CHAPTER TWO
No Signal
I clutch my skinny vanilla latte like its armor, staring out over the slow-motion chaos of LAX. People move in waves around me, blurs of color and sound, yet I’m rooted to the spot, feeling every inch of the distance that’s separated me from home these past three years.
The screens overhead flash delays, cancellations, and gate changes.
A constant reminder that nothing is ever steady here.
A baby wails, a businessman curses into his earpiece, and the smell of fast food mingles with stale air until my stomach turns.
I never thought I’d miss the silence of the mountains.
It’s been three years since I last saw Mom. Back when shadows still made her flinch but hadn’t swallowed her whole. She was so animated, full of life, even if anxiety had started creeping in around the edges.
When we were little, she was fearless. Always the one to pull us up mountainsides, pack picnics, and take us stargazing way past bedtime. Mom was the kind of wild and free that made you think she’d never change. And then… everything started scaring her.
It started small. Weird little worries. Like mountain lions sneaking up to the porch if we stayed out too late or giant branches from the tall trees around the house falling on us in our sleep.
Every little thing became a threat. Soon, she barely stepped off the kitchen tiles she clung to for safety.
Things got even worse after I left. Jasper would drop hints on the phone, mentioning how the world outside had become a place Mom didn’t feel safe in anymore.
And without me there to push her out of her comfort zone, she stopped leaving altogether.
I shouldn’t blame Jasper even though I want to.
Jasper, my younger brother, has always been the quiet one, the artist. He’s built his own following now with his nature art, his work spreading like wildfire on social media, even if no one’s ever seen his face.
Hands shaping pinecones and leaves into incredible landscapes.
He’s the type who could stay tucked in the mountains forever.
That’s never been me. I wanted more than endless days of crisp mountain air, more than long afternoons sipping sweet tea on the back porch. I wanted city lights, my name in bold letters, and the rush of an electric life beyond the trees and the solitude. I wanted it all—want it all.
My heart clenches when I picture Dad’s face.
The quiet strength in his eyes, the unshakeable calm in his presence.
Those strong hands, the ones that lifted me up each time I tripped over tree roots or scraped my knee on a rocky trail.
The hands that built our home, piece by piece, carrying far more than lumber from the mill.
Those hands have held our family together through everything.
I blink back tears, taking a sip of my skinny vanilla latte to steady myself. Life in LA has been a kind of escape, a place where I don’t have to deal with my family’s overwhelming fears and vices.
A tear escapes down my cheek. I swipe it away before anyone notices.
Then, I hear an excited voice nearby.
"Oh my gosh! Are you Elowen Donovan?"
I swallow hard and manage a smile as I turn to see a teenage girl with braces, practically bouncing with excitement.
"You are!" she squeals. "My name is Sophie. Can I get your autograph?"
"Yeah, of course," I say, forcing my tone to stay light as I grip my coffee in one hand and scribble my name in her notebook.
"Thank you so much!" she gushes, eyes bright. "Can I ask for one more thing?"
"Sure," I say, though my heart feels a little heavier.
"Can we take a selfie?"
I give her a reassuring smile. "Yeah."
Her mom offers to hold my coffee, and I fix my hair, running a hand over my chestnut locks to make sure they’re set just right. Sophie holds up her phone, her face glowing as we snap the selfie.
"The girls at school are never going to believe this," she says with a huge grin. "Thank you so much."
"You’re welcome." I try to keep steady and calm, but there’s a strange ache in my chest as I watch her scroll through the photos, a sparkle in her eyes.
Her mom hands back my coffee, leaning in to say softly, "She’s had a rough time lately."
I nod, knowing all too well. Mean girls in high school aren’t so different from mean girls in my world, just more polished and a lot more public.
"Hey," I say to Sophie as they announce my flight is finally boarding. "High school ends. Your sparkle doesn’t, unless you let it."
Her eyes light up, and she steps forward, looking shy but hopeful. "I won’t."
I used to think moments like this were the whole point. Being recognized. Being loved by strangers. But right now, I’d trade all of it to have Mom meet me at the gate.
"Where are you headed?" Sophie asks as the loud speaker announces my red eye is boarding.
I hesitate, tasting the word before I say it. "Home." Heavy, carrying everything I’ve tried to leave behind.
