Chapter 3 #2
I want to argue, want to storm across the street and shake the truth out of her. But Sam’s right.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
“We wait. We let her settle in. And we hope she trusts one of us enough to tell us what really happened.” Sam takes a long sip of coffee, then his expression brightens slightly.
“You know what might help? Getting her involved with the Harvest Festival. She always loved it as a kid. Remember how excited she’d get every year? ”
I do remember. Hazel used to start planning her costume in August, would drag me to every booth, insist we stay until the very last song at the dance. She said it was the one time of year when the whole town felt magical.
“Might take her mind off whatever’s bothering her,” Sam continues, then gives me a look I don’t like.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask suspiciously.
Sam grins. “You’re the one organizing the festival. Can’t you convince her to help out?”
“Your sister hates me, Sam.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“She made it pretty clear this morning that she wants nothing to do with me.”
“Eight years have passed, Luke. Maybe it’s time you two buried the hatchet.” Sam leans forward, his voice taking on that persuasive tone he’s perfected over the years. “This could be a good way to do it. Extend a hand of friendship.”
“Friendship,” I repeat flatly.
“Do it for me,” Sam says simply. “She’s my sister, you’re my best friend. And besides, why would she hate you? She dumped you, remember? If anything, you’re the one who should have a grudge. But you’re bigger than that.” The last line is spoken with a hopeful smile.
I scrub my face with both hands, torn between the desire to help Hazel and the need to protect myself from getting hurt again. “She crushed me when she left, Sam. I barely put myself back together.”
“I know,” his voice is steady. “But look at her now. Whatever happened out there, she’s the one who’s broken this time.”
The words hit harder than they should. I think again about the way she’d felt in my arms this morning—too light, too weary.
The shadows under her eyes, the careful way she held herself, like she expected the world to hurt her.
Her words were sharp, harsh, but there was something in her eyes, something tired that I didn’t like.
“What the hell happened to her out there?” I mutter.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Sam says grimly. “But maybe working on something she used to love will help her remember who she is.”
I stare out the window toward the cars passing by. Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe the festival could help her. And maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to be around her without my heart trying to tear itself apart.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally.
Sam’s grin is triumphant. “That’s all I’m asking.”
* * *
I pull my truck into the gravel drive that winds through the woods to my house, the headlights cutting through the autumn dusk.
The trees are ablaze with color even in the fading light—maples burning red and gold, oaks showing off their russet browns.
This time of year, the forest feels alive with change.
For a few minutes, I sit in my truck, lost in my thoughts.
It’s been three days since Hazel returned.
Seeing her every day at the Brennen’s coffee shop sends me back to a simpler time when we were all young, our biggest concern being how to sneak out without getting caught.
Mr. and Mrs. Brennen had an open-door policy when it came to hanging inside the house, and Sam used to love getting us in trouble by bursting through any door we dared to close with a loud “aha!”.
I told myself that our paths are different now, but day after day, seeing her makes me yearn for those times. I often wondered after she left whether I did something. How could she stop loving me in a single day? Maybe she truly did tire of me. All these years I’ve been without answers.
I’m angry, I realize.
I’m angry that she left me, angry that she walked away from us.
But I’m also worried.
She spent eight years away from home. What could have been so bad to drive her back?
I’m about to get out of the truck when I pause.
The white bakery box sits on the passenger seat where I left it this afternoon, filled with maple sugar cookies from Murphy’s Pharmacy.
Mrs. Murphy makes them with real maple syrup tapped from trees right here in Autumn Ridge, and they’re Hazel’s absolute favorite. Were her favorite, anyway.
I don’t know why I picked up a box. I should stay as far away from Hazel as possible. It’s not like she’s here to stay anyway. I wasn’t planning to actually consider Sam’s request. But seeing the box sitting there innocently makes me pause.
Eight years have passed.
We were friends before we were lovers.
Surely, it won’t hurt anyone if I just look out for her.
