Chapter 29
Jess
Maplewood, Vermont, was the kind of idyllic, postcard town that people flocked to for a taste of authentic New England.
It was the place I’d spent the first half of my life trying to escape and the last several years trying to come back to.
“Can we get ice cream at Scoops?” Greta asked from the back of the car.
I smiled as I kept my focus on the road. “Of course.”
“Can we hike to Cora’s Rock and go behind the falls?” Kit added.
“We sure can.” With every mile, my shoulders lowered, and now that we’d hit town limits, the tension had all but vanished.
Already, I was itching to take my mat out into the maple grove.
As a kid, I’d spent a great deal of time among the trees, sometimes jumping and maneuvering around the tubing, to get a little peace and quiet.
Three siblings, a working farm, and two parents who loved loudly made me crave stillness from time to time.
I was flooded with memories as I drove through town, passing the general store where I’d worked in high school, then Clem’s Diner, where I’d drowned my sorrows in poutine after Joe Willis didn’t ask me to prom.
Every building was pristine, making it feel like the complete opposite of Jersey City.
It was America’s most charming small town, after all.
A designation that was taken very seriously.
Stoneridge, thirty miles north, had been angling to steal the title from us since before I was born.
The rivalry had always been heated, and here and there, it turned ugly.
Any person who’d grown up here had been raised to have an automatic dislike of any resident of Stoneridge.
Like Maplewood, the town consisted mostly of farmland, mountains, and covered bridges.
But we’d always had an edge, and every citizen worked hard to keep it that way.
Rural life had changed so much since I was a kid. The granite mining industry had died down, and most timber came from overseas, meaning there simply weren’t many good-paying jobs to keep young people in state. If not for the tourists, I feared, this town would fall apart.
Some neighboring areas had been hit hard by opioids and the loss of manufacturing jobs, but Maplewood had survived.
Berkshire Maple could be thanked for that.
Though in part, the town was still thriving because the people here reinvested in it.
The festivals, the covered bridges, and the waterfall brought people in for all four seasons, keeping shops and businesses open year-round.
After almost six hours in the car, the girls were desperate to escape. The moment the tires crunched over the long gravel drive, they cheered, and I’d barely shifted into park before they threw the doors open and ran straight through the field toward the river.
The temperature today was mild, though the air was sticky with that stifling humidity that descended every July.
As I popped the trunk and grabbed our bags, I considered which trail I’d walk to clear my head and stretch my legs. The distant clucking of the chickens in the far barn and the fresh air wafting around me further settled my nerves.
The farmhouse where we’d grown up had been transformed.
Josh had added a shiny metal roof and new siding, and he’d expanded the porch to face the pastures and forest. When I stepped inside, I was certain I’d find even more improvements.
Lately, I’d begun worrying about the number of projects my brother had taken on.
But I supposed it wasn’t unexpected. Josh had always had a restless mind that could only be quieted by working with his hands.
As I hauled our things up the path, admiring the black-eyed Susans and coreopsis blooming on either side, I yearned to text Brian.
To check on him. Show him the view and the wide blue skies.
Though just crossing the state line had relieved a good deal of stress I was under, we weren’t here for vacation.
Yes, I intended to rest and spend time with my family, but this was a working trip.
I had many details to take care of in the week we’d be here.
I had to register the girls for school, apply for jobs, and negotiate rent with Josh, who continued to insist that he wouldn’t charge me at all.
Knowing him, he’d made significant changes to the cottage on the property. That alone had probably cost thousands, so there was no way I wouldn’t contribute. He’d warned me the renovations weren’t finished yet, so the girls and I would be staying at the farmhouse this week.
The thought of how I’d repay him instantly soured my mood.
Now that uprooting our lives had become a reality, the idyllic dream I’d held tight to had morphed into thoughts of all the tasks I’d have to complete.
I couldn’t deny the pull of this place, the happy memories, and the slower pace. Vermont would be good for the girls and for me. Yet for the last several days, I’d begun to consider all we’d be leaving behind in Jersey.
Lana and Max, Kit’s piano teacher, Greta’s sports friends, Sloane and Lo. And, most importantly, Brian.
