46. Life Is A Highway
Chapter forty-six
Life Is A Highway
Maggie
As I neared the end of my five-day journey, I started my drive back to Chicago.
I’d traveled so far away that I needed to stay in a hotel room the last night before the last leg of my trip.
Settling into my hotel room for the night, I thought back to all the new friends I’d made and how many photographs I’d taken.
With two large digital drives bursting with photos, I’d captured the heart of the American farmer.
Looking back through them, I couldn’t help but squeal with glee. Dilapidated barns. Rusting metal wheels barely managing to hold up a wagon. Tractors with weeds growing up into them as it became part of the landscape. Ponds surrounded by wildflowers. People working the land from afar.
Maybe there was something healing in this trip. A tribute to my roots and a sort of goodbye to Paul.
It hurt too much to think about for long, so I decided to do some online research.
Being around so many farmers, I heard several of the same complaints that I hadn’t expected.
With my laptop, I ran some searches on family farms. Between governmental regulations, environmental impact, and rising prices of what was now being required, family farms were becoming a dying breed.
They couldn’t afford to stay in business, so they had two choices, bankruptcy or selling out to larger corporations.
Wondering what was happening with Buena Vista’s family farms, I decided to look up the county website listings.
Knowing the address of Paul’s family’s farm, I typed it into the county website for reference to search other farms in the area, but what I found left me gasping.
Paul’s dad didn’t own the farm anymore. He only owned ten acres surrounding his house.
Smith Corporation had purchased his farm not long after I came to town.
Paul didn’t tell me.
Why the hell hadn’t he told me?
Pain sliced through my heart. When Paul was finally free of the farm and all of its obligations, why wouldn’t he tell me? I was right there, asking him what was going on, and he’d never said a word. Sometimes, he would get a faraway look, but I never imagined such a twist of fate.
Why didn’t he want to celebrate it with me? Why didn’t he at least share it with me?
Dread set into my chest as a realization hit me.
Paul never had strong feelings for me at all.
When he felt my desperation for him that first night and knew what I was facing with Mom, he was the nice guy, giving me the comfort I sought from him.
He never return my feelings. Worse yet, he was just being accommodating.
Casual. Friendly. What else could it be when he was free and still didn’t choose me?
So, that was it. I felt sick. Turning over in bed, I pulled the covers up high and willed myself to fall asleep. With any luck, I’d wake up in the morning realizing this was all just some horrible dream.
The next morning, while I was back on the road to Chicago, I refused to let my thoughts drift back to Buena Vista.
It was time to move forward. No more thoughts of ponds, or his truck, or dancing in the moonlight.
No more afternoon delights or festivals.
From now on, I was working on cultivating the photos I took and building a future for myself as an artist. There was nothing that would hold me back.
After returning the rental car in the suburbs, I took the train into the city.
It took a while to get there, but I didn’t mind.
Traffic snarled all along the highway as the train raced along.
As I watched the city skyline come into view, I tried to force myself to smile, accepting this as a new beginning.
It’s all about mindset and whatnot, right?
When I reached my stop, I carted my suitcase home where I met a beautiful orange cat rubbing on the side of my apartment building.
“Hey, you,” I said to the cat. “Do you have a home?”
There was no collar, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
The cat sauntered over, rubbing its body against my legs and purring loudly.
“Want to come home with me?” I asked. “I don’t have much for a cat, but I could get a few things.”
Opening the door to my apartment building, the cat led the way inside. It was a mature cat, proud and not afraid, with his tail in the air that gave me the view to know he was a male.
“What should we name you, you handsome boy?”
He twined himself around my legs while we waited for the elevator.
“Tom seems too plain,” I mused. “Maybe Copper?”
His mouth opened, letting out a low growl.
“No? Okay, I’ll keep thinking.”
When the elevator opened, he followed me inside.
“Chester?” I chuckled, thinking I was clever.
The cat glared at me.
“Maybe something more serious. You don’t have much of a sense of humor,” I muttered.
We arrived at my floor, so I led him to my door.
“This is it. Ready to see the place?” I asked.
He rubbed against the door, pushing at it with his face until I unlocked it and opened it for him.