I pick up the box.
My house sits in a clearing about two miles outside town, a simple log cabin I built myself after I finally got my family’s properties back from my uncle.
It’s nothing fancy, but it’s mine. The windows glow warm and welcoming in the gathering darkness, and I can see two furry shapes pressed against the glass, tails wagging frantically.
The moment I open the front door, Max and Scout nearly bowl me over in their enthusiasm. Max, a golden retriever mix, jumps up to plant his paws on my chest, while Scout, a border collie, circles my legs like a black and white tornado.
“Alright, alright,” I laugh, scratching behind Max’s ears. “I missed you too.”
Scout barks once and races toward the back door, then looks at me expectantly. Walk time.
I grab their leashes from the hook by the door and clip them to the dogs’ collars. “Come on, boys. We’re making a detour.”
I’ll just drop these off at the Brennens as a peace offering and leave.
The evening air is chilly, thick with the smell of pine needles and autumn’s rich mulch. Max and Scout trot beside me as we head down the forest path that leads toward town, their breath visible in small puffs. Above us, the first stars are beginning to appear in the deepening sky.
This path connects to the old trail system that runs behind most of the houses on Elm Street. We used to walk it all the time as kids—me, Sam, and Hazel—exploring every inch of these woods like we owned them.
The dogs are unusually energetic tonight, probably excited by the cooler weather. Scout keeps pulling ahead, nose to the ground, following some fascinating scent trail only he can detect. Max bounds through the fallen leaves, sending them flying in golden showers.
“Easy, Scout,” I call as he tugs harder on the leash. “We’re not racing.”
But Scout’s not listening. Something up ahead has caught his attention completely. He gives a sharp bark and suddenly lunges forward with enough force to rip the leash from my hand.
“Scout!” I shout, stumbling forward as Max decides to follow his partner in crime. “Damn it!”
Both dogs take off through the trees, barking and crashing through the underbrush like they’re chasing a deer. I curse and run after them, dodging low branches and jumping over fallen logs. The bakery box bounces in my grip as I stumble through the forest.
“Max! Scout! Get back here!”
I can hear them somewhere ahead, their barks echoing through the trees. But it’s getting darker by the minute, and I’m losing sight of them in the gathering shadows.
I trip over a hidden root and go down hard, the bakery box flying from my hands to land somewhere in a pile of leaves. My knee hits a rock and pain shoots up my leg, but I push myself back to my feet, brushing dirt off my jeans.
“Son of a—”
That’s when I see her.
Hazel is slumped against the trunk of a massive oak tree about twenty feet away, her eyes closed, her face pale in the dim light. She’s wearing that same inadequate jacket, and her hair has escaped its ponytail to fall in messy waves around her face.
My heart stops.
“Hazel!” I scramble toward her, my injured knee forgotten. “Hazel!”
She doesn’t respond. Her breathing is shallow, her lips slightly parted. In the fading light, she looks delicate.
I drop to my knees beside her, my hands hovering over her face, afraid to touch her. “Hazel, can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
Panic claws at my throat. What’s wrong with her?
“Hazel.” I cup her face gently in my hands, her skin cool against my palms. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up.”
Her eyelids flutter. Then slowly, like she’s swimming up from some deep place, her eyes open. They’re unfocused at first, glassy and confused.
“Luke?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy. “Yeah, it’s me. Are you hurt? What happened?”
She blinks several times, trying to orient herself. “I was walking and I just... needed to sit down for a minute.” She tries to push herself up straighter against the tree trunk. “I think I dozed off.”
“Dozed off?” I study her face more carefully. Her skin has an odd pallor to it, and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cool air. “Hazel, are you sick?”
She shakes her head slowly, then winces like the movement hurts. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“You’re not fine.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “You’re sitting alone in the woods in the dark. That’s not fine.”
She tries to stand, using the tree trunk for support, but her legs shake, and she sinks back down. “I just need a minute.”
