Coming Home

The Beginning…

Some say home is where the heart is. What a crock of shit. A decade ago, I would have agreed with you, that being home surrounded by your family was the best possible option there was. That you could get through just about anything in this world if you were wrapped up and close to those you love and loved you right back. However, things are not as simple as that in this life, things we dreamed about quickly shift, life isn’t a fairytale. Shit happens and when mine did, the rumble from the crash of my normal life could be heard two states over. I’ve lived with the saying you can never go home again, yet I’ve learned that wasn’t as easy as one might have hoped. That is where my story started, my return to Northbury, population twenty-five hundred.

Chapter 1

My life had been anything but the simple life of a twenty-eight-year-old. I’ve traveled the world and no matter how hard I had tried to avoid it, I ended up right back where I started. I read the sign that welcomed me back to Northbury, and I felt the sinking pain that filled my chest. I couldn’t believe I had returned, something I never wanted to do again when I left just over ten years ago. I wanted that to be it, yet I had quickly learned that what we wanted and true reality were two vastly different things. When I crossed the town line and heard the thump against my tires, as I drove onto the wooden bridge, I knew I was home.

Nothing had changed during the time I had been gone. The local ice cream shop, Chips, still held that off-colored white to its bricks. The small building used as the Sherriff Department sat next to Hollands, the local hardware store.

Dirt roads ran into paved roads from repair work that had been going on since I was a young girl. I don’t think I remember a time there hadn’t been some form of construction on these roads like it was destined to never be completed. It had become a town running joke that if we wanted it done might as well do it ourselves. Not that the Mayor didn’t fight for it, but who the hell cares about a small town in the southern corner of Kentucky?

We never got the big fairs. We never raised big-time celebrities and we sure as hell never made it on the tourist road map. Nah, Northbury had been created to be simple, common, and that was how it had remained and would until the end of time. People dreamed of leaving, but it was only the rare few that did it. We had two lawyers, three doctors, and four nurses, that was about as city as the town aimed to be. Even the police force was something of a joke, with one Sherriff and four Deputies. I had forgotten how small my hometown was until I returned that Autumn day.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Although there isn’t anything to do in Northbury but work, swim at the local quarry, and hang at Chip's, the town does have its selling points as well. For instance, you don’t have to lock your doors. You could sleep with your windows open and never worry your car would be broken into. Everyone knew everyone, which outsiders could see as a disadvantage but, it helped keep kids safe growing up. Guess you could say we lived in a small bubble, one that for me had busted over a decade ago and forced me from my home.

I had planned to live here forever, I would marry Christopher Banks, my high school boyfriend. We would have four kids together, live down the street from my best friend Britney. We would have six dogs, four cats, and two horses. I would have Sunday lunches with my parents and brother, Noah, after church. I would live the life every girl dreamed of. The perfect small-town life with Christopher, the town's leading Deputy perhaps later Sheriff. That had been the plan. My world had been wrapped up in this dream, this life that I wanted so badly I never prepared myself for the possibility it could crash, but it did, with a dynamic explosion.

As I passed The Bell Tower, my family's diner, I felt the pain that pushed hard against my chest. I wanted to turn around; I wanted to speed through the small town and head outside the limits, but I couldn’t. I had made the promise to return for Noah’s anniversary years ago but only returned for the first. Each year after, I had found a reason to break my word. Torture, there could be no other word to describe the gatherings. Hours locked in a rigorous ritual of my mother sobbing while she asked for an explanation. My father stood still, as an old oak tree with no emotion followed by hours in his recliner locked onto whatever sports game was on. First-year it was golf, a sport he had always argued wasn’t even a sport.

Eleven years ago, our family suffered a significant loss, my younger brother Noah died in a vehicle accident.

Accident. That had been the word they used and although it was just that, the word just seemed too simple for me, especially since I had been the one behind the wheel of the truck.

I’ve replayed that night over and over in my head like a broken record. The winds, the rain, the lightning, the storm that had torn through my world. I walked away from that night, after a month in the hospital and finding out that my brother hadn’t been as lucky as me. Lucky, that’s what they called it. I called it spared, punished, tortured.

I left Northbury shortly after we buried my brother, I couldn’t take the ‘poor girl’ looks I had regularly gotten any time I went into town. The only place I had felt safe was at Britney’s house, but the space was tight. I knew I just needed to leave. I needed to start over, have some form of life without everyone looking at me as the girl who killed her brother. So, the second I turned eighteen, I left without looking back. Yet, here I am, back. I turned my head to the white two-story house that rested atop the small hill. The tire swing from when Noah and I were kids still hung in the front yard and the car he and our father were rebuilding remained parked, covered in the driveway.

