Chapter 3
three
“The wind forgets, but the flame remembers.” - Matshona Dhliwayo
The things they said about small towns may have been true, but the overly romanticized presentation set an unrealistic expectation for those who’d never truly experienced it.
The way people whispered and stared at Jocelyn was downright un-Christian instead of endearing, but it was nothing she hadn’t expected.
Nan hadn’t thought going back to Cedar Hollow was a good idea, and not just for that reason.
It was where she was born, where she’d been raised, and where her remaining relatives still resided, but she’d cut herself off from the history—happy and heartbreaking—a long time ago.
The grief made it unbearable for her to set foot in this tainted town.
It held plenty of ghosts for Jocelyn, too. But it also guarded the secrets that had taunted her for years, buried in the ashes and rubble of a burned house that haunted her dreams several nights a week.
Jocelyn expected the searing grief to scrape at the inside of her chest, to knock the wind from her lungs. But it only simmered, hissing for the relief her search for answers would bring.
Then maybe she could let it all go.
“Jossie, why are you asking these questions now?” Nan had asked, irritation spiking her smoker’s rasp when Jocelyn had told her.
“You know it doesn’t add up, Nan.” Jocelyn’s own frustration had risen. “Don’t you want to figure out why?”
Nan had grown quiet, sad. “It hurts too much, Honeybee.”
Jocelyn had tried to drop it for her grandmother’s sake, but journaling every detail she could remember had filled her to the brim with questions she could no longer ignore.
And since Dr. Deb thought the questions were worth exploring, Jocelyn had ignored the guilt, Nan’s discouraging comments, and her own good sense, and made her way across state lines, from North Carolina to the southern edges of Middle Tennessee.
Then she’d arrived at the ceremony, the crowd of people that seemed so cohesive filling the seats neatly lined up in rows, reminding her what it was to be an outsider.
It was not a new experience, but she’d held some delusion that she would suddenly feel a rightness in the town where her family had deep roots.
All she actually felt were the stares. The ones that rolled the knowing sweep over her, making it clear she wouldn’t be flying under the radar. The child of an unwed mother could inspire those judging looks in this part of the Bible Belt.
Ellen Hauser’s was the only face that held joy at seeing Jocelyn, which sent a measure of comfort through her, even as Ellen’s son, Cole, had stared with no discernible reaction. His gaze was heavy all the same, tracing along her face, pulling the warmth into her cheeks unbidden.
Jocelyn had never met Cole, but in the letters Ellen had sent over the years, she’d talked often of her only child—his years of struggle as the town’s bad boy, her elation when he’d started to turn things around and became a respected local business-owner.
And though Jocelyn had never seen so much as a picture of Cole, she knew without question who he was. The way he’d leaned in close to Ellen during the ceremony, how he’d dropped his arm around her shoulders—all a dead giveaway. But it was his appearance that sealed the deal.
John Hauser’s face was forever burned into Jocelyn’s mind, so she found the similarities in their features instantly, like a snapshot of John had been laid over Cole.
There was more of an edge to Cole’s looks, though, that glimmer of the bad boy still in the depths of his pale eyes as he looked her over.
It was a whirlwind of people and movement once she hugged Ellen and John, who was instantly swept into conversation with others.
Too busy for a proper catch-up, and Ellen gripped her in another embrace before she could leave, insisting on inviting her to their house later so they could actually chat.
Jocelyn tried to brush her off. “I’ll be here for a couple of days. We can catch up another time.”
Ellen had flapped a hand at her. “Hush now. You know good and well you’re stayin’ for supper. We’ll feed you and welcome you proper.”
There was little room for argument, though Jocelyn caught the sour looks from others as she turned, cheeks burning again, to walk back to her car. She’d lost sight of Cole in the crowd, happy to have at least one pair of eyes off of her.
It was under the blanket of heat in her car that she felt the full intensity of her erratic heartbeat. The impact the judging looks had made on her body left invisible bruises she felt to the bone.
“What are you doing here, Jossie Girl?” she asked herself.
And then the worn notebook that sat in the passenger seat caught her eye, the edges of the soft cover curling up from constant use.
Sweat rolled between her shoulder blades, tracing the length of her spine, and she shifted on the sticky faux-leather seat. Answers. That’s what she was here for. And she intended to get them.