In a few short months, he’d become an irreplaceable part of my life. A friend and a confidant. And during that weekend in Boston, a lot more.
Josh appeared in the doorway of the barn, his baseball cap low, his beard untamed, and his giant dog, Bruce, at his side.
“Jessie,” he called as he jogged toward me. Before I could argue that I didn’t need help, he’d taken all the bags from my hands. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Josh was the quiet one, but the brightness in his dark eyes gave him away. He was delighted to see me.
I threw my arms around him and, with my face buried in his chest, said, “I’ve missed you, little brother.”
“Come on, I’ll get you settled. I take it the girls are running wild and barefoot already?”
With a grin, I nodded. Then I pushed thoughts of Brian away. We were here now. Exactly where we were supposed to be.
While the girls played with their cousins that evening, Jenn and Mel made dinner.
Mel had gone to culinary school and had once been an editor at a big-time food magazine in New York.
She’d worked herself into burnout, then gone on a hiking trip in the Green Mountains to clear her head.
She’d accomplished her goal, and she’d also met my sister.
She never went back.
While Jenn had always worn her hair pulled back and lived in Patagonia gear, her wife rocked a trendy buzz cut and designer clothes. Now, several years, a thriving coffee shop, and two sons later, Mel still hadn’t lost her New York edge.
After the girls were in bed, as my siblings and I sat on the porch, watching the fireflies dance in the distance and catching up, my sister abruptly cut off the story she and Josh had been telling about the latest casualties in the town cheese war and shifted in her seat.
“How are you?” she asked, her brows pulled low in concern. “Really.”
“I’m okay.” I gave her a small smile.
She looked at Josh, and he eyed her in return. Jenn was the definition of overprotective oldest daughter, and Josh, while younger, was deeply protective and had been my rock during the divorce proceedings.
He’d paid the retainer needed to hire my first lawyer before the courts had ordered Kenneth to cover my legal fees. And he’d coached me through every step of the process. That had been back when Mom was alive and before we understood how bad things had gotten up here.
“I’m good,” I said, my words more firm this time. It was the truth. Things had been so bad for so long, and I’d worked damn hard to turn it all around.
“He’s leaving you alone, right?” Josh asked, his tone dark.
I nodded. Kenneth’s harassing phone calls and texts had stopped a long time ago. And life had improved drastically for the girls and for me. Though the guilt of our broken family, the guilt of walking away and not pushing through, sometimes edged its way back into my mind.
Doubts about myself crept back in, whispering that I hadn’t been good enough.
At first, the mental abuse was almost undetectable. It started small, with little criticisms and backhanded compliments. But then he’d get mad.
I would accompany him to a client dinner or an event, and after, in the car, he’d pick apart everything I’d said. He would get mad if I laughed too loud or talked too much. So I learned to be silent.
But even that wasn’t good enough. From there, he more blatantly criticized my clothes, my hair, and my body.
It took time, but eventually I realized I’d never win. He had decided that he was superior, that he’d settled for me. And then the cracks began to show.
But I was a devoted wife. I took care of the girls, volunteered, and constantly networked, be it at the country club or at school fundraisers.
All with the hope that one day, he’d look at me and see my value.
That he’d see the beautiful family unit we’d built. That he’d want to fight to preserve it. So I stayed small and silent.
The family unit was beautiful and sacred. And I wanted that.
I would have done anything to keep it intact.
And I did. For years, I made myself smaller. I stopped voicing concerns and opinions, and I let him walk all over me.
Jenn squeezed my hand, silently supporting me. Only then did I realize I’d been lost in my thoughts.
I sniffled a bit, not wanting to put a damper on our reunion by rehashing the past. After the loss of our parents, we’d spent so many nights on this porch crying, grieving. It was time to make happier memories.
I reclined in my chair and focused on the sunset. I couldn’t count the number of hours we’d sat out here. All six of us. Watching the sunset like this, counting the fireflies or just avoiding coming in to do homework while our parents rocked in their chairs, relaxing after a hard day’s work.
“Farm looks great. And the house?” I asked, changing the subject. “It’s astonishing. Did you secretly study interior design while we weren’t paying attention?”