I exhaled, cleared my throat, and with a quick push of the door, I stepped from my car. The high-pitched squeak of the rusted door as it opened made my eyes close with a sunken neck. Classy sound to signal my arrival, I thought. With a slide around the metal door, I pushed it closed before I took that first step onto the rock staircase that led to the front door.

One foot in front of the other, it had been the command I repeated as I moved closer to the covered porch that wrapped around the entire house.

My palm ran over the cracked wooden railing, my eyes locked to the red door that now had only been feet from me. Okay, say hi, visit your brother, eat dinner, and leave first thing in the morning. Yep, my plan had been laid out and I wouldn’t falter from it no matter what. My foot slid along the wooden flooring of the porch as my gaze drifted to the far end, the swing with a slight sway at the wind that blew. I heard him, Noah’s laugh. Then I saw him, that sweet three-year-old as he ran from my six-year-old self. He hid under the swing and giggled as I made monster noises and grasped at him.

My eyes closed, I fought to keep it together as I knew my parents couldn’t see me like this. I missed my brother; it went without saying, but mostly I felt such sorrow for being the reason he had been taken away so young. He hadn’t lived enough of his life, and being taken made me lose what faith I had. How could a young boy such as him be torn from his family, from his first love, before he had the chance to see what was out there to offer him? Why did I have to insist on driving that night? The questions that I had asked over a million times within the last decade now screamed being so close to him again.

Anna? My head turned to the soft voice of my mother, who hadn’t changed in the slightest.

She still wore those long loose blouses, light slacks, and slip-on shoes that I had been sure she owned before I was born. No makeup, less is more, she always said, and her light blonde hair twirled in a messy bun at the top of her head. I smiled at her before I took my step forward, one last glance at the empty swing before I walked over the threshold.

WOAH! I thought. The smells that flowed through the house were the same as they had been the day I left; baked apple pie mixed with cinnamon. The click of the grandfather clock, that sat just feet from the door, chimed with a signal of the new hour. Okay, only eight more hours until midnight, then I could escape. Yep, I’d be like Cinderella and make a mad dash at the stroke of midnight while everyone slept. Be easier that way. You bring any bags? My mother’s voice broke through my thoughts, even with the softest of tones.

I have one in the car, I replied swiftly.

I could have your father go get it. I shook my head rapidly, a smile pulled to my lips after I realized that might have been a little much of a reaction to something so simple.

It’s okay, I’ll get it later. I glanced around. No sight of my father anywhere and the normal unpleasant sounds from the busted television speakers weren’t echoing in the distance. Where is dad?

Oh, he ran to the diner. He should be back in the next hour, then we could head to the cemetery. She turned from me and her short build moved with a slow stride toward the kitchen.

I sure hope he gets good tulips this time, she continued, the last ones he picked up lasted only a day before I had to replace them. I knew my parents visited Noah’s grave every day, at least my mother did, but this was the hardest of them all. The day he died, otherwise known as the day our family broke.

It’s been a long drive. My mother turned to face me as she stepped to the center of the outdated kitchen. I think I’ll go lay down, the disappointment at my words reflected on her expression, until dad gets home, I added swiftly.

Okay, sweetie. I knew she wanted to hug me, hell I wanted to hug her, but I just couldn’t. I gave her a quick smile before I turned and stepped from the room with a near sprint to the stairs that led to the second floor. Each step creaked with the pressure of my weight. The wall coverings pulled from the wall along the ceiling line, the walls lined with pictures of my brother and I paved the way to the landing at the top of the stairs.

Noah’s room was at the end of the hall, followed by the bathroom we shared, then my room. Our parent's room rested on the first floor just off the living room. I stood still; my gaze locked to the opened door of his room. The foot of his bed held his leather jacket draped over the edge, just like it had been over a decade ago. I took a step toward the room, my heart raced, and I felt the knots in my throat as I forced myself not to cry. The floorboard creaked once more as I pressed my palm along the wooden door and stepped inside the room.

She hadn’t changed a single thing. His cologne sat in the same place on his dresser, his jacket where he had tossed it the morning of. His homework binder opened on his desk which sat just under the large window that overlooked the backfield. The picture of his girlfriend, Mary, sat on the nightstand along with his journal. I smiled seeing the picture of him goofing off with his friends at a football game when my eyes drifted to a picture of him and me. There we stood, side by side, smiling in front of the very truck that I had been driving that night.

