Chapter 2
The town revealed itself slowly, the road narrowed as they left the highway, the asphalt cracking and softening at the edges, swallowed by weeds that had long ago won the fight for space.
A rusted sign marked the entrance to the town, one corner bent inward, barely holding together after all these years.
Pine Ridge was a place built on work and habit.
Ranchers still made up its backbone, men and women who measured time by seasons and fences, whose trucks carried more dust than polish, but others had filtered in too.
Folks who were looking for quiet, unspoiled land were hidden in the arms of the mountain range.
The town was little more than a handful of streets tucked beneath the foothills.
Pine Ridge was surrounded by forests, open fields, and miles of rugged wilderness.
It was mostly safe, the kind of town where doors stayed unlocked and where trouble was remembered much longer than it lasted.
When the car slowed before the main street, if it could be called that, Kara took in the view; it all looked the same.
Low buildings crouched beneath the trees, the feed store sign sun-faded to the color of bone, the café on the corner that had outlived three owners without ever changing its name.
Everything appeared unchanged. That was what unsettled her.
The town wore its years lightly, like a familiar coat; if it had changed, if new rules had settled in alongside the old, it had done so in secret.
Isaac drove straight through the center first, one long stretch where everything important seemed to exist out of pride rather than necessity.
A diner with fogged windows and a hand-painted sign promoting breakfast all day.
A hardware store with a bell over the door and bags of soil stacked outside like they’d been there since spring.
The bar sat farther down, squat and dark, its parking lot already half-full even though it wasn’t late yet.
The Silver Buck. Her late father’s favorite watering hole.
Kara noticed people moving at an unhurried pace.
They nodded to one another and waved from across the street mid-conversation without any urgency.
It was the kind of place where everyone seemed to know where everyone else would be later, so there was no need to rush.
More of the town crested into view, and with it came the uninvited memories.
The curve in the road which her father used to take far too fast, with one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping along to songs she couldn’t name.
The gas station on the corner, its sign repainted but still leaning, where her mother once bought her a soda and let her drink it before dinner.
The school crosswalk, mostly worn away now, where Kara had learned to watch the road attentively before she trusted it.
She blinked, grounding herself in the present, listening to the quiet thrum of the Mercedes, noticing Isaac’s steady hands on the wheel, hearing the muted click of the turn signal.
But the memories kept pressing in.
The diner where Zoe had cried into a milkshake, shoulders shaking in a booth that felt too small for the size of her grief. Losing their mom was unbearable; it was more than either of them knew how to carry.
Kara remembered working nonstop to keep them afloat, while George couldn’t even manage to support himself.
The old church steeple came into view, still rising above the trees, where Kara had learned early that silence could be holy.
Another turn. Another street. This was the town that had raised her. This was the town she’d escaped. And now it was pulling at her again, memory by memory, as the miles went on.
She pressed her palm to the door, breathing through it, letting Isaac drive them forward.
Past the main stretch, the town thinned out.
Residential streets branched off like quiet veins—small houses, most of them single-story, their lawns uneven but cared for.
Some had porch lights still burning from the night before.
Others displayed wind chimes that chimed softly in the breeze, the gentle music carrying further here where there was less traffic to swallow it.
This part of town felt newer, stretched longer than it used to, with rows of houses where there had once been open land.
Nothing flashy, just clean lines, fresh paint, mailboxes standing straighter than the old ones ever had.
The road dipped slightly, then rose again, and that’s when the house came into view.
He followed the road as it curved; the houses grew farther apart, the trees taller and closer together. The air felt different—cooler, heavier with pine and damp earth.
Her childhood home appeared and vanished between houses.
It sat back from the road, partially hidden by trees, and a narrow drive led up to it with grass growing through the cracks.
The house seemed so much smaller to her now; it was painted darker, with unfamiliar windows.
Weathered siding, a porch that sagged just enough to notice the aging.
It looked mostly changed, as if stubbornly so, enough to make her chest tighten before she even reached the end.
Isaac cut the engine.
Silence rushed in. This was it. For a moment, she didn’t move.
