckling…I get it…
“Yes, that is a duckie,” I reply, tightening my grip on my son so he doesn’t break free. “Maybe we can come back and see the duckies later. Right now we need to go meet up with Nana and Paps.”
“Paps!” Otis squeals, followed almost immediately by his cute little-kid giggle.
“That’s right.”
“Paps, Paps, Paps…” he repeats, the nickname making even less sense every time he says it.
When asked what my parents wanted to be called as grandparents, the answer had been a simple one—Nana and Poppa.
Same as what I had referred to my grandparents as.
Little guy had another idea though. Despite my calling my parents their chosen monikers, once Otis started to talk, Poppa turned into Paps, while Nana stayed put.
At first I thought maybe it was nothing more than an inability to say Poppa, but soon it became clear that my guy’s favorite person—as well as his namesake—was none other than my father, and that he was giving him the name he wanted to call his hero.
There was no fighting it after that.
“Paps! Paaaaps!”
“Yes, buddy, we’re going to find him,” I assure him.
Otis stops in his tracks and points straight ahead, his giggle bubbling up again as he starts to bounce in place.
“There’s my big fella!” my father’s voice bellows, even over the crowd, the unmistakable sound of a grandfather excited to see his grandkid.
“Paps!” Otis pulls on me again and this time I let go, watching as he stumbles toward my dad.
Crouching down, my father scoops up Otis in an embrace, lifting him into the air in a single, swift movement.
It’s beautiful and wholesome and makes my insides want to burst through my skin.
This right here—watching the two of them like this—makes the last three years worth it.
Makes moving back to Hickory Hills feel like it was the right move.
Something I’m still up in the air about.
“Presley,” my mama coos, holding her arms open. I lean into the embrace, her motherly warmth a welcome feel, despite the still warm temps of late September.
I’ve been back in town for two weeks and have seen at least one of my parents every day since we pulled into our new driveway.
Sure, it helps that Dad put in a recommendation for me at Hayes Industries, the massive company that employs most of this itty-bitty town, to help land me a job.
Hayes is the reason that my parents moved here in the first place—my father taking on the role of chief compliance officer right before my senior year in high school.
At the time, I was livid that they were moving me before the biggest year of my life, but looking back on it now, it wasn’t as big of a deal as I made it.
Teenage-girl dramatics aside, I can’t deny this place was good to me.
After all, moving here gave me the chance to bloom in a smaller community rather than get lost in the sea of kids like I had been back in Charlotte.
The extracurriculars that the town offered were wildly different as well, helping round out those college applications I was in the process of filling out.
Being able to solidify my spot as valedictorian didn’t hurt either.
The only thing I didn’t really have was friends. Not good ones anyway. It was hard as the new kid in a small town where everyone had grown up together to find my place, especially with only one year of school left.
I know that it will be a great place for Otis to grow up.
Plus, having my parents close means that maybe I’ll actually have some time to myself.
Maybe. That might be asking for too much with a three-year-old, but a girl can hope.
Either way, I know that after everything we’ve been through in his short little life, Otis needs to be by family.
Needs to be surrounded by people who love him. Who want him in their life.
Unlike my ex.
“Flower!”
“Want to go see the pretty flowers?” Dad asks, following the exclamation.
I don’t have time to respond, letting him know that such a declaration isn’t so much a desire to see them, but simply to show off that he knows what they are. The men are off to go look at the flowers, leaving us ladies behind.
“You have no idea how excited your father is to have y’all home,” Mama comments.
Home…
I sigh, hoping that I can make this place just that. It’s never been home to me. More like that town I graduated in, or better yet, where my parents live. Then again, no place has felt like home for a long, long time. I’m due for that feeling.
“We’re excited to be here.”
“Are you?” A single, perfectly manicured eyebrow arches in my direction, calling me out on my statement.
“I’m excited to be close to you and Daddy again. It’s been tough the last few years with you so far away.”
“It’s been a tough few years,” Mama says, amending my statement.
You can say that again…
“But it’s over now. We have everything on paper, notarized by the courts. There’s no way for Cody to get around it now. First payment arrived yesterday.”
Not that a child support payment is any kind of substitute for a father, or reparation for my ex’s actions, but it will be helpful nonetheless.
Both for our day-to-day lives and for squirreling away money to pay for all the therapy Otis might need should he ever find out that his father not only denied him, but rejected him.
A fact that I plan on keeping a secret for as long as I can. Hopefully forever.
“Good, just in time to start your new life.”
Something like that.
No, no…she’s right. This is Otis and me starting over.
Creating the life we want together. Sure, it might not look like how I’d pictured, but I know that we can make it perfect.
Because I have a lot to be thankful for.
A beautiful, healthy child, a roof over our heads, parents who are involved and helpful, and a brand-new job as the social media coordinator for Hayes Industries.
What more could a girl ask for?
“Chocolate,” Mama says, grabbing my arm.
Yes, that. A girl can always ask for chocolate.
“Huh?”
“We got this new chocolatier in town. She’s incredible. Makes these chocolate-covered bourbon cherries and my-lanta, are they to die for.”
Chocolate-covered bourbon cherries? Sign me up. That sounds like something this mama needs in her life.
“Hello, young sir!” a bright-eyed, wild-haired, strawberry blonde greets as Otis rejoins us and pushes to his tiptoes trying to see all the chocolates. “How are you today?”
“Good. How you?”
I smile, my heart full that he’s remembering his manners.
“I’m doing great. Thank you for asking. Is this your mama?”
Otis whips around to look at me, and then back to the strawberry blonde. “Yup! And Nana.”
“And Nana? Aren’t you a lucky little fella.” Looking up at us, the chocolatier’s smile widens. “Barb, hi. This little charmer is yours?”
