She sighs. “I tried, several times. Their mother . . . she didn’t want to create more trouble than her husband had already caused. She didn’t want to lose her business. Men were already upset at her for owning Old Birchwood Timber. Why can a woman do a man’s job? Having a husband kept her from losing her legacy—and a roof over her children’s heads. I didn’t approve of her logic, but sometimes there’s nothing you can do but just be there for them.”
I scoff. “How could you be there for them?”
“Giving them a good book so they could at least forget how bad they had it at home,” she explains. “Other times, put ice on those bruises. I did what I could, even when their father did the impossible to break them.”
My heart always hurt for Atlas—he was my best friend back then. Now, it hurts for all of them. Sure, they were cruel to Atlas, but they had their own problems. I should text him, though. See how he’s doing. We don’t talk often but we check on each other once in awhile. Mostly because we’re all we have.
As the morning drifts on, I find myself lost in the familiar rhythm of the shop—restocking shelves, chatting with customers, flipping through the toddler book during the quiet moments.
But my thoughts keep circling back.
To Maddie.
To Hopper.
To the way they’ve let me into their world, even though I don’t know if I deserve to be there.
Maddie’s little laugh, her wide-eyed wonder at the simplest things—it’s like she’s a tiny beacon of light in a world that’s felt too dark for too long. And Hopper . . .
“Lost in thought?” my grandmother asks, pulling me from my head.
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the same page of the toddler book for the past five minutes. “Just thinking.”
She hums, not pressing further, and I’m grateful for it.
Instead, I turn the conversation to something safer. “Do you ever regret leaving the high school?”
Eloise smiles, glancing around the shop. “Not for a second. This place has been my dream for as long as I can remember.”
“Grandpa would’ve loved it.”
Her smile falters slightly, but she nods. “Yes. He would’ve.”
Later, as I’m reorganizing a display table near the front of the shop with a variety of new releases and books from last century, my grandmother joins me, wiping her hands on a cloth.
“You’ve done a lot of things,” she says, her tone casual.
I glance at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“After you left,” she says softly. “You’ve worked on farms, at vineyards . . . you’ve seen more of the world than most people ever will.”
I swallow hard, setting down the book I was holding. “I wasn’t trying to see the world. I was trying to get away from it.”
Grandma studies me for a long moment before reaching out to squeeze my hand. “And yet, here you are. Back where you belong.”
I nod, though I’m not sure if she’s right.
“Maybe this time you don’t let anyone run you out of town,” she states. “Maybe you let yourself believe that you can have it all. Your mom and dad would want that for you. Most of all, you need to stop running and have a family.”
“I have you,” I state, but that doesn’t feel right anymore because I do want more. I want what I had a couple of days ago.
Hopper’s house, Maddie running around giggling. Yet, I still feel like I’m running. Maybe I should stop, at least for a little while.
Chapter Eighteen
Hopper
Is it normal to miss someone you barely know?