That’s when Scout and Max decide to make their grand reappearance, bounding out of the underbrush with their tongues hanging out and leaves stuck to their fur. Scout immediately goes to Hazel, pressing his nose against her hand with a soft whine.
“Do you...” Hazel’s voice is barely audible. “Do you have anything to eat?”
The question has me going still. “What?”
“Food,” she clarifies, her hand trembling as she pets Scout’s head. “I’m really hungry.”
I scramble to my feet and start searching through the fallen leaves where the bakery box landed. “Yeah, I’ve got something. Just give me a second.”
I find the box partially buried under a pile of maple leaves. Thankfully, it’s still intact. I brush it off and hurry back to her side.
“Here.” I open the box to reveal six maple sugar cookies, each one shaped like a leaf and dusted with crystallized sugar. Some of them are crumbled from the fall but they’re still edible. “Maple sugar cookies from Murphy’s.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and something that might be gratitude flickers across her face. “Those are my—”
“Your favorite,” I finish. “I know.”
She takes one with shaking hands and bites into it immediately, her eyes closing in what looks like relief. The color starts returning to her cheeks almost instantly.
As she eats, she shrugs out of her jacket, letting it fall to the ground beside her. Her t-shirt underneath is damp with sweat, and I can see her pulse hammering in her throat.
“Hazel.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. “What’s wrong with you?”
She finishes the first cookie and reaches for a second one, devouring it with an urgency that makes my stomach clench. “Low blood sugar,” she says between bites, none of the fire from the other day in her voice. “It happens sometimes.”
“Low blood sugar?” I stare at her in disbelief. “Are you diabetic?”
“No.” She takes another bite, some of the tremor leaving her hands. “I just... my blood sugar drops if I don’t eat regularly.”
Understanding hits me like a sledgehammer. “When did you last eat?”
She pauses mid-bite, her eyes darting away from mine. “This morning.”
“This morning?” My voice rises. “Hazel, it’s almost eight o’clock at night!”
“I know what time it is,” she snaps now.
“You haven’t eaten anything in twelve hours?” Anger surges through me, hot and protective. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She scowls at me. “I forgot, okay? I was busy helping at the coffee shop, and then I wanted to take a walk, and I just... forgot.”
“You forgot to eat?” I can’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. “How do you forget to eat?”
“It happens!” She gestures dismissively with her hand. “I was just…distracted. It’s no big deal.’
“No big deal?” The words hit me like ice water. “Hazel, what the hell has been going on with you?”
She looks away, her jaw set in that stubborn line I know so well. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine!” I gesture toward the cookies in her hands, toward her flushed face and trembling fingers. “Fine people don’t collapse in the woods because they forgot to eat!”
“I didn’t collapse—”
“You were unconscious!”
“I was resting!” But her voice lacks conviction, and we both know it.
Scout whines softly and rests his head on her knee, his dark eyes full of concern. Max settles on her other side, pressing his warm body against her arm. She puts her arm around Max, despite having only met him for the first time.
“I thought you didn’t like dogs,” she finally says, some of the energy returning to her, the box of cookies half empty now.
I settle down beside her on the ground. “I never hated dogs. I just didn’t want the responsibility.”
“So why do you have these two?” She sounds tired, like one does after a sharp blood sugar fall.
“I found them, the day you left. I took them in. The golden retriever is Max. The border collie is Scout”
“Oh.”
We sit in silence for a while and then she holds out a cookie. “You want one?”
I hate cookies.
I take it because it’s Hazel giving it to me.
I’m a sucker.
Munching on it, I murmur, “So a month huh?”
“Yeah.”
The air between us is calm almost as if we are in some weird neutral environment where our grudges against each other aren’t at the forefront.
“Then you’ll go back?” I don’t know why I ask that.
She shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
Her words make me freeze. “What do you mean?”
She reaches for another cookie, and I dimly wonder how hungry she must have been.
“I got fired from my job.”
I freeze. “You got what?”