1. Millie
CHAPTER 1
Millie
PRESENT DAY
I don’t know why they call them goodbyes, not one part of leaving behind the ones you love feels good. In fact, this particular instance happens to hurt like hell.
I bite back my tears as I take in the last moments here with Mom and Maddie. Braggan Valley is a mere twelve-hour bus ride away, and I’m only leaving for six months, but there’s still a tightness around my lungs that I can’t seem to shift.
This shouldn’t be a big deal.
It’s just one summer. Most people my age have already done this ten times over, backpacking across Europe for months or moving across the country to take high-flying corporate jobs – but I’m the one who always stayed. Always too scared to push myself beyond my comfort zone, paralyzed by the fear that something bad could happen if I switched up my routine. I’ve let those thoughts stand in my way for most of my twenties, convinced that any sort of change would hurt more than staying the same ever could .
But I’m ready now and, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, I’m finally leaving Rowenbridge behind for the first time.
Mom gives me a tight nod, as if she’s currently caught up in the same dance as I am, saving her sadness for the drive home. I’ve watched her hold in her tears enough times over the years to know she’ll fall apart as soon as she pulls her car door closed.
Guilt clogs in my throat at the thought.
“You’ll be back to them soon, love.” A stout man with a thick white head of hair approaches and gestures towards my cases.
His light blue button-down, thick navy sweater, and matching pants suggest he’s the one who’ll be driving me across the province to Alberta tonight. I squint my eyes to read the embroidered stitching across his chest. Gus – Westway Coaches .
“You bet,” I nod, trying to convince myself as much as anyone else. I push my luggage towards him, digging my booking documents out of the canvas tote slung over my shoulder.
“Off to Braggan Valley, are ya?” he asks, scribbling down my details on the baggage tag. I squint at his chicken scratchings, not able to identify a single legible word.
“That’s the plan.” I try on an upbeat tone for size, but it comes off shaky. I’ll be having a word with my vocal chords later for not supporting my attempts to sound sure of myself.
“The Lodge, nonetheless.” He throws my suitcases into the bed of the coach.
I wince .
There’s an entire collection of skincare essentials inside and I hate to think what state those glass bottles will be in in twelve hours’ time.
“You’ll be grand there, love. I’ve been dropping off in that town since ‘85. I know Bill and Maura from way back. Hearts of gold. They really care about their people, even if you’re just passing through.”
His words are just the salve I need.
I catch his knowing smile as he heads back to the front of the bus. If he’s been doing this route since before I was born, I’m sure this isn’t his first rodeo with travelers who are homesick before they’ve even left.
“Coach leaves in ten,” he calls back, glancing at his clipboard as he prepares to check in the next group. It feels as though time is slipping through my fingers at twice the speed tonight as I scramble to hold onto it.
I throw my arms around Mom, knowing if I open my mouth to utter a single word my tears will spill over. Maddie joins in on our tight squeeze, letting her unbothered-teenager facade slip for just a second.
It’s just six months.
Yet somehow, with those six months laid out in front of me – and no idea of what is going to come, or who I’m going to be when it’s done – it feels like an eternity.
“Get on the bus, Millie.” Mom releases me and pats at her cheeks, erasing the tears she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let escape just yet. “A love like this—” she gestures between the three of us, “—doesn’t ever change, we’ll be right here when you get back.”
Shit, that’ll do it.
I turn on my heels, lifting my right arm to wave goodbye as an involuntary sob racks around my hollow chest. I’ve always been a crier. I cry when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m angry, or when I’m tired, but the tears that are falling now seem to hurt a little bit more than usual.
Gus pats my shoulder, offering a shred of comfort as I climb the coach stairs and search for a vacant spot to crumble into.
Training my eyes on the seat in front of me, I avoid the worst of the goodbye. The coach pulls off from the bay, leaving Mom and Maddie behind in the only place we’ve ever known, as I go in search of the parts of myself I couldn’t seem to find here.
The setting sun offers the perfect excuse to hide my puffy eyes behind oversized sunnies, staring out of the window at the city as the sky starts to paint day into night.
Booking a ticket for the night bus seemed like the perfect plan. I thought I’d be able to sleep on the drive and let my nerves float away into dreaming. But of course, I didn’t take into account the multitude of variables that might be hell-bent on disrupting said plan. Like the rough polyester scratching at the side of my face as I twist and turn trying to find a comfortable spot, or the way the fixed armrest digs into my thighs as they splay across the seat.
Not only am I sad, but now I’m sad and uncomfortable, and the two together don’t bode well for the sleepy escapism I so desperately crave.
