by myself, because I’d allow my mind to run in loops.
Before I knew where I was driving, I was backing my truck out of the garage and out onto the dark road, the beams of my headlights cutting a stark path.
My phone stayed silent as I drove through town and let the breeze clear my head, because there wasn’t really anyone who might call me on a random weeknight. Not that Magnolia and I discussed it much, but because of how young we were when we started dating, and how quickly it got serious, we left high school as each other’s best friend.
We navigated college together, with me going on to law school, and her starting a job for her father. Moving out of our parents’ homes and on our own, the two of us had each other.
There were guys I knew in a friendly capacity, that I’d share a drink with if I saw them at Genie’s Country Western Bar, that I’d talk sports with, discuss work on a surface level if I ran into them at a jam session.
A jam session.
With a quick glance at the rearview mirror, I flipped a U-turn in the road and headed back down the winding, tree-lined road toward the community center. I’d get there at the tail end, but I knew they’d still be playing.
Loud music, abundant laughter, and a gymnasium full of people to distract me from my thoughts were exactly what I needed.
The parking lot was packed to the gills, and I found a questionable parking spot at the end of a row, my truck straddling the grass. My boots crunched on the gravel, the unmistakable sounds of bass and banjo and a deep, lilting harmony from Winston singing voices echoed out of the propped open doors. Light and laughter spilled from it too, and I let out a breath, knowing I made the right choice in getting out of the house.
I smiled at a few people as I entered into the buoyant atmosphere, shook hands with Drew Runous as he approached.
“There’s a face we don’t see here often,” he yelled over the music.
I slapped him on the back as he disappeared into the crowd. There were tables set up along the side, with white tablecloths and large pitchers of lemonade and water. I could’ve gone for something stronger, but that was my own problem. On the table was a framed picture of a smiling, gap-toothed little girl, the eight-year-old of a family I knew from church. She had some rare kind of leukemia, and the medical bills were crippling. Nights like this, put together for the benefit of someone we all knew, was one of the million reasons I loved living in a small town.
After the riot of thoughts bombarding me in the quiet of my home, this was what I needed. Familiar faces. Good music.
The only problem was in my own head, as I started watching everyone around me.
All I could see was happiness, and instead of buoying me to their level, it simply pointed a spotlight onto all the things I felt weighing me down.
I saw couples in love, dancing close and smiling wide.
I saw the Winstons on stage, sweaty and grinning and happy as they entertained the crowd doing something they loved.
My own life felt suspended, felt rooted in place. But not in the way I wanted it to be.
Roots were good, if you wanted to be planted solidly in that one spot.
But the way things felt for me, it was like quicksand.
I turned and froze.
And saw Grace Buchanan.
She was crouched down, camera pointed into the crowd, where a little boy and girl were twirling to the music. People moved around her as she snapped away, occasionally pulling the camera back to smile at whatever she could see on that screen.
I wanted to know what it was.
Wanted to know what she’d captured, the thing that caught her attention.
While I was staring at her, unabashedly soaking in the way her hair curled over her shoulders and the way her nose tilted up at the end, someone slung an arm around my shoulder.
“You never call, you never write,” Connor Buchanan said. “People say you’re still around, but I was starting to think it was a myth.”
I laughed, praying my face wasn’t bright red after he all but caught me gawking at his cousin like a love-struck teenager.
“Connor,” I greeted. “It’s been a while.”
“You missed the big day, man.”
I winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I heard it was a