The front door swung open, and Kara barely had time to shut the car door or to brace herself before Zoe collided into her with a forceful hug.
Her sister's arms wrapped around her tightly, chin tucked into her shoulder like they were kids again.
“I thought I was ready for this,” Zoe murmured into her neck, her voice tight with held-back emotion. “I’m not.”
“I know,” Kara said, her vision blurring, hugging her just as tightly. “Me neither.”
They pulled back just enough to take each other in—the years apart had aged them both, but the bond was untouched. Kara smiled through glassy eyes, brushing a stray strand of hair from Zoe’s cheek.
“You look good,” Kara said.
“Liar,” Zoe smirked, swiping at her tears with the sleeve of her denim jacket. “You look like Manhattan money.”
Kara rolled her eyes. “This is jet lag, a really good concealer, and an Irish coffee with more Irish than coffee.”
A gentle throat-clearing behind her brought Kara back to the moment.
“Oh yes! Zo, this is my fiancé, Isaac,” she said, stepping aside.
Isaac offered his hand; his warm brown eyes were shining. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” Zoe repeated with a nod, shaking his hand. “We were starting to think you were imaginary.”
“Only when tax season rolls around,” Isaac joked.
It wasn’t actually funny, but the small, awkward laugh they all did softened the edges of them meeting under the circumstances.
“This is Peter,” Zoe said, pulling a tall, bearded man in a flannel coat forward. Peter is Zoe’s blue-collar husband; they’d been married nearly three years now.
Guilt pricked at Kara—sharp, familiar. She hadn’t even shown up to her sister’s wedding. Kara wondered what her guilt capacity might be; she was already so close to an anxiety-induced depressive episode.
“Hey,” Peter said, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Kara reached out to shake his hand. “Not all bad, I hope.”
Peter raised a brow and went in for a hug. “Mostly Zoe venting over wine, but I filtered out the worst of it. She loves you.”
Kara relaxed slightly, tension beginning to break; her shoulders dropped a little. The reunion was easier than she’d expected, and much lighter. She’d imagined townsfolk screaming shame or pelting her with tomatoes.
“Where’s Isabel?” Kara asked, a smile tugging at her lips. She was eager, though a tiny bit nervous, to meet her eleven-month-old niece.
Kara had only watched Isabel grow through photos; another pang of guilt struck her for her lack of presence.
‘She’s napping right now.”
“Oh.” Kara’s chest tightened with a quiet sadness. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“I know, but you can peek in on her,” Zoe said softly. “We’re glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” Kara replied, and meant it—even with the weight behind her arrival.
Isaac placed a hand gently at the small of her back, whispering into her ear. “Shall we go inside before the awkward silences catch up with us?”
Too late for that.
The floor creaked just like it used to as she stepped inside. She released a slow breath as the familiar scent of old pinewood, dust, and faint cigarette smoke curled into her nose. Before she could process being back home, a voice came, cutting through her thoughts like a blade.
“Well, well, well…look what the cat dragged in,” Aunt Lillian said, walking towards them, arms crossed over her chest. She was dressed like she was heading to a Sunday service, pearls tight around her throat, her mouth even tighter. She had kept talking, but Kara stopped listening.
Her thoughts rose fast and far too loud, until her aunt’s voice dissolved into meaninglessness.
Aunt Lillian’s voice held the same hint of sarcasm and judgment Kara remembered from every holiday dinner turned disaster.
She used to wave away their bruises with a flutter of her hand, calling their father’s outbursts “just stress” or “men being men.” She treated every ugly family secret like a stain you simply turned the fabric away from, pretending it wasn’t there.
Aunt Lillian spent their entire childhood acting as if nothing happened, like George was a good man deep down and the girls were too sensitive for their own good.
That they had deserved every beating they got.
That their mom, Maryann, was too fragile to handle life itself.
And was right to drive herself off an embankment and into the river.
“Good to see you too, Aunt Lill.”
Disgust burned hot and familiar—directed inward, at her own lack of backbone.
Her aunt gave her a once-over, eyes lingering on her designer coat and polished boots. “City life’s been good to you, huh?”
“It has its perks.”