7. Jami
Jami
I met so many people today that if Brody gives me a test later, I’d surely fail.
We toured the hotel, grocery store, and the one and only retail shop that carries everything from guns and camouflage gear to ladies’ dresses that were…
let’s just say not my style. But if one is in need of a toothbrush or a new vibrator—both of which I will be needing—they got you covered.
Fortunately they have a post office here and I can order whatever I want online, but we’re talking Canada Post, so that could mean five months to arrive, but hey, I can plan ahead. Look at me, seeing the glass half full.
With eyes still absorbing everything around me, I walk beside Brody, our tour of main street almost finished, and I have to say, a part of me is utterly flabbergasted.
I never thought a small town could have a personality.
But as cars slowly rumble down the main street, the tail pipes puffing out exhaust, Churchill Falls practically shouts it.
Buildings lean with age, not neglect. The hardware store had a hand-painted sign promising “Everything You Didn’t Know You Needed,” and the gas station sports a forgotten Christmas wreath that looked like it had survived three winters too many.
Everywhere, there were small touches that made me grin: a mailbox with a knitted hat, a stray snowman with a crooked carrot nose. Window boxes waiting to be filled with fragrant flowers.
In this town, people wave at each other, an easy performance perfected over decades.
Many glanced my way, curious but not unfriendly.
There’s humor here, definitely. And stubbornness.
I can feel it in the way a lone cyclist just battled the icy hill, in the way the diner sign bragged about coffee “better than your city blend,” and in the sheer determination of anyone trying to get a car started in minus twenty.
But there’s warmth too. Beneath the snow, beneath the frostbite and mosquito jokes, beneath the town’s rough edges, I sense loyalty and resilience that makes the cold feel bearable. The people who didn’t leave, or left and came back…they didn’t give up on it, or each other.
I glance up at Brody. Churchill Falls is his home. It’s in his blood. He built his life here, with that same stubborn pride I sense all around me, and a new kind of warmth blooms inside me.
He must sense me looking. He glances down at me, a smile touching his eyes. “Having fun?” he asks.
“It’s not really what I expected. Everyone is so nice.”
His grin widens. “Did you expect us to be ogres or something?”
“Or something,” I say and he nudges me.
We move past an empty space with newspaper over the windows. “What’s in here?”
“TBD.”
To be determined.
I laugh and when he stops walking just past the vacant building, and I stop with him. He stands back and glances up and I do the same, and read the big green sign. Pickle Ball Falls Social.
“This is it?” I ask.
There’s genuine pride in his eyes when he asks, “Ready?” I nod and he pulls open the door. Hand on the small of my back, he guides me in, and the second I’m inside the warm building and do a fast glance around, assessing my surroundings, my jaw drops open.
The Pickleball Social isn’t just a place to swing a paddle.
From my first glance, it’s easy to tell it’s a hub, a pulse of community energy with layers of comfort and activity.
The main courts take up the heart of the space, glossy floors shining under the high, airy ceiling.
The rhythmic thwack of paddles against plastic balls punctuates the room, mixing with bursts of laughter and cheers that echo off the walls.
Lines of sunlight slice through tall windows, dust motes dancing in the golden beams, casting everything in a warm, inviting glow.
I turn, cataloging the rest of the space. Along one side, a smoothie bar hums with quiet efficiency. The scent of fresh fruit—mango, berries, bananas—blends with the earthy undertone of spinach and kale. Behind the counter, I spot Jaxon, back to me as blenders whirl in a smooth, hypnotic rhythm.
I lift my head, and upstairs, a lounge area opens onto a balcony overlooking the courts.
Plush couches and tables invite casual conversation, phones tucked away as people sip drinks, cheer friends, or catch their breath.
The air carries a faint trace of lavender from discreet diffusers, mixing with the ever-present hum of sneakers on wood and the fruity sweetness drifting up from the smoothie bar.
With his hand still on my back, Brody guides me along the perimeter. Off to the sides, quieter spaces exist for focus and mindfulness, or gentle stretching, the scent of eucalyptus signaling calm.
This place…it’s where action and leisure coexist, where people come for competition, community or just a moment of quiet in a busy world.
“Brody,” I breathe out, and his eyes are wide, full of pride as I look up at it. “I knew it was a pickleball ball social, but this…it’s so much more. I…I love it.”
“This is your space,” he says and guides me into the yoga room. My chest tightens and tears press against my eyes as I take it in.