She drove around in the air conditioning for a while, walking herself through calming rituals she’d developed with her therapist over the years so that, when it was time to head for the Hausers’, she’d feel much more in control of her mind and emotions.
She eased off the gas and let the car coast as she wound through the country roads sweeping up and around the lush hills. There was no rush. Just letting the streets rise up under her, familiar and strange all at once, was all she needed to settle herself.
Through breaks in trees, houses peeked from precarious perches on slopes.
On the corner, someone had painted the windows of a house-turned-hair-salon with pumpkins and leaves, like that could convince the heat to go.
And just like that, she found herself emerging from the rural back into the town proper, where the houses were stacked closer, if not neatly.
Her GPS had her making turns through unfamiliar neighborhoods until it announced she’d arrived.
She knew the Hausers’ address by heart after twenty years of correspondence, but she’d been gone from Cedar Hollow too long to remember the layout of the residential areas.
Not that nine-year-olds paid much attention to those kinds of things in the first place.
She took a breath and got out of the car, gaze never leaving the two-story brick house that sat nestled amid huge white oaks and dogwoods that shifted in a hot breeze. The movement offered no relief from the humidity that had grown heavy in the air as the day had aged.
She blessed the air conditioner stationed against the side of the house, its rumbling growl proof that there’d be comfort inside.
The door opened before she could knock, and Ellen’s smile greeted her with such warmth that Jocelyn almost forgot the reason she’d come to Cedar Hollow in the first place.
She and Ellen had built enough of a friendship that it felt a little like visiting an aunt instead of someone Jocelyn hadn’t actually seen since she was a child.
“Well, hey there, Honey! Get on in this house before we melt on the porch,” Ellen crooned, her fingers wrapping around Jocelyn’s wrist to tug her into the entryway.
Before she could get her bearings, Ellen pulled her in for a hug, her chestnut hair tickling Jocelyn’s chin as she tucked in against her.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t get to talk with you at the ceremony, but this is much better than standing in that hot sun anyway!” She pulled back and held Jocelyn at arm’s length. “My, you are a beauty, Jocelyn. So statuesque.”
Cheeks burning at the unexpected compliment, Jocelyn couldn’t collect her thoughts in time to thank Ellen for it before the older woman led her deeper into the house.
Everything had that lived-in feel, rooms cluttered with a mish-mash of antique furniture in a variety of finishes that somehow seemed to fit with the shining wood floors and crown molding and trim.
The house was likely built in the early part of the 20th century, and little had changed of its bones, cared for lovingly by this woman who seemed as sturdy and constant as her home.
The air was as blessedly cool as Jocelyn had been hoping, and it helped dry the sweat that had gathered in unmentionable places on her body from the weather and her nerves.
She only got a glimpse into the sitting room to the right and a peek toward the stairs down the hall before following Ellen into the kitchen on the left.
She was about to offer to help with the meal when the back door slammed open, hitting shelves of canned goods tucked in a little alcove toward the back of the room.
Cole brushed bronze curls from his forehead, his lips rolled inward in annoyance.
“Grill’s going, Ma, but Pop isn’t back yet with the steaks.” He stomped up the three steps from the back door into the kitchen and stiffened for a second when he spotted Jocelyn.
He’d exchanged the suit for loose-fitting jeans and a gray t-shirt that pulled across broad shoulders. The suit hadn’t seemed like his style, and his appearance now fit the image of what Jocelyn imagined a bartender looked like. Never mind that he was the owner of that bar.
“Mind your manners, Cole. Say hello,” Ellen scolded when he remained silent.
He shifted to her and ran his knuckles along the stubble that shaded his jaw. “Uh, right. Hello, Jocelyn.” He took a halting step forward and offered his hand like he was unsure of the move.
Jocelyn took it and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Cole.”
His hand was wide and rough, swallowing hers in its calloused warmth.
Ellen watched them closely as they both fell awkwardly silent. Then she took a breath. “How long are you in town, Jocelyn?”
The question caught her off-guard, her pulse spiking for a second. “Oh, I hadn’t decided yet,” Jocelyn hedged. “Uncle Joe still lives around here, and I’d planned to visit him for a bit.”