Chapter 4
Ethan
By the time I pulled into Arden Lane, the sun had dipped low enough to wash the neighborhood in that soft, golden light that made everything look gentler than it was.
Mom and Carol were settled on the porch, two glasses of lemonade sweating on the table between them.
Their walking shoes were kicked off to the side, proof they’d just finished their evening loop around the block.
I killed the engine, grabbed the bags, and headed up the drive toward the house.
“…and I told him, ‘If you think you can talk me into another church committee, you’ve lost your mind.’” Carol’s laugh rolled out warm and easy.
Mom’s voice followed, softer but still sharp when she wanted it to be. “He’s persistent. You’d be good on it.”
“Don’t you start, Margaret.”
They both looked up as I hit the steps.
“Well, look who’s here,” Carol said, her eyes twinkling. “Willowbrook’s most reliable grocery boy.”
“Somebody’s got to make sure she eats more than toast,” I said, lifting the bags like proof.
Mom gave me a look over her glasses. “I was going to make soup.”
“With what?” I asked, glancing toward the kitchen door. “Pickles and coffee?”
Carol snorted, pushing to her feet and plucking one of the sacks from me. “Come on, let’s get this inside before he runs his mouth any further.”
Inside, the kitchen smelled faintly of vanilla and coffee. Mom settled at the table while Carol and I began unloading groceries, the rhythm easy, practiced.
“Mom, this should last you a few days. I’ll bring more by after work tomorrow.”
“You’re such a sweet son,” Carol said warmly as she took one of the bags from me. She glanced at Mom with a teasing smile. “Margaret, how did you end up with such a good boy?”
Mom shook her head, amused. “Don’t let him hear that. He’ll get a big head.”
“Not a chance,” I said, setting the rest of the groceries on the counter.
Mom reached out, patting my hand before I could move it away. “Your father would be proud, you know. The way you take care of me. Of everything.”
That caught in my throat. I busied myself lining up cans in the pantry, so I didn’t have to answer.
How had it come to this? The store, once a vibrant part of my life, now felt like an anchor pulling me deeper into a sea of uncertainty.
With every shiny label I straightened, I could almost convince myself that I was in control.
But the truth was, I was drowning beneath the surface—overwhelmed by the bills piling up and the echoes of my father's expectations, suffocating under the fear that I would fail him, fail my mother, and fail this town.
Carol leaned back in her chair, watching me with that knowing expression she always had. “He’s too serious, Margaret. You ought to tell him to go live a little.”
“I do,” Mom said. “He ignores me.”
They both looked at me, a united front.
I lifted my hands in surrender, grinning. “Oh my gosh, okay, ladies. Didn’t know you were running my social calendar now.”
Carol's eyes sparkled. “Well, you might want to make some time for the new girl next door to me. She’s beautiful and just moved in. Maybe you should pay her a visit, hmm?”
I waved my hand dismissively, trying to push the conversation aside.
“Yeah, right. I’m not in the market for that,” I said, defensive without meaning to be.
Truth was, I hadn’t been in the market for anything in a long time; between caring for Dad and losing him, dating hadn’t just fallen off my radar—it had stopped making sense.
But as I considered Carol’s comment, the only attractive girl I could picture was the one from the gas station.
Her smoldering gaze drifted in my mind, the way she’d stepped closer, stirring something in me I hadn’t felt in years.
Her confidence had been disarming. It was maddening how she lingered in my thoughts, especially when I was supposed to be focusing on the fair.
“Come on, Ethan,” Carol teased, nudging my shoulder. “You could use a little more excitement in your life. Besides, what’s the harm in meeting someone new?”
“Well, if you think I need some excitement in my life, then how about this—” I grabbed the deck of cards that always lived in the breadbox and held it up. “Gin rummy. Or Crazy Eights if you’re feeling ambitious. Loser does the dishes.”
Mom’s laugh slipped out before she could hide it. “You’re on.”
Carol shook her head, already reaching for the score pad. “Careful what you wish for, Ethan. We don’t go easy just because you’re so sweet.”
“Good,” I said, sliding into a chair. “I came to win.”
The heaviness in my chest eased as we started shuffling, the sound of cards snapping against the table filling the kitchen. For a little while, it wasn’t about empty cupboards or bills piling up. It was just family.
Before I left Mom’s, I swapped the bulb in the porch light and ran a wrench under the bathroom sink until the drain finally cleared.
I offered Carol a ride home, but she waved me off, saying it’s only a few blocks, and she’d rather walk while the air was still warm.
They both wished me luck for the board meeting in the morning, and I hugged them each before heading back to the truck.
