because he doesn’t want anyone next door. He said you could have it.”
My insides melt. This is terrible news. The absolute worst news possible. “He did…” I say completely forlorn. “Why is he living here, anyway? I mean, other than that farmhouse needs to be condemned.”
“Don’t know…” Dad shrugs. “He had plans to demo the farmhouse and build last fall and never got around to it.”
It tells you the state of things between us that a random act of kindness from him evokes dread. I’m going to have to do some serious groveling. Lovely.
Chapter 8
I saw a documentary once on Nat Geo Wild about salmons. It explained how they hatch in fresh water rivers, but spend most of their lives out to sea. Once they reach maturity, around three or four years of age, they return to the very same river guided by the magnetic field of the earth, swim all the way back upstream, reproduce, and die.
Sad as all get out. That’s not my point, however.
What struck me as interesting is how pretty the salmon were when swimming downstream and living in the vastness of the great Pacific Ocean.
Their bodies evenly formed. Sleek, silver torpedos.
And in comparison, how ugly and deformed they became once they had battled innumerable elements––bears hunting for their favorite food, waterfalls, downed trees, beaver dams, shallow rivers beds––to meet their fate and keep the species alive. Their bravery and incredible feats of strength made them victors in the mating game. Their scars and misshapen heads meant that they had succeeded, and in turn, rewarded.
If only that were true of us humans.
Like a salmon swimming upstream, hardship has changed the shape of me. My insides and my outsides. At least, I claim it has.
For years, I’ve taken pride in the fact that I didn’t let my past dictate my future. That I didn’t stay mired in self-doubt and didn’t make excuses for my lack of confidence. Instead, I worked hard to change it. Because I am not my history. My history is only a small part of me.
Then again, my resolve has never really been tested before. Ben and everyone else I worked with didn’t know the Pizza Face kid whose mother left them for another woman. It was easy to convince them I was like everybody else when I didn’t have to change their mind of who I had been.
To that end, I can’t hide at the hotel forever.
The sidewalks of Main Street are crowded with locals and tourists. It’s a weekday so it’s not as bad as weekends and holidays, but busy nonetheless.
On the way to the offices of The Gazette, I decide to live dangerously and pop into a gourmet coffee shop and grab a latte. Running into someone, anyone, that knew me then and having to explain why I’m back is not something I want to do right now but I can’t live in fear either.
As I’m walking out, stepping onto the ice and snow slicked concrete, I almost crash, latte first, into someone entering.
“Whoops, sorry,” I automatically call out.
At first I don’t recognize her. The sexy razor sharp pink bob. The tiny diamond stud in her nose. The perfectly applied makeup. It’s all new. However, the smile and the laughter in her eyes is unmistakable.
“Gina?” I say, both surprised and happy to see her.
“Carrie? Oh my God, when did you get back?”
Throwing her arms around me, she hugs me tightly while I hold up the take-out cup to avoid spilling it all over her. The girl has not changed one bit.
“A few weeks ago.”
“It’s so good to see you. And I go by Regina these day. You know, since Imma business owner and a pillar of the community.”
I can’t stop grinning. It’s not just good to see her; it’s great. “Good for you. Which business?”
“Across the street,” she tells me, motioning to a stately, turn-of-the-century red brick building. “The bar.”
A brass sign hangs over the heavy wood and glass door. Queen, it reads.
“Wow. Nice place.”
“It’s a lot of work, but it’s mine.”
“You did good,” I say, taking it all in. I guess I wasn’t the only one with big aspirations.
Smiling, she tugs on my sleeve. “What about you?” Despite the smile, something in her expression tells me she knows.
“You know, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, cringing. “Enzo’s on Twitter a lot––probably too much. He told me.”
Gina’s older brother. “He’s a fan, I take it?”
He pert little nose scrunches and she nods. “Dallas all the way. You look great, by the way.