Chapter 5
CHAPTER
Jenn
The Past
Mid-May—Fifteen Years Ago
THE SHEETS WERE scratchy. The pillow was as flat as a pancake. The room temperature fluctuated between freezing and sweltering.
But it didn’t bother me. I was grateful I had a roof over my head for ten dollars a night. It was a hell of a lot better than the budget motels I had been staying in since leaving home.
I suppressed a shudder at the memory of the stained comforters and TVs bolted to the floor. The sounds of sex and violence on the other side of the wall.
I had never felt so alone. Or so vulnerable. I started to doubt my reasons for running away. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. It couldn’t be worse than what I encountered out here.
But then I remembered. And that was enough for me to put my thumb out and hitch a ride to another town. Another state.
Far, far away from the pain I left behind, and never look back.
I quickly got dressed, making sure to slide my three silver bangles onto my right wrist. My one reminder of home.
I tied my hair back in a ponytail and quietly left my room, hoping to avoid Ms. Cora Stanley, the owner of the B&B. She was a nice enough lady, but she was a little too interested in where I came from. She seemed nervous having an “unattached young lady” staying in her establishment.
“Don’t you have a man to travel with you?” she asked me that first night.
“No, I’m alone,” I told her.
Ms. Stanley had tutted under her breath before narrowing her eyes. “This isn’t one of those hourly places off the highway. I don’t condone sin under my roof.”
I had to swallow a laugh. I knew she was serious. She had the look of someone who had never had a good sinning in her whole sorry life.
“I promise I only need a place to sleep,” I said with all the solemnity of the God-fearing church girl I used to be.
After that she had taken to writing a daily Bible passage on the breakfast board in the dining room. I half expected her to kidnap me and force me to church. But she was harmless. And I knew she meant well. That didn’t mean I wanted to be drawn into any prolonged conversations with her.
It was a pretty day, and I wanted to do a little exploring. I hurried out the front door and down the sidewalk. It was early, only a little after eight in the morning, so the streets were remarkably quiet.
Fern River was nestled in the rolling tulip-tree scented hills of Kentucky. The kind of town that moved at its own pace, lazy but deliberate. Cobblestone streets and old red brick storefronts lined the small, well-maintained town center.
I felt invisible here, like I could blend in and go unnoticed, and for the first time since running away I felt like I could relax—at least a little.
The town was almost picture-perfect, something my mother would have called quaint.
A place where she would have loved to live.
But my mom, along with the rest of my family, would never leave the place they were from.
Their world was small. Maybe that was why I liked Fern River so much.
As tiny as it was, it still felt bigger than anything I had ever known.
Not that I planned to be there long enough to appreciate it.
I headed to the pretty downtown area. There wasn’t much there, but every shop appeared to have a purpose.
The ice cream stand seemed to have a permanent line, and there was a small fountain that kids were running in and out of.
The library doors swung open and closed continuously, and the hardware store looked busy, indicating that for a small town, it had life to it.
I passed a brick building that housed the local police department, then a bait and tackle shop, and finally I stopped outside Crème Dulce Bakery, a cute little café.
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.
On a whim I went into the bakery and bought a ridiculously expensive cinnamon roll and then sat on a wooden bench in the small park by the movie theater.
The marquee advertised a new action movie and an animated film I had seen commercials for on TV.
I loved to people watch. It was the best way to get to know a place. I could figure out most everything I needed to know about a town by observing the people who lived there.
Fern River didn’t seem to be the sort of town that liked hustle and bustle. People took their time, even when they looked busy. They stopped and talked to each other. Everyone seemed to know everyone else.
I watched a small group of teenagers laughing as they walked together down the street. I felt a tug of longing in my chest for something I’d never had.
“Hey, Jenn.”
I glanced up to see Rhett, the man I had met a week ago when I arrived. The one who had bought me a pistachio ice cream cone.
My heart did a little flip.
We had messaged back and forth a few times, but I hadn’t seen him in person since. Even though I had looked out for him every time I left the B&B.
Even over text he seemed like such a nice guy. He was friendly and eager to help out the new girl in town.
“Hey.” I smiled.
He smiled back and I noticed he had an adorable dimple in his left cheek. He really didn’t look like a “Rhett.” The name reminded me of Clark Gable, my mom’s favorite old time actor, and he was as far from dark and brooding as you could get.
This Rhett had light-brown hair that was a little on the curly side. His nose was too big and his chin too pointy. He was tall and gangly as if he had yet to grow into his limbs. But he had that smile and a goodness about him that felt genuine.
“Oh, nice choice. The cinnamon rolls at Dulce are the best,” he exclaimed.
I looked down at my half-eaten pastry then on a whim I patted the bench beside me. “Well, you better help me eat it, then.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to share your breakfast. It’s okay, you enjoy it.”
He had the look of a happy puppy, and I had always been a sucker for a puppy.
“I’ll enjoy it more with company,” I said, breaking off half of the remaining cinnamon roll and holding it out to him.