“You guys…did this for me?”
“We wanted your space to be welcoming. We wanted you to feel like you belonged here, Jami. Even if it’s only for a few months.”
Unable to help myself, I throw my arms around him, breathe in the scent of his skin as I hold him tight. I once thought only my brother could make me feel safe and secure, but I was wrong.
“You like it, right?”
There’s a hint of worry in his voice. I lift my head and sniff, pressing my lips together until I trust my voice.
“It’s beautiful,” I manage, and the words feel too small for what’s swelling in my chest.
“Good.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder and inches back, like staying any closer might crack something open he’s been carefully holding together. “I’m going to go talk to Jaxon. Why don’t you take your time, find your way around your new space. Get a feel for it.”
I swallow hard, nodding. “Okay.”
I let my arms fall to my sides, suddenly unsure what to do with them. He pauses just for a second, like he’s checking to make sure I’m steady. When I nod again, he turns and disappears down the hall.
I walk the room slowly, letting it unfold around me.
The mats are stacked neatly in the corner, still smelling faintly of rubber and new beginnings.
The mirrors stretch along the wall, clean and bright, waiting to reflect something more than my own uncertainty. My heart beats harder with every step.
They did this for me.
The realization warms me in a way I’m not familiar with and I have to stop walking. I step up to one of the mirrors and take in my glassy eyes. That’s when someone slows outside the door.
I swipe at my cheeks quickly and turn, pasting on a smile. “Hey,” I say, my voice lighter than I feel, even though I am happy. Genuinely. My heart feels full in a way it hasn’t in a long time, standing in a space that is actually all mine. Tristan and Lucy can’t take this away from me.
“We’re so excited to have you here,” a girl about my age says, hovering in the doorway like she doesn’t want to intrude.
“Come in.” I wave her closer, and she steps inside, careful, curious. “You’re interested in yoga?”
“I am. I love yoga. I used to do it when I lived in the city.” Her eyes sweep the room. “We’re all so excited that you’re opening a studio. Are you going to do hot yoga?”
“I haven’t figured everything out yet,” I admit, glancing around like the walls might have answers for me. “But it’ll probably be on the program.”
“Please make it Tuesday or Thursday afternoons,” she says with a laugh. “I work at the hotel, and I’m off in the afternoons on those days.” She checks her watch, then adds, softer, “My daughter is in daycare through the weekdays, but not in the evening.”
I think of the daycare I passed earlier, the painted windows, the tiny boots lined up by the door. “There’s no daycare in the evenings here?” I ask, my mind racing.
She twirls the pickleball paddle in her hand, the motion absentminded.
“I could ask my parents. I just hate relying on them too much.” She shrugs.
“I come here during lunch to get a game in, but I can’t even join a pickleball team.
They mostly run at night, and it’s always a struggle to find someone to watch Laci. ”
I don’t ask about a husband. Or why she’s doing this alone. I can only assume he’s one of the ones who left.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, and I mean it. I walk over to the stack of stability balls and lower myself onto one, wobbling gently. “I want this to work for everyone.”
“Do you play?” she asks, nodding toward the courts beyond my doors as she continues to twirl her paddle. “Want to get a game in sometime?”
“Actually…” I laugh, a little self-conscious. “I don’t.” I shrug. “My brother’s a champion pickleballer and I don’t even know the first thing.”
“I can teach you.” She grins. “We could partner up against Jaxon and Brody.”
The offer is so easy, so genuine, it catches me off guard. “I’d love to partner up,” I say, and I mean it.
Movement in the doorway draws my attention, and I push to my feet as Jaxon’s broad, athletic frame fills the space. He looks around the room like he built it himself, and I guess, well, he did.
“Like it?” he asks, eyes bright, proud.
“I love it, Jaxon.” Emotion thickens my voice. “Thank you.”
“Hey, Rachel,” he says, turning to her. “I see you met my sister.” He drops a hand on her shoulder as he passes.
There’s a fondness there, friendship. That’s when it hit me.
Jaxon belongs here. He’s made this place his home and it looks good on him.
He comes to me, and loops an arm around my shoulder.
Rachel’s gaze goes back and forth between the two of us. “You guys look alike.” she says.
I snort out a laugh. “That’s what every girl wants to hear.”
“Or any guy,” Jaxon adds, chuckling.
Her face pales. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”