Then, I fall into line with the other passengers, my heart pounding as we inch our way down the jetway. Soon, I’ll be in the one place I’ve spent the last three years running from.
I guess I’m not running anymore.
And that makes it feel surreal. This isn’t how I pictured going back. Not in a rush, not with a sense of dread curling in my chest. I should be going back for a visit, for a holiday, for something ordinary and sweet.
But instead, I’m racing against time. Racing to see Dad, hoping I haven’t waited too long.
And all I can do now is hope I make it in time.
***
The rental car rattles with a strange, rhythmic clunk, the kind of sound that makes LA mechanics salivate and mountain folks shrug. I make my way down the winding two-lane highway, my head throbbing from too little sleep and too much on my mind.
As the sun begins to rise, painting the mountains in soft pinks and golds, everything around me feels eerily unchanged.
The towering green trees, the sleepy little towns every fifteen miles, each with a single stoplight that blinks through the morning haze.
It’s all exactly as I remember. Like time decided to stand still here, keeping this place in some kind of quiet, unbreakable hold.
I grip the wheel tighter, a strange mix of comfort and dread settling over me.
I don’t know what I’m going to find when I pull into that driveway. I don’t know if I’m ready to face what’s happened in the three years I’ve been gone.
Every twist of this road holds a piece of my past—memories blooming like wildflowers in the cracks. There’s the bend where I fell from a tree, breaking my arm, and Mom drove me fifteen minutes to the hospital.
Just past the ridge is where Holden Cartwright broke my heart. I found out he’d been cheating on me with Jana Flenning. Everyone else knew before I did.
Then, the path that leads down to the creek.
Jasper waiting by the water the night I told him I was leaving for LA.
He looked at me, his eyes solemn, and asked if it was really what I wanted.
I didn’t answer him then. Maybe because I wasn’t sure, or maybe because I didn’t want to admit how desperately I needed something more.
These mountains have held so much of me. So many memories woven into these roads, and yet, it feels like there was never enough time to say goodbye to any of it.
I turn off the main road when I spot the carved eagle, weathered but still strong, watching over the valley. Years ago, a lightning storm split the old tree in two, and one of Dad’s friends took a chainsaw to it, transforming it into this proud, fierce guardian of the mountains.
I never believed we needed guarding, but maybe I was wrong.
Finally, I reach the end of the long driveway and pull in behind Dad’s beat up Chevy, its red paint rusted and worn.
I cut the engine, letting the quiet settle around me.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all.
It’s been three years. Three years of chasing dreams and building a life in LA.
But here… here is the only place that’s ever truly felt like home, even if I haven’t wanted to admit it.
I climb out of the car and grab my bag from the back seat. Standing there, looking at the familiar house framed by tall trees and a wide-open sky, I feel a pull deep in my chest. This is home. The one place I’ve never been sure I belonged.
The porch steps sag in the same places, the paint on the railings peeling into curls. Firewood is stacked high against the wall, and the smell of pine and earth wraps around me like an old friend. Everything here bears the mark of Dad’s hands, of years of care I hadn’t been here to share.
I used to think the only place that mattered was the top.
The top of the follower count, the top of the brand deals, the top of the algorithm.
Being seen, being admired? It's everything I've worked for since the moment I uploaded that grainy unboxing video in my tiny West Hollywood studio three years ago.
Back then, I couldn't have imagined how addictive the climb could be.
Every like, every comment, every new subscriber was another step toward the life I'd always dreamed of—glamorous, glitzy, and perfectly filtered.
But standing here, in the middle of the Ozark mountains, with zero cell service and my carefully curated life left behind in California, feels like I've been dropped into a parallel universe. One where bars mean tree trunks, not signal strength.
"Elowen!" Mom's voice pierces through the thick, humid air, yanking me out of my thoughts. She's waving from the porch of our old, weather-beaten house, the screen door groaning as it swings open.
Mom’s smile is wide, real, and unfiltered.
A stark contrast to the perfectly angled selfies I’ve mastered.
For a heartbeat, I almost believe everything will be okay.
But Dad’s truck in the driveway is a reminder.
He’s not the one waiting on the porch. And that truth hits harder than the humid air pressing in around me.