I reached over and picked up the picture, my water-filled gaze locked to his face. For years after his death I had been so angry with him, I had blamed him for being there. I yelled at him. Cursed him. Even forbid myself to miss him. I refused to come back to town, telling my parents any lie I could think of to avoid the moment I found myself in.

Year after year passed before I decided the time had come. Boy, was I wrong. When I looked at them, I felt angry again; I felt the pain as though it only happened the day before. My mother pretended to accept things, but the contents of his room proved otherwise.

No, I can’t do this. I shook my head and sat the picture back down before I took a quick step from the room. Without a single word to my mother, I ran down the stairs, out the door, and back to my car without a glance back. I damn near sprinted to the driver's side before I pulled open the door and slid behind the wheel.

I knew I had promised them I would be here, but this had proven to be harder than I imagined. I wanted to see his grave; I wanted to talk with him and be where he was, but how could I? I lived; he didn’t. Six feet of dirt separated us, I wouldn’t be able to talk with him, I’d only be able to talk to his headstone.

I sat with my hands gripped along the wheel when I heard a knock on the window. With a jump I turned to my father bent down, his brows arched in that signature ‘what the hell’ way as his eyes burned down to me from under the brim of his black cowboy hat. I let out a deep exhale before I turned the car on and rolled the window down. My father, what could be said about my father? He was a simple man who didn’t talk much. Why should he? He had always been able to express his point with just a look. He placed his palm on the roof of my car, cleared his throat, and gave a slow nod as our gazes connected.

Escaping already? I had missed that low, raspy voice of his.

No. I lied. I couldn’t tell him the truth, not after it had been so long since I stepped a foot into the town. I thought I would head to town and get something, maybe something to eat. I had never been good at lying to this man.

Get something, maybe something to eat. He repeated my words with another nod of his head. Seems I was under the impression we had food in the house. I turned my gaze from him and looked straight ahead at the empty road of my childhood. I could have just put the car in gear and torn off, but what would that do?

Silence filled between us for over a minute before he spoke as he straightened up. Well, hope you find something you need; we’ll see you later. He patted the roof of the car before he stepped around the front and started up the stairs to the house.

Andrew Bell, the man dressed in unkept blue jeans, plaid shirts, and a black cowboy hat that covered his salt n pepper short hair. My father, a man who knew more than he let on. A man who never forced a conversation, he never hovered, and he never acknowledged a lie even when he knew you spoke one. I sat in the idling car and watched him move up the stairs with a slow step; I smiled slightly. When it came down to it, he had been one of the very few within Northbury that never looked at me differently.

I started to head out of town, but who had I been kidding, I wouldn’t leave and put my father in the position to deal with my mother alone. He had to deal with her every day for the last decade, and the last thing he needed was to make some lame excuse on why I couldn’t stay in town for one stinking night.

Chapter 2

Ipulled up to Bunker and Son Convenient Store and shook my head at the site of the brick building in front of me. Nothing had changed in this town, not even the awning that hung over the door, the rips, and tears displayed with an almost pride.

The loud squeak of the rusted door caused passersby to stop, glance in my direction with looks of shock. The ‘it’s her’ looks stretched across their faces. Not one spoke a word to me, nor one made eye contact with me for less than a split second before they rushed away. I had forgotten how much of an outcast I could feel like with a simple glance, but hey, welcome to a small town is all I could think. I glanced at my watch as I made my way up onto the sidewalk, I could do this.

I pushed my hands into my back pockets and made a step toward the store when I heard the best sound I could have at that moment.

Well, slap my ass and call me a dirty bitch. Savannah Bell has returned to Northbury! I stopped, smiled the biggest smile I could stretch across my face to the sound of Britney’s voice. With a turn I saw her, that beautiful woman who had been my rock since we were two years old.

Oh, thank hell! I took off in her direction with a slow stride, the smile on my features only to grow as I felt her wrap her arms around me in the most comforting embrace I’d ever felt.

Britney was a little taller than me with curves that had always made the boys, and some men, fight for her attention. She had the greenest eyes and her red hair looked like fire, long, wavy, and flowing to the center of her back. With a step back, I looked at her. My hands dropped to her arms. She looked great, happy. Britney had always been considered a lifer in Northbury, she wanted nothing outside the town lines. Her biggest goal had always been to buy and operate a farm, live with her husband, kids, and animals.

"When did your