Chapter 2
TWO
FLORA
My father throws his backpack on the kitchen table, wearing his hiking gear. The bright colors of his worn cap have faded over the years. He finishes packing, tightens the straps, and ensures everything is in place.
I check to see if I have all my essentials as my father looks up at me.
“Bear spray?” he asks as he zips up his backpack.
“Got it,” I reply, patting the side pocket where the canister is tucked away.
I walk to the hallway mirror and apply a layer of cherry lip balm, admiring my outfit for a moment. I have on my black hiking leggings and a black tank top. They both fit snugly and allow easy movement. Over my hiking outfit, I have on my favorite navy blue hoodie. In the reflection, I see my father wearing his dark cream cargo trousers and forest green fleece, looking outdoorsy. He catches me looking at him and gives me a reassuring smile.
“Looks like we have everything. Let's hit the road,” he says, giddy. His excitement makes him look cute.
I tie my hair up into a ponytail and grab my own backpack from the table. I look around the kitchen one last time and head towards the door. I chuck my bag in the truck's backseat and jump into the passenger’s side. The inside of the truck smells of old leather and musk. My father gets into the driver's seat and rolls down his window. We buckle up our seatbelts and then hit the road.
The sun casts long shadows through the trees onto the road as we drive through the quiet town. My father glances over at me, smiling, and I can’t help but smile back. I can tell that he is excited to go on this hike; it brings me joy when I see him happy.
I turn on the radio and find a station that plays cheerful, old music as my father starts bobbing his head to the beat.
“How did your appointment go?” he asks.
“You know, same old, same old…”
I don’t like talking about the details of my sessions. I stare out the window, watching the outside pass by. My father can sense my hesitation and doesn’t question further.
We pull up to a traffic light and I see two black motorcycles in front of the truck. Two men sit astride on the bikes, both built like gods and covered in dark tattoos. They both wear worn jeans, one in a white T-shirt and another in a black T-shirt.
One of the bikers turns his head back, looking at our truck. He nudges the guy next to him and his gaze follows. Their faces are obscured by their blacked-out helmets and dark visors, giving them a menacing look as their attention lands on us.
“You know them guys?” my father asks, not letting his eyes leave the bikers.
“No?”
Looking at them, I feel uneasy. I don’t remember seeing them before. The bikers speed off once the traffic light turns green, their engines roaring as they take a turn further into town. I feel adrenaline as my whole body breaks out into goosebumps.
“Probably just some guys on a morning ride,” my father says, driving on.
We enter an area with tall trees on either side of the road. Driving through the forest, the sunlight now only filters through the branches, making the temperature feel cooler.
My father looks up in shock. “Jesus, look at that!”
He grips the steering wheel tightly as he slams on the brakes. I look up and see a massive animal in the middle of the road.
“Is that a moose?” I ask.
My father nods his head with the engine still rumbling. “Yup,” he confirms.
The moose is enormous and easily towers over the truck. I can see its coarse, brown fur and its antlers stretched out like branches.
“It's huge,” I say, my voice barely above a hush.
My father and I simply sit there silently, watching as the moose makes it to the other side of the road. It looks at us, its breath condensing as it exhales, and vanishes into the depths of the forest.
“They are massive, especially when you’re this close,” my father says, releasing the breath he’s been holding. He presses the gas pedal and continues driving.
“Yeah. There’s so much land and wilderness out here. It’s crazy. You can go miles without seeing someone,” I say, looking out the window and watching the trees go by.
“I can see why your mother always wanted to come back.”
My father's eyes remain on the road, but I can tell he is lost in thought. I picture my mother running through these forests as a young girl. I could understand why she wanted to come back, too. We pull into a gravel parking lot and I unbuckle my seatbelt as my father brings the truck to a stop.
We both grab our backpacks from the backseat. I adjust the straps, ensuring it won't slip off while we hike. It feels heavy pressed against my back, but I know it has everything we need.
I look around, taking in everything. The trees tower above us, the air filled with the smell of fresh pine and earth.
My father comes up beside me and we pivot around to face the trail ahead of us. The path leading into the dense forest is narrow, with lined-up ferns and underbrush on either side.
My father takes a deep breath and asks, “Ready?”
“Of course.”
Finally, with one last look at each other, we start walking down the path, feeling the gravel crunch under our boots. We slowly hear fewer sounds from the road, more birds chirping, and the occasional twig snapping underfoot.
We have been hiking for over an hour now, so we take a break as we reach a fallen tree. I feel the rough bark press on my legs as I lean against it, hearing the call of a woodpecker in the distance. The forest around us is peaceful and calm with the trees covered in dark green moss and ivy. My father hands me a bottle of water. I unscrew the cap and take a long sip, feeling the cold water as it flows down my throat.
“So peaceful,” I breathe.
My father's eyes scan the forest, his face shining in the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful…” he agrees.
The treetops sway in the breeze above us. My father puts his hand on his head, ensuring his cap doesn't fall off as he takes in the sight.
“Have you made any friends? I know you’ve been going out more.”