I pull my journal from my bag, adjusting the reading light above me to face my seat. I’d like to say I planned this trip spontaneously, that I just quit my job, grabbed my things, and headed off on an unknown adventure at the drop of a hat. But I’m not that type of girl. I’ve been planning this for months, and yet – even with every detail mapped out, and plans A through D at my disposal – my anxiety is still tapping away like a woodpecker inside my skull.
In an attempt to unfurl the ball of chaos in my mind, I let words flow out through my pen as shaky handwriting fills the page in front of me.
Dear Universe,
I think I might be losing my damn mind. Just left Mom & Mads behind in Rowenbridge – immeasurably painful, would not recommend to my worst enemy, let alone a friend. Desperately want this all to work out, but right now it feels like someone is dragging a knife right through my gut.
This bus stinks, and my heart hurts.
Please send me a sign that I’m doing the right thing.
Millie x
I’m not sure if I’m awoken by Gus’s deep voice coming across the PA system, or the thick trail of drool rolling down my chin, but judging by the tight crick in my neck, I must have fallen asleep after all.
Not for long enough.
I have another eleven hours ahead of me in this hell-coach, and the thought depresses me. It took no more than five minutes to realize this would be anything but a luxurious journey, especially when every bump in the road sends a metallic screech through the luggage bins above me.
Every. Damn. Time.
I guess you get what you pay for, and I should have known that filtering my search by lowest price first would have had this exact outcome.
“Evening folks, Gus here,” he booms across the speakers, far too jovial for this time of night. “We’ll be stopping in at the services in the next ten minutes. Stop’s an hour, so plenty of time to grab something to eat and stretch your legs.”
We roll around a few bends before coming to an abrupt halt in front of a line of gas pumps. Across the parking lot, a horseshoe mall with a small collection of eateries beckons me.
My anxiety dissipates slightly to make way for my appetite.
I lose my sleepy amble, picking up the pace at the thought of a hot plate of food. I’ve never been all that enamored by gas station cuisine, but I’m too hungry to care at this point.
It seems like everyone else driving the highway tonight has decided to stop for food at the same time, and the shortest line-up still looks like it’s going to suck. I let any hope of a hot meal crumble away, planting my feet in the queue for the bakery with an accompanying grumble.
I’m almost at the front of the line when a deafening crash fills the space around me, reverberating through my skull in a tinny echo. Time seems to slow as my heart rate picks up. It takes a second too long for my brain to catch up with what my eyes are telling it and, by the time the scene in front of me starts making sense, my lungs are already heaving.
A handful of smashed plates litter the ground to the right of me, butter chicken seeping into the grouted tiles as a red-faced woman tries to mop up the mess with a stack of napkins.
It’s okay, Millie, you’re safe.
My heart continues its off-beat tango in my chest as I try to convince myself to move my weighted feet towards the counter.
“What can I get for you, Miss?” A freckled teen hovers over the till expectantly. I take him in, inspecting his gingham shirt and cropped auburn hair. My mouth betrays me, lips tingling at the corners, as I try to find the words to pick something from the selection of sweet and savory bakes lining the glass display.
Another employee jostles past me, pushing a cleaning cart in the direction of the heaped chicken and ceramic on the floor. I watch as he slows and bends to pick up the larger chunks, before dirtying his spot-sweep with thick orange sludge.
“Miss,” Freckles groans with frustration, tapping his pen on the counter. “There are people behind you… waiting .”
“Yes… Of course.” I nod, taking in the world moving in sl ow motion around me as I wrestle with my stilted breaths. “Can you just pick for me? Sweet… I’d like something sweet.”
“Sure,” he huffs, wasting no time throwing a muffin into a brown paper bag and gesturing to the price on the card machine, waving the next customer forward with an apologetic scowl while I pay.
Beady eyes seem to hone in on me from around the food-court, their gazes mocking as bodies move around me, bustling through my personal space like it doesn’t exist.
I don’t know if anyone’s really paying any attention to me at all, or if my mind just went into overdrive the minute I falsely flicked the panic button. Regardless, I do know that I’m mere seconds from a grade A meltdown, and I need to get out of here, fast.
I tumble out into the fresh evening air, planting my shaky hands on the railing to steady myself.
Deep breaths, darling girl.
It’s Mom’s voice I hear, which is as comforting as it is embarrassing. I’m nearing my thirties, and I still can’t seem to make it through the onset of a panic attack without the help of a better functioning adult to ground me.
I tear open the brown paper bag, managing to stomach one bite of a stale raisin muffin before throwing it into the nearest trash can and taking unsteady steps in the direction of the bus.
I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Freckles with my bakery choice.