The sky was fading when I pulled out of Arden Lane, that blue-gray stretch before real night settles in. Halfway down Main, I spotted a kid straddling a bike on the shoulder, his hands greasy, chain dangling uselessly. I pulled the truck to the curb.
“You stuck?” I asked.
He nodded, cheeks blotchy with embarrassment. Took me five minutes to pop the chain back on and send him wobbling off with a grateful shout.
A few blocks later, I found old Mr. Emory’s mailbox listing sideways, the post cracked clean through at the base.
Probably clipped by a delivery truck. I pulled over, shoved the thing upright, and braced it with a length of scrap wood from the bed of my truck.
Not perfect, but it’d hold until I could come back with tools.
It was a small task, but it gave me a moment of purpose, something to focus on while I wrestled with the weight of tomorrow’s meeting.
Back on the road, the silence pressed in. It always did. Worst part of driving alone—left too much room for thinking. I rested one hand on the worn wheel, eyes on the road ahead.
“Don’t know if I’m doing right by you, Dad,” I muttered, low enough that the wind through the cracked window nearly carried it off. I could almost hear his voice in my head, urging me to keep the store alive, to honor his legacy. But what did that even mean anymore?
“The fair was supposed to be our heart, the one event that brought the community together. But ever since you got sick, it felt like it all is slipping through my fingers.” I gripped the wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening.
“I left Willowbrook thinking I would find a better path, but all I found was a deeper longing for this place. I thought I could prove myself out there, make a name for myself, but now I’m back, standing in the shadow of what you built, barely able to even keep the lights on.
What if I fail? What if the board decides to let it all fall apart?
I can't help but feel like I’m drowning—caught between what I want for this town and what it needs from me. ”
The truck didn’t answer, of course. Just the rattle of loose change in the cup holder and the hum of tires on asphalt.
When I passed Scoops, the lights inside glowed softly against the dark.
Maggie Evans, one of my oldest friends, was dragging a mop bucket across the tile, her red hair pulled back in her usual messy bun.
She caught sight of me through the window and lifted her hand in a wave.
I tipped my cap, and her smile widened before she went back to mopping.
I parked behind the bookstore and took the narrow stairs up to the apartment above the store.
One-bedroom, plain furniture, nothing fancy.
Just a couch that sagged in the middle, a kitchen table that doubled as a desk, and stacks of books I kept meaning to sort.
A pizza box from two nights ago still sat on the counter, grease darkening the cardboard.
I hadn’t planned on living here. When Dad got sick almost three years ago, I knew I had to come back and help with the store.
Cleveland had felt like a whirlwind—endless noise, people rushing past each other without a glance.
I’d thought I wanted the excitement, but all I found was isolation.
Part of me felt a strange relief at being back, the familiar streets a balm for my restless spirit.
But the truth was, the walls were thin, the furniture borrowed, and nothing about it felt like mine.
The life I used to have—space, quiet, a little breathing room—was gone the moment I picked up his keys.
I pulled out the ledger anyway, flipped through the columns.
Numbers I didn’t like stared back at me, a cruel reminder of the reality I was fighting against. Not enough cash coming in.
A couple of letters from chains offering to buy me out sat tucked under the blotter—glossy logos promising stability I didn’t believe in.
Every time I thought about handing over the keys, it felt like losing a piece of my father all over again.
Dad never had to deal with investors or the big-box stores in the big city.
He just sold books and somehow made it work. I couldn’t let that legacy slip away.
Tomorrow was the board meeting. The fair.
The one thing that still brought people together the way Dad always believed they should be—neighbors shoulder to shoulder, kids running wild with ice cream on their faces, the church choir and the 4-H kids and the vets all under the same sky. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.
If we lost that, I wasn’t sure what Willowbrook had left. Businesses were already thinning out. Families moved away when jobs dried up. The fair was more than a weekend of fun. It was proof we still mattered, that we could still take care of our own.
But what if I couldn’t convince them to see its value? What if I let Dad down? The thought squeezed my chest like a vise. Failure wasn’t just an option—it felt like a betrayal.
All I wanted was to hold it steady long enough that people didn’t forget what community felt like. I’d already lost my dad. I couldn’t stomach the thought of losing Willowbrook, too.
Tomorrow, I’d take my seat at the board table, same as Dad used to, the weight of expectations heavy on my shoulders.
I could almost hear the whispers of skepticism from the board members already, their doubts echoing in my mind.
But I had to fight for this place—for the memories, the families, the heartbeat of this town.
Because if I failed, it wouldn’t just break my heart; it would shatter everything Dad worked for.