I feel my chest tighten at my father's question. The truth is, I still had no friends. My father encouraged me to leave the house more and get acclimated. He suggested I visit the local art gallery, the library, maybe even volunteer. Despite visiting these places, I didn't have the courage to speak to anyone. I fear rejection so much that I keep my lips sealed whenever I meet someone new.
I avoid my father's gaze as I shake my head, the weight of disappointment settling down on me.
“Flora…” my father says with a sigh. “Make some friends. Get out there more. Stop locking yourself away watching horrors and painting.”
His words sting, but I know he is right. Being at home is a safe haven for me. I could lose myself while painting. I feel my father's eyes soften as he looks at me.
“I don’t want you to be lonely,” he says gently.
“Well, I have you, so I’m not lonely…”
He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “Flora, I won't be around forever.”
It is a truth I can’t ignore; he is right.
My thoughts drift back to my sheltered life. I didn't mind being alone , losing myself in paintings or books. However, the thought of loneliness terrifies me. At home, I always knew my mother and father were present in the background, even if I spent most of my time in my bedroom.
Living with my father at the age of twenty makes me feel like a burden, like an obstacle in his life. Perhaps he wants to pursue his interests and have his own freedom .
“So…Nancy. How do you feel about her?” my father asks, avoiding eye contact and shuffling his feet.
“The woman who works at the local bar?”
“Yeah…”
“Uh, she’s nice. Why?”
“Well, I wanted to ask her out for dinner,” he says, focusing on a spot on the forest floor.
I never thought this day would come—my father being able to move on from my mother. I can’t blame him for wanting companionship; it's been four years since my mother's death. For so long, it has just been me and him.
“She would never replace your mother. Your mother was the love of my life,” he says, lifting his head and looking at me.
“Dad, honestly, it’s fine. I understand...”
I reach out for his arm and steady my voice. “Mom would want you to be happy,” I say.
He takes a deep breath, swallows hard, and nods. “Thank you, Flora.”
It took him a lot of courage to ask me that. At that moment, I don't just see my father; I see a man who has endured loss and is now taking his own steps to heal.
“Save me from cooking?” he asks with a faint smile. “I thought we could grab a bite to eat at the bar after the hike.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
I pick up my backpack, dusting off a few pine needles that have fallen from the trees above. I sense that my father feels better after getting that off his chest.
“Thank you again, Flora,” my father says with gratitude in his eyes.
Before we continue our hike I adjust my straps, making sure the backpack’s weight is evenly distributed.
I pass the bottle of water to my father and he tucks it back into his own bag. We set off and resume our hike through the forest.
Every step back to the truck feels like an effort. I am completely shattered by the hike and my legs throb with an ache. My father notices and opens the truck door for me as I throw my bag into the backseat with the last bit of strength I have. I collapse into the passenger seat, letting out a deep sigh.
My father climbs into the driver's seat with a groan. He must feel the same fatigue I do.
We don’t speak, a mutual understanding between us as we sit in silence. The cool, fresh air fills the truck. I glance over at my father as he focuses on driving, but I can see a hint of satisfaction in his eyes after completing our hike.
Breaking the silence, I ask, “You mind if we skip the bar?”
“The hike has really taken a toll on you?” I can see the disappointment on his face as he turns around and glances at me.
“My legs are aching...” I admit, giving him a weary smile.
“Well, if you don’t mind,” he begins, “I want to see Nancy. Is it okay if I drop you home?” he asks, hesitating slightly.
“That's cool. I’ll watch a horror movie or something,” I reply with a slight nod,
trying to mask my tiredness by smiling. Curling up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn sounds like the perfect way to end this exhausting day.
As we head home, a group of bikers drive next to the truck in the other lane. The two bikers at the front spark a flicker of recognition. One of the riders turns his head sharply to the side for a split second. On another motorcycle, a woman with brown, curly hair clings tightly to another tattooed man, her arms wrapped around his waist.
My father observes them. “There are a lot of bikers in this town,” he states.
“Hmm,” I reply.
We pull into the driveway and my father parks the truck, remaining in the driver’s seat.
I hop out of the truck and feel the evening air hit my face. The bikers come back to mind, with their dark aura and tattoos. I try to ignore my thoughts as I turn to my father. “Want me to cook you anything for dinner?”
“It’s okay. I’ll grab a bite to eat at the bar,” he replies.
Before I can shut the truck door, my father speaks up again, “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay, Flora?”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, shutting the truck door and offering him a small smile to ease his worry.
He reverses the truck out of the driveaway and shouts out the window, “I’ll be back later!”
I turn to face the house, appreciating its imposing size. It is much larger than the house we had back in England. Double the size, in fact. With its pristine, white paneling with matching windows and doors, the house stands proudly on its plot. We left a small brick Victorian townhouse behind in England.
Before, my bedroom was tiny, big enough to fit a single bed and a small dresser. Now, my bedroom is spacious with large, bay windows that let in plenty of light. It’s nice having a double bed and a cozy reading nook.