He hesitated and cast a quick look around, but then sank down beside me, taking the pastry and shoving it into his mouth. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his mouth full.
“Man, someone was hungry.” I chuckled, enjoying the way Rhett’s cheeks colored in what I guessed was embarrassment. He really was cute.
“I guess so.” He looked around again.“I hoped I’d run into you.”
“Oh yeah?” I couldn’t keep the anticipation out of my voice.
“Yeah.” He gave me a sweet smile that I had to return.
“You could have told me that when you messaged me. We could have made plans,” I told him, holding up my ancient Nokia.
“I know.” He ducked his head before giving me a bashful sideways glance. “But I always get awkward around beautiful women.”
I didn’t even try to stop the grin this time.
He thought I was beautiful.
He moved a little closer, our arms brushing. I noticed he didn’t move away. We stayed pressed up together on the old wooden bench like a lovey-dovey couple. The kind I always dreamed of being a part of.
“So, uh, how are you liking Fern River?” he asked.
It was my turn to look around. “It’s nice. Really quiet. ”
Rhett grimaced. “Unless you want to go hunting or fishing, there’s nothing really to do. Though there are some great places if you like hiking.” His face lit up.
“I like that there’s not much going on,” I told him. “I hate cities. The noises, the smells, the cars.”
“If I lived in an interesting big city, it’d be hard for me to leave,” he replied wistfully.
“Though, if you’re looking for a marginally good time, we do have a bowling alley over on Chestnut Ridge.
They recently got their liquor license and don’t card.
It’s where people under twenty-one go to get cheap beer. ”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I confessed. “I just turned eighteen. I have to admit I’ve never done the whole underage drinking thing.”
He smiled again, and I couldn’t get enough of the way it made the dimple in his cheek pop. “Yeah, I’ve never been into it either. I’m only nineteen myself. I figure I have all the time in the world to get shitfaced when I’m legal.”
“I love bowling, though. I was in a ten-pin league back home,” I found myself saying.
“Oh yeah? I’m horrible at bowling. I still have to use the bumper rails,” he said self-deprecatingly.
I finished the cinnamon roll and threw the napkin in the trashcan. “Maybe you need a good teacher,” I said. Our eyes met, and I knew I wasn’t imagining the little spark there.
“Maybe you’re right,” he agreed.
It felt wrong to flirt with him when I had no intention of staying in town longer than a week or two.
But didn’t I deserve to feel good for a little while?
Didn’t I deserve to be a teenager flirting with boys and not having a care in the world? My life had been so hard. It would be nice to feel normal.
“Should we go bowling, then?” I asked.
Rhett’s eyes clouded slightly. “I uh—” My stomach clenched at his obvious reluctance. But then his face brightened. “Maybe we could go hiking instead.”
“Hiking?”
He nodded. “There’s this great place outside town. I actually walk up there all the time, no car needed. It’s called Jagged Point. During the day, especially in the middle of the week, it’s pretty quiet. What do you say?”
“Sounds fun,” I said with a little too much enthusiasm. “When do you want to go?”
“Oh, umm …” There was that hesitation again. He was the one that suggested meeting up, and now he acted unsure.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to.” I felt the need to let him off the hook.
He grabbed my hand. “No, I really want to. It’s only that—I’m so busy. I’m pre-law at college and I have exams coming up and … Yeah, it’s hard to do anything at the moment.” He looked apologetic.
I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “I get it. You don’t need to worry about me,” I assured him.
He frowned, lost in thought. “You know what, let’s go tomorrow,” he said firmly. “Who cares about studying.”
I felt the buzzing of unfiltered joy. “Well, if you’re sure, I’d love to go hiking with you.”
Rhett squeezed my hand. “I’ll text you directions. Like I said, it’s an easy walk.”
I didn’t ask why he couldn’t pick me up. Or why we couldn’t walk together. I was simply happy he wanted to hang out together.
We were interrupted by the shrill sound of a phone ringing.
He pulled his Blackberry out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “I have to take this.” He abruptly got to his feet. “I’ll message you later.”
He looked at me for one lingering moment, and I wasn’t sure if I was imagining the longing in his expression. But then he was rushing off, the phone pressed to his ear.
I heard him apologizing to the person on the other end for being late before he was out of earshot and I was left alone again.
I watched as he ran across the street to a beat-up white Honda Civic parked in front of the library.
It felt silly to be sad that he left so quickly. I didn’t even know him, and yet it felt good to have a small connection. It had been a long time since I’d had that with anyone.
I sighed, feeling unreasonably despondent. But then he turned around and waved, and I could see his sweet smile again. I lifted my hand and waved back, the heavy load in my chest lightening, if only a little bit.
I felt like, perhaps, I had made a friend.
I watched as he sped down the street like he was wanted for murder.
One thing was for sure, I wanted to see him tomorrow. And he might be the distraction I needed.
Perhaps Fern River could become something like home.