Then, he scurried inside, racing over to a small, rusted wagon wheel I’d found at a flea market a few years back that reminded me of home.
Using his cheeks, he pressed so hard against it that it wobbled, almost falling over.
Setting my suitcase down and locking the door, I grabbed it and smiled, realizing what it meant. “Okay, then. Rusty it is.”
My heart still felt heavy at the loss of Mom and Paul, but now I wasn’t alone. There was another living creature here who adopted me.
I flopped on the sofa as exhaustion set in after my journey home. Rusty jumped up and settled at my side, wanting pets.
My lower lip shook as I realized what this was.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered. “I needed him.”
While one hand kept petting him, I pulled my phone out with the other to order cat supplies for delivery.
The moment I turned on my phone, though, dozens of notifications popped up from Easton.
I cringed, ignoring them as I went to a delivery app.
Reading down the list, I asked Rusty what he would prefer.
As I expected, Rusty was opinionated, but had excellent taste.
It would be a while before they were delivered, so I called my aunt and uncle.
“I’m back,” I said, trying to feel more upbeat than I felt.
“How are you, sweetie?” Aunt June said. “I’ve been so worried about you taking off on a solo trip while you’re grieving.”
I swallowed hard, petting Rusty for strength. “I needed the time to myself. It was a wonderful trip. And now I’m a cat mom.”
“How will your boyfriend feel about that?” Uncle Isaac said with a huff. “He’s been calling nonstop looking for you, you know.”
Pausing, I wondered if they were talking about Paul. “Who? I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Leeland or Eastland, or something,” Uncle Isaac said. “He was telling everyone at the funeral that you were his boyfriend. I knew he was a liar.”
“What?” I screeched. Rusty gave me a dirty look, so I gave him a quick pat on the head. “Easton said that? I had no idea.”
Aunt June tutted my uncle. “See? I told you she would never date a man like that. It was in such poor taste to do that at your mother’s funeral, especially when that other young man seemed so out of sorts because of it.”
Paul.
No wonder he was so upset.
I bit my lower lip thinking about the conversation at the church. He’d said I wasn’t free. I had no idea what he meant until now. Oh, crap.
It really didn’t change much, though. He didn’t tell me about the farm, he only wanted to be friends, and those were obstacles we couldn’t overcome.
While I chatted with my aunt and uncle, I ordered groceries for the next morning and unpacked the essentials from my suitcase.
After starting a load of laundry, I filled them in on my trip and my new roommate.
They were so sweet about it, offering to bring him a housewarming gift.
Since I wasn’t ready for company yet, I told them I’d call them when I was up for it.
Aunt June promised to call to check on me later and we disconnected.
It was good to have them in my life, and I checked in with Wyatt and Karpathia to let them know I was back, too.
When I’d changed into sweatpants and a tank, I flopped onto the sofa.
My phone buzzed with another call. Exhausted from all the driving, the grief, and the hurt, I powered the phone down and cuddled up on the sofa.
Rusty joined me, curling up at my side, and I allowed myself some time to wallow.
I’d give myself a day to feel bad, but that was it; I wouldn’t let grief stop me from living.
The next day, I made it my mission to keep my spirits high.
That didn’t mean I was always in a good mood, but I refused to sit back and watch life happen.
I arrived at the office exactly five minutes early and left exactly five minutes late, staying for my contracted hours and nothing more.
I’d missed so much time that Brenda kept me on a tight schedule shooting all day, so I spent no time in my office at all.
When my day was done, I gathered up my purse and left, choosing to fill my non-work time was with editing my own photographs. I had thousands of them, and I wanted to look at them with a critical eye so I could select the few that I would concentrate my energy on for a future gallery opening.
My plan was to reclaim my confidence and work toward a future away from Kent Designs. It was time to focus on why I came to Chicago in the first place. I’d done enough hiding. It was time to start being the artist I came here to be.
Brenda stopped by my office the next day, wrinkling her nose as she assessed me. “You’ve changed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Glancing up from my computer, I pressed my lips together. “You can have me during office hours, but that’s all. Understood?”
With narrowed eyes, she looked me up and down, then pouted. “I think I do.”
A few days passed before Easton showed up in my office, acting like nothing had happened.