2. Noelle #2
Okay, he’d given me a kind lecture about checking my mirrors’ blind spots to make sure it didn’t happen again, but still, that was only after he made sure I was fine and we’d replaced the box.
“Sorry,” I whispered, flexing my white-knuckled fingers over the steering wheel. Already I was failing this whole “make my way back into the town’s good graces.” If I couldn’t even manage it with Dallas, how could I possibly get through the rest of my laundry list of people I owed apologies to?
Maybe I should place an ad in the local paper. Or better yet, make a post on The Vine.
Noelle Shepherd is sorry.
And was I ever.
I was the official queen of hot messes and regrets.
Dallas crouched down so we were eye level. All the Satterfields were ridiculously tall, over six feet, and it always made my five-eleven self feel less awkward. His blue eyes—another Satterfield trait—brimmed with kind intensity. “Let me be the first to say it: welcome home, Elle.”
I blinked back a torrent of tears I refused to let fall. Home. Was it, though? I’d been gone so long, leaving everything and everyone behind. Now . . . it was all I had left.
He lightly squeezed my shoulder before straightening back to his full height. “I’ll follow you in. There’s an apple fritter at Bean There, Done That calling my name.”
“So predictable.” I tried to tease, but it sounded wobbly even to my ears.
Memories of working shifts at the best—and only—coffee shop in town flooded my memory.
I’d worked there all through high school and right up until I left.
The Kleins were good people, and my mouth started watering for a bite of their honey crullers.
New York got a lot of things right, but there was nothing like a pastry from Bean There, Done That Café.
Maybe they’d let me come back to work part-time? I needed to figure some sort of job out since my meager savings weren’t going to last forever. And I think my body could handle a few hours here and there. Chronic illness sucked.
I cleared my throat. “How are Melissa and the kids?”
Dallas’s expression softened at the mention of his family. “Good. We’ve got six of them running around now.”
The last time I’d seen him, they’d only had the two. Dallas and Melissa had been high school sweethearts and an item for most of my growing up years. “You’re lucky.”
He hummed. “More like blessed.”
Couldn’t argue with him there.
“See you ’round, Elle.” With a parting nod, he strolled back towards the cruiser.
No jail time today. Macy would be so proud. Or disappointed. I think she wanted to be someone’s one phone call. The girl needed a break from watching crime shows. She’d roped me into watching every one in existence at least three times.
“Hey, Dally?” The childhood nickname slipped out, surprising us both, and he glanced back at me. Juliet had been the one to christen him with it, given their ten-year age gap, and it had stuck. “I’m sorry. For back then and for now.”
He dipped his chin. “We’ve all run from something, Elle. Just make sure you’re running back to a good thing.”
Wise but oddly cryptic. Exactly like Dallas.
“It’s good to have you back, kid. I mean it.”
That makes one of us. I didn’t hate coming back. I missed Serenity Springs more than I’d admitted to myself. But redemption had a high price, and I was paying for it dearly.
Easing back onto the road, I crossed the boundary line into Serenity Springs.
I’d flown into Boise with a few bags and rented a RAV4.
The rest of my worldly goods that didn’t fit in my checked baggage were being shipped out by a professional moving company.
Ridiculously expensive, but this girl wasn’t driving a huge truck from NYC to southern Idaho on a solo adventure.
Travel was a funny thing. I’d kissed New York City’s grey sky goodbye this morning in a flurry of yellow taxicabs and brownstone buildings. No one in the metropolis would know I was missing. The great workings of a city would go on without me.
This afternoon, Serenity Springs welcomed me with dusty roads and a single stoplight, where the minute I stepped out of my car, everyone would know I was here before you could say “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”
I sighed heavily as Billy Joel’s “And So It Goes” kicked in from my old burned CD.
How fitting. But nostalgic, too. It was Myles Delavan’s favourite song—the other part of my childhood quartet of friends.
For years, it had been Cal, Greyson, Myles, and me—the Fabulous Four, as we called ourselves.
Cal and I had turned into something more .
. . until I messed that up and lost Greyson and Myles in the process.
I hit the mute button, but the silence was hardly better than the unwelcome barrage of memories. My phone rang and Macy’s picture flashed across the screen.
“Well, you’re moving!” she exclaimed when I accepted the video call. “And you aren’t in the back of a cruiser, so no jail time?”
I rolled my eyes. “You sound disappointed.”