I open the door to the house and step inside. Even though I preferred this house, it still felt unfamiliar with our old furniture mixed with new pieces we’ve collected since moving.
I feel relief as I sit on the hallway bench. I unlace my hiking boots and tug them off, setting my aching feet free. I wiggle my toes and let out a deep groan.
I push myself up from the bench and walk into the kitchen to grab a glass from the cupboard. I fill it with water, taking a generous sip. I turn to the cupboard and search for a snack. Finding a box of popcorn, I open it and put it in the microwave. I head upstairs to change into something more comfortable, my legs aching with each step. Ouch. Fuck. Ow.
I make my way to my bedroom and walk over to the closet, taking out my Chucky T-shirt. I take off my hiking clothes and change into my loungewear.
I hear the microwave's faint beeping and go back downstairs. Before I even reach the kitchen, I can smell popcorn. I can’t help but feel excited for this chilled evening. Grabbing the popcorn and a glass of water, I head to the living room. I sink into the couch and pull a blanket over my legs. Picking up the remote, I begin to flip through the movie options. I settle on the movie Misery , my father and I’s favorite. We have always shared a bond over horror movies. There is something about controlled terror. The opening credits roll and I feel a sense of calm wash over me.
My thoughts drift to my father; I hope he is enjoying his evening. As the movie progresses, my phone buzzes. I pick it up and see a text from my father.
Dad
Hi, Flora. Just checking in and making sure you’re okay. Nancy says hi.
Me
Hey, Dad. I’m good. Just watching Misery and munching on some popcorn. Tell Nancy I said hello. Enjoy your evening. ??
I send the text message and place my phone down, focusing back o n the movie. The minutes tick by and the movie reaches its climax. My phone buzzes once again and I glance at it, expecting another text from my father. Instead, it is a news alert about a local event, something that can wait till later. I return to the movie and it quickly comes to an end. I take the empty bowl and glass to the kitchen to clean up. I wander back to the living room and glance out the window, looking out as the moon shines over the backyard. My phone vibrates on the table once more. Picking it up, I see another text message from my father.
Dad
Glad to hear. I love you.
Me
I’m going to bed. I love you, too, Dad.
I decide to turn in for the night. I walk upstairs and crawl into my bed as the day’s fatigue finally catches up to me.
I wake up and realize I must have fallen asleep straight away last night. I glance at my alarm clock: 6:00 a.m . I push back the covers with a groggy sigh. A pressing need to pee drives me out of bed. I step into the hallway and notice Nancy at the top of the stairs, pausing at the sight of her. She is wearing a loosely buttoned blouse that hangs open just enough for me to notice the lace underneath. Her dark red, wavy hair is a tangled mess, probably from a fun night with my father. Holding her boots in one hand, she glances up at me with an embarrassed look.
“Uhh…Flora,” she stammers .
I raise an eyebrow and whisper, “I hope you spent the night with my father and not breaking in…”
“Your dad wanted me to leave before you woke up,” she whispers uncomfortably.
I roll my eyes and give her a reassuring smile. “Nancy, it’s fine.”
She relaxes and gives me an awkward smile before tiptoeing down the stairs.
I shake my head slightly and head into the bathroom, closing the door and letting out a deep breath. I switch the light on and the sudden brightness causes me to squint. Glancing in the mirror it reveals my disheveled state with my hair sticking up in every direction. Turning the faucet on, I splash water onto my face, starting my morning routine. I quickly relieve myself and remain on the toilet for a moment, my mind drifting to my father's new relationship. Nancy is a new source of joy for him that he so dearly needs. She’s a lovely woman, the manager at the local bar, and everyone knows her name. I have only met her a few times, but every encounter has been pleasant. Her warm smile and hearty laugh put everyone around her at ease. The most important thing is that she puts a genuine smile on my father’s face.
I accept my father’s new relationship, but I still wish it was my mother standing at the top of the stairs. I miss her every day. Seeing Nancy take her place stirs a mix of emotions inside me. I know it’s unfair to Nancy; she has done nothing wrong. She makes my father happy. I stand up and sigh, flushing my thoughts away with the water in the toilet. I leave the bathroom, still lost in my thoughts, and jump back when I nearly bump into my father, standing topless in the hallway.
He seems flustered and asks, “Flora! How long have you been awake? ”
Feeling awkward, I take a deep breath and reply, “Calm down, Dad. I already saw Nancy.”
His face is red from embarrassment. As I walk down the steps, I hear my father mumble something under his breath. He doesn't need to explain himself to me. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I head towards the kitchen and pour myself a glass of juice. I sigh as I put my glass down and begin to make breakfast.
My father walks down the stairs, pulling a T-shirt over his head. He looks at the floor as he clears his throat. “So…” he utters.
I make it easy for him by suggesting, “You wanna go to the bar for dinner?”
“Yeah? I’d like that very much, Flora,” he replies, visibly relaxing.
It’s a small step in the right direction. It’s an opportunity to support my father and, perhaps, form a connection with Nancy.