“Sure is,” Mom beams. “Meet Otis Benjamin Callahan the second, named after his grandfather. And this is my daughter, Presley. Pres, this is Tizzy.”
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Hi! It’s so fab to meet you. Your mom has told me all about you.”
Oh, shit. Just what I need—my mother telling this whole town all about my woes and legal battles. I’m going to be infamous before I have a chance to really meet anyone.
“Which,” Tizzy continues, “means I know that you need these.”
Reaching underneath her display, she pulls out a small box, the name Cocoa Corner embossed on the top, with a beautiful light blue satin ribbon tied around it. She hands it to me, winking conspiratorially.
Oh, I like this woman.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling like I could hug her.
I didn’t have a lot of friends when I lived here the first time, and have been afraid that coming back—this time with a kid in tow—would mean that I would have even fewer. But maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.
Mama places her order, receiving a similar box from Tizzy as she pays. The three of us chat for another minute or so, Tizzy making sure to get my number, before another couple walks up to the tent.
“Where did the boys go?” I ask, looking around, worrying for a second.
I know this is a small town, and that everyone here watches everyone else very closely.
But that doesn’t mean that something can’t happen in the blink of an eye.
And Otis isn’t the best at making sure to always hold a grown-up’s hand.
It’s moments like this that I wish putting your kid on a leash was socially acceptable.
“I think they wandered this way,” Mama says. “And don’t worry so much. You’re in Hickory Hills now, not Raleigh.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t have to be careful. Safety first.”
My mother tuts. “You always were risk-averse. But a little more time back home, getting settled at work, getting Otis settled in school, and you’ll learn to trust people.”
Not likely…
After all, the last time I trusted someone who wasn’t my parents, I ended up brokenhearted and homeless while seven months pregnant, followed by a multi-year legal battle.
“Mama try! Mama try!”
Otis spins around, shouting out, my mom senses pulling me toward him like a beacon, as my mother and I catch up with him and Dad, finding them a couple of booths down from us.
I have no doubt that my little escape artist is leading the way, with Paps just along for the ride.
Fingers crossed Paps can keep up and hold on. Literally.
“What am I trying?”
“Hun-eee.”
Smiling, I crouch down so that we’re eye level, opening my mouth and letting Otis feed me with the mini plastic tasting spoon he’s holding.
The sweet, sticky concoction sticks to my tongue, the unmistakable taste taking over.
I want to savor it, enjoy the flavor of something locally produced, but that’s not possible when you’re being fed by a preschooler.
Otis rips the spoon out of my mouth, managing to hit all of my front teeth in the process, treating the tiny plastic object like a medieval torture device. I should have known better and taken hold of the spoon the second he put it in my mouth, but here we are.
“Yummy,” I say, trying to recover from my near-miss of a dental emergency. “Do you like that? Would that be good with your peanut butter sandwiches?”
“Yes.”
“Stay with Paps, and I’ll be right back.”
Otis nods emphatically, and I push up, looking at the display of jars on the table, trying to figure out what’s what and if they have a price list. It takes a minute, but I finally find what I’m looking for, nearly having a heart attack when I see the price.
Fifteen dollars.
They want fifteen dollars for a jar of honey. Yeah, that’s not in the budget. I don’t care how good it is.
“Need some help?” a feminine voice asks.
I look up, expecting to see an older woman, one with a kind face showing off her pride for her bees and love for her community. Instead, I find the exact opposite.
Dressed in a sundress that appears to be a size too small, a blonde who seems to be a little younger than I am beams back at me. The V-neck dips so low and is so tight that her large chest looks like it’s going to bust through at any moment, the threads holding on for dear life.
“Err, uh, no. Just browsing.”
It was not the most graceful recovery, but she doesn’t seem put off by the fact that I was clearly standing here judging her and her outfit. Or lack of one.
“Do I know you? You look familiar.”
Crap…do I know this woman? She doesn’t look familiar, but if she recognizes me, then I must have known her back in high school. I was only here for the one year before leaving for UNC. I’ve barely been back to see my parents in the years since then.
“Ummm, maybe? I graduated from Knox County High, but it’s been, like, seventeen years.”
“You would have been a senior my freshman year then. I’m Kitty.”
She introduced herself like I should know her based on her first name alone. But just like how she doesn’t look like anyone I know, her name isn’t ringing any bells either. And I feel like I would remember someone with a name like—
Kitty.
Kitty Cattaway.
The memory slams into me like crash test dummies into a brick wall. Kitty Cattaway. How could I forget such a name?
I look her over again, and she still doesn’t look like anyone I remember.
Although now that I stand here and think about it, I’m not sure I ever really knew what she looked like.
Her reputation preceded her, all the boys in my grade talking about the freshman girl who was willing to meet them under the bleachers and show them how she “purrs.”
Yeah, that part I remember very clearly.
I know I shouldn’t judge her for the reputation she had in high school.
I don’t even know if those rumors were true, or if it was all just something some of the dumbass boys made up because they were bored.
Knowing teenage boys, it was the latter.
But there is something about looking at her now, I can’t help but think that this woman might not be the friend I’m looking for.
“Pres,” my dad says, placing a protective hand on my back. “The guys selling those wood toys are here. I want to take Otis to see them.”
“Okay,” I answer without thinking.
“Where is he?”
What?!
I turn to my dad, my heart clamoring against my ribcage. He’s joking, right?
“He’s with you.”
“No, he’s not.”
I step back from the display table, panic starting to set in. Scanning around us, I forget all about Kitty, whatever anyone thought about her in high school, or whether or not that may have changed. Because that is the least important thing in the world right now.
A crowd surrounds us, but not one so large that I can’t see between people, making it very clear that we are now a party of three, not four. Making my heart stop.
Otis is gone.
Shit!