“You mock me.”
“I absolutely do.”
She laughed, her jet-black messy topknot flopping. “So, what, he just wanted to chat?”
“Long story, but Ruby told him I was coming, and now he’s escorting me into town.”
Macy’s shocked face was priceless. “You’re one tracking anklet short of town arrest.”
“You need a new obsession, my friend.”
“You have no taste. Flip the camera so I can see.”
I obliged her.
“Is everything always so . . . brown?” she asked after a minute of scenery whizzing past.
“Brown is a way of life here.”
Macy hummed. She’d never lived in a small town, having been born and raised in New York City, where life was vibrant with concrete and steel.
The smudge of buildings came into focus, and she squealed as I officially entered downtown.
Dallas tossed a wave out his window and turned off towards the local coffee shop. I breathed a little easier without my designated babysitter.
Time hadn’t seemed to leave a mark on Serenity Springs.
If I didn’t know better, I’d assume time travel was possible because nothing looked different.
The same charming lampposts with autumn-themed pennants lined the red and tan brick downtown.
A handful of kids biked down Main Street.
The W was still missing in the diner’s neon sign reading Donovan’s Downto’n.
It was . . . home. Exactly how I’d remembered it.
Outside of downtown (all two streets of it) led into the small suburbs before it turned into farmland, with sparse patches of trees littered among the overwhelming brownness of the landscape. Macy offered lighthearted commentary on everything, shrieking when we passed a small herd of cows.
Cows, the delight of women everywhere.
And I get it, they were adorable. Especially these ones because they were of the miniature, fluffy variety. If there was a sign that said “Pay $20, hug a cow,” I would be there. And Macy would probably catch the next flight out, too.
Hugging bovines—the cure for heartache.
Maple Lane, the home of my biggest regrets and tenderest dreams, flashed by, and two tears slipped over my cheeks against my will. I’d give almost anything to knock some sense into younger Noelle. But we didn’t get to rewrite history—only live forward.
Checking the address Ruby sent me for the tenth time, I pulled into a long winding driveway a mile past Maple Lane.
The unpaved drive kicked up dust even though I was practically moving at a snail crawl.
At the end of a small tunnel of trees, a large whitewashed farmhouse with green shutters emerged.
The kind of house my dreams were made of before light pollution and rent prices drove them away.
“So pretty!” Macy chirped. “Send me pictures!” She got a little excited to see anything that wasn’t made of steel, glass, and concrete.
“Ruby, what have you done?” I muttered, parking in front of a white picket fence blocking in a large brown lawn.
Originally, she’d offered to let me room with her, but since she was still living at home, I’d opted out of that option. I wasn’t sure how clearing the air with my dad would go.
So I’d given Ruby a budget and asked her to search for a small rental within my price range.
My only stipulation was no stairs—easier for my limited mobility—and she’d come through.
If it wasn’t Serenity Springs, I’d be worried she was getting scammed with the low price she’d scored for a darling little cottage.
Which this white farmhouse definitely was not.
The cottage was tucked into a grove of trees and shrubbery a few hundred feet to the right, looking every bit as picturesque as the photos. But I hadn’t anticipated having a neighbour on the same property.
Ruby had conveniently left that information out. What else had she failed to mention?
“It’s beautiful,” Macy breathed. “Your sister has taste.”
Taking in the gorgeous house in front of me, I swallowed hard and fiddled with the silver butterfly pendant around my neck. I hadn’t thought my baby sister was a schemer, but I guess I didn’t know her as well as I thought. You’ve been gone thirteen years. Of course you don’t.
“Elle, talk to me,” Macy said gently.
“I . . . I . . . What am I doing?” I rasped, fingers gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ached. Like if I held on tight enough, I could keep my heart from shattering. It was a lot, coming back here. So many memories haunting my mind in vivid technicolour detail. So many regrets.
“You’re rebuilding bridges. One at a time.” She hummed soothingly. “Lord Jesus, I ask you now to bring Noelle peace and courage about this homecoming. You’ve called her back to her roots—give her the strength to bloom there for your glory. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Ten years ago, I’d been startled to hear Macy Davenport spontaneously start praying in the middle of a conversation. But now, that’s what I loved best about her. She prayed like she meant it.
“Thanks, Mace.”
“Call me later?”
“You got it.” After saying our goodbyes, I practically flung myself out of the vehicle.
One bridge at a time.