Avery
T he tires of our new SUV kicked up dust from the packed dirt road.
With my nose pressed to the window, fogging up the glass with my exasperated breaths, I watched as cow spotted grassy fields rushed by.
We’d crossed the county line ten minutes ago, and I was already certain Caper, Tennessee would be the most boring place Dad and I had lived.
“You’ll love it. It might take some time, but you’ll love it,” he promised for the hundredth time, easily picking up on the distaste my melodramatic twelve-year-old self was broadcasting for anyone to see. “I know it’s not London or Phuket, but there’s so much waiting for you here.”
Sure, as long as you liked cows or lying on your back to watch the clouds pass all day. Nashville was the closest city and over two hours away.
But Dad had a way of spinning anything into an adventure without sounding patronizing. He was a novelist who swore by seeking out new experiences. We’d already moved a dozen times, across oceans and continents as inspiration struck.
The boxes containing medical journals in the backseat thudded as we drove over a bump in the road. From the bulky journals and calls he’d been making to doctors, I assumed he was writing a rural medical drama.
I was inclined to believe him, despite my petulance over leaving Chicago.
We were always a team. My mother, a woman he’d shared a weekend with and didn’t want the responsibility of a child, wasn’t in the picture.
From what I was told, Dad hadn’t known about me until she showed up at his door asking him to take me when I was one-year-old.
Still, I never felt unloved or resented.
It was just us from that point on. I had Dad. Dad had me and his friend George, who he promised I’d meet on this trip.
They’d met in college, and George had a kid about my age, so they’d compare notes. My childhood was filled with frantic calls. “George, what do I do if she ate an entire bag of grapes by herself?” or “George, she can read. Is that normal or is she a genius? Please tell me she’s a genius.”
I never spoke to him, but in my mind, there was no reason Dad couldn’t just visit for his book research instead of uprooting our lives. Unless George had convinced him otherwise. So, at twelve, I had made a sworn enemy of a man I’d never met.
“Here we are,” he said as we slowed and pulled into the driveway.
Our new home was massive compared to what I was used to. A squat blue ranch-style house with white shuttered windows. Paver stones wound through cut grass to where a boy about my age and a woman sat on the porch steps.
I could feel Dad waiting for me to soften at the sight of the charming home.
“Where’s George?” I asked. If Dad was going to make such a fuss about moving here and being closer, the least his old buddy could do was show up.
Dad burst into his boisterous, honking laugh, eyes screwed shut with the force of his amusement.
“What?” I demanded.
“George—well, Georgina, but don’t call her that because she hates it—is sitting on the front steps.”
I took a closer look at George, her light brown hair tied up in a droopy knot that looked ready to slide off her head, as her right knee bounced with impatient excitement.
Sun-kissed, freckled shoulders jutted out from thick overall straps and the white tank top underneath. She looked like sun tea and summertime.
We parked, and she sprang from her seat, long muscular legs closing the gap before Dad or I could open our doors. She tapped on his window, and he rolled it down.
“You said you’d be here at four,” George admonished, her accented drawl stretching the words. Despite the hands planted on her cocked hips, the quirk of her lips and humor in her blue eyes betrayed her.
“I said, I thought I’d be here at four.” Dad casually leaned one arm on the door.
“And what am I supposed to tell the cold pizza? It’s lonely and forgotten and has been waiting there in those greasy boxes for you to show up, very worried you’d crashed in a ditch or something.” She cocked a brow, gazing over dad’s shoulder to wink at me.
I had to stifle a smile. There was a welcoming whimsy about her. I was expecting a rugged, towering rancher, not her.
You hate her. She is the reason you’re here . I reminded myself. Dad always called my stubbornness a superpower. I’d never do anything I didn’t want to do, for better or worse.
“Good thing about pizza, it’s also good cold. But if someone else was worried, I’d say I should have called and I’d apologize for worrying them.” Dad slipped from the car and started heading to the back to grab our suitcases.
Dad had come up last weekend to unpack furniture with the movers so all we had left was boxes of clothes, books, CDs, my guitar, Dad’s desktop, and a few other necessities.
Following his lead, I retrieved my blue sticker-covered suitcase. I was so preoccupied, I didn’t see George round the car. I jumped when she hugged me.
“You didn’t tell me she was perfect,” she gushed as she wrapped me in her arms. A few strands of her hair broke free and tickled my cheek. “If you’d told me, I would have flown up to see for myself. You’ve been selfish, Hudson.”
