Chapter Six
I set foot in North Grayslake early Friday morning. So early, in fact, Phoebe is still in school.
After depositing my things in her room—thanks to a snarky looking woman who keeps asking me if I’m really Ben Steel—I figure I’ll walk around the town to acquaint myself before Phoebe is done with her last class for the day.
Wrapping my coat tightly around myself, I duck into the first interesting looking building I come across—North Grayslake Historical Society and Museum. It’s deceptively small looking from the outside, despite its long name.
As soon as I step inside, I realize what I thought was the entire building is only the entryway. It’s a dark hallway with gallery style lighting illuminating blown-up black and white pictures of the town’s history.
A sense of peace settles over me as I read the plaques next to each one. Every picture tells some part of the story of North Grayslake and, by the time I get to the end of the entryway, I know this town better than I know Clover Creek.
Why don’t we have one of these at home?
In my freshman year, we were tasked with writing a brief history of Clover Creek, complete with an interview with the eldest resident we knew. My friend Luke’s great grandma fit the bill and we all interviewed her. Mrs. Landon passed away a couple years ago while I was in California, and the pain of not being there still stung.
She would have loved a place like this at home. I would, too. Writing that history report had been fun. No one else in class had been excited, but I had. The teacher used my paper as an example for the rest of the class. She had explained I went above and beyond, while they missed the mark. Mine was an essay, while theirs were all scant timelines.
Being called out for doing so much had embarrassed me, but now I’m wondering if I should have taken that interest and run with it. History has always enthralled me. Phoebe’s the reason I started reading Regency books, but I’ve kept reading them because I enjoy immersing myself in the past. Putting myself in the shoes of someone who came before me and imagining what life would have been like.
What would have happened if I had followed through with something I wanted to do instead of following Liam to California? Maybe I wouldn’t feel so lost and unsure right now.
I meander through the exhibits showing what the area could have looked like before recorded history and the results of dirt samples that provide the best pre-historic picture of the land possible.
The displays progress through time until I’m in front of a projector screen looping a video about the town’s tricentennial celebration last year.
“Three-hundred years,” I mutter.
“Yes,” a bright voice startles me out of my thoughts. “It was quite the festival.”
I smile when I turn around and see an old man, a head shorter than me, stooped from decades of life. “Wish I could have been here.”
“We started organizing the whole thing five years ago.”
“That long?” I marvel at the commitment.
“Only because he’s a perfectionist.” A gray-haired lady with glasses on a chain around her neck materializes next to the man.
He scoffs and waves her away. “Someone has to be.”
“How long have the two of you run this place?” It’s more than obvious they’re the ones in charge. One of them more than the other.
“How long’s it been, Nelson?”
Nelson squints and stares at a spot on the ceiling. “Nigh on forty years, Val.”
Val’s eyes bulge, and she stares at a different spot on the ceiling. “No. It can’t be.” Her eyes widen impossibly large. “Nelson, I think it’s been closer to fifty years now.”
“Did you open it yourselves?”
“Absolutely. Who else would have?” Nelson scoffs.
I laugh and do the math, guessing their ages. They’ve got to be at least in their eighties. That means they opened the museum when they were about my age.
“How is it? Running a place like this, I mean.”
“It’s a job, that’s for sure.”
“Quite a job,” Val echoes.
“But I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”
Val stares at Nelson and smiles. “I feel the same.”
“The town I’m from has a small display of artifacts in the corner of the library, but nothing like this.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It really is.”
I imagine Phoebe and I running a place like this back home. Her red curls eventually turning gray as we dedicate our lives to Clover Creek’s history until some spritely young kid comes in asking about the town in the early 2000s and we feel too old to get out of bed.
But Phoebe’s made it clear this isn’t anything more than a hookup and a dance.
She’s also made it abundantly clear she wants nothing to do with Clover Creek. I remember Elijah’s long conversations with her double-checking she truly wanted to move across the country. She had been steadfast in her decision and only had a year left before she graduated.
Once she was done in North Grayslake, would she want to stay? Or would she move on to another place?
Ifshe wants to be with me, I’m able to follow her wherever she wants to go. I know what I want. She’s what I want. But an ache tears through me. I followed Liam to California and regretted leaving. Now that I’m back in Washington, I finally feel like I’m home and I’m not sure I want to leave again.