It was the first time I ever saw my dad blush. Pink crawled all the way up from his neck to his cheeks. “The town wouldn’t run without you if you did that.”
She waved him off, freeing me. “They don’t need me.”
I’d later learn that was a lie. George Gaflin was the only vet in the rural farm town, so not only did the rescue horses she took in need her, but so did the other residents of Caper who relied on their animals to survive.
“Mo-om,” the boy on the steps said, breaking up the word into an exasperated two syllables. He rose and headed toward us, his dirt caked boots scuffing across the ground. “You can’t just grab people like that.”
He stood a few feet away, but we were close enough that I could see his clear blue eyes brimming with apologetic embarrassment, like having to reign in George’s exuberance was a common occurrence.
“Wesley Harrold,” she chided. “This is the first time I’m meeting the girl. She’s a big deal, and I’m not going to act like she’s not.”
“Yeah, Wesley . I’m a big deal,” I joined in.
Some of my stubborn resistance melted away with George’s unquestioning acceptance.
There was an odd, unearned familiarity between us, seeing as we only knew each other through years of second-hand accounts.
But I guess that came from caring for the same person—Dad had unwittingly built a bridge between us.
Wes’s eyes locked on me, and he cocked his head, causing his tousled brown hair to feather over his brow. “I guess you are.”
Goosebumps pricked up my arms with the full force of his attention on me.
“Now, help her bring her stuff to her room, then we’ll eat,” George directed.
Wes reached for a box with my name on it, hauling it up out of the car and nearly dropping it.
“Be careful with those!” I snapped.
“Don’t worry, I’m strong.” He winked. “Just readjusting.”
I rolled my eyes, snagging my guitar case before going inside, awkwardly maneuvering as I rolled my suitcase while avoiding banging my guitar on doorways.
My room was simple. Hardwood floors, windows dressed in fluttering white curtains with an eyelet trim, and a bed draped in my blue striped duvet set up against one wall that I hoisted my suitcase onto.
Behind me came the scrape of cardboard against cardboard. I whirled to find Wes opening the box he’d carried in.
“What are you doing?” I asked, swiftly moving toward him and shutting the flaps of the box full of CDs and rolled up posters.
“Helping you unpack?”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Hear you loud and clear.” He backed up, hands raised in surrender, crooked smile on his lips, as he stepped out my open bedroom door.
I sighed in relief, finally alone.
George and Dad’s laughter echoed down the hall as I opened the box again.
Inside was my collection of CDs. iPods were starting to get popular, but I preferred my Discman.
I liked the act of flicking through crystalline cases to select an album and listening to it all the way through.
I wasn’t a person who craved individual songs.
I wanted the full story. No shuffling. No skips.
Sitting on the floor, I started to pull out CDs, greeting them like old friends. The Eagles. Bowie. Dolly Parton.
Dolly was the perfect option. I was in Tennessee, after all. I slotted Jolene into place, popped in my earbuds, and pressed play, welcoming the sounds of the title track.
After only thirty seconds of escape, my door pushed open, revealing Wes holding two paper plates with pizza.
“Your dad said you liked pepperoni. It was cold, so I popped it in the microwave for a minute,” he said, holding out a grease-stained paper plate, waiting for me to grab it. After a moment he nodded and set it next to me.
“Why is one pepperoni missing?” I asked, finally removing my headphones.
His fingers dipped to his plate holding up a red circle. “It’s the delivery fee.”
“You should have just gotten your own.”
“I don’t like pepperoni enough for a whole slice, so this is perfect.” He tossed it into his mouth, then bent to inspect my now open box. “Holy shit! You must have a hundred of these.”
“Just because our parents are friends doesn’t mean you have to pretend to care. We’ll be gone in a few months anyway,” I said.
Settle in. Soak up a new place. Move. Rinse and repeat. It was our routine. Making friends wasn’t something I did. I had learned that getting attached meant pen pal relationships that would fizzle out or promises that were impossible to keep. It meant being forgotten, while I remembered.
Caper and Wes were destined to be nothing more than an insignificant blip.
“Wow, you’re really fun, aren’t you?” His smile deepened, causing a single dimple to pop over the right corner of his mouth. “But don’t worry, by the time you leave I’m going to make sure I’m someone you’ll never forget.”