I breathed in the late afternoon air. It felt like inhaling through a sweaty gym sock, but I couldn’t help but smile.
My eyes landed on the tree-covered hills in the distance and the bright sunshine. My everyday landscape of glass-and-metal skyscrapers had been replaced by mountains and so much blue sky that I could hardly take it all in.
The pace was slower here. I could feel it in the way the breeze picked up and my heartbeat evened out. The wind cut through the oppressive moisture for just a moment and then helpfully whipped some brown hair out of my ponytail. I grinned, tucking the strands behind my ear and scanning my surroundings once more. Some strange emotion was working its way up my tight throat, causing my nose to sting and pressure to build behind my eyes.
The gentle breeze rustled out another welcome, the mountains a faint whisper in the distance that said,Whywere you gone so long?andWelcome back, honey.
I was home.
Well, about twenty minutes from home, but I’d done the hard part. I’d gotten here. Even if I was dragging more heartache and baggage than the two checked bags I’d been allowed. That luggage was well over capacity as it held nearly all the clothes I owned plus a good helping of failure and regret.
I was subletting my tiny apartment in New York City for the next five months. The idea of selling all my furniture and putting all my belongings into storage had felt like admitting I was never coming back.
This trip down south was just temporary. It had to be or what was the point? Coming home for good would make everything I’d done in the last seven years—everything I’d worked for and achieved and sacrificed—utterly pointless. I couldn’t give it all up. Retreating to Kirby Falls was the best short-term solution to my problems, but if I stayed...I’d be doing more harm than good and undoing every bit of progress I’d made. I didn’t want to let my parents down. They’d sacrificed so much for my education. And they’d be disappointed if they knew the truth. That was why they could never find out about the mess I’d left behind in Manhattan.
When I passed the security exit, I pulled out my phone, but there was still no reply from Brady.
Rounding the corner to baggage claim, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, waiting beside the unmoving carousel, was my brother, my mother, and my father. Brady held a sign on lined notebook paper that readWelcome Home Candy Cane. And my momma had a handful of colorful balloons while my dad clutched a bouquet of white roses—my favorite.
I squealed and hurried over. My parents stepped forward and hugged me tight, balloon ribbon bouncing off my face and making me laugh in the process.
“We’re so happy you’re home, Candy Girl.” Mom sniffed and I could tell she was one more squeeze away from crying in the middle of Asheville Regional Airport.
I pulled back to look at them, feeling my own emotions clog my throat. Dislodging a white ribbon from around my ear, I grinned. “Thanks, Momma.”
Amy Judd was a petite version of me. I had her hazel eyes and brown hair—minus her beauty shop–added caramel highlights. But I’d gotten my height from my dad.
His smile was wide beneath his dark mustache. “Hey, Candy.”
“Hi, Daddy.” I was so happy to see my family that I barely registered the use of my old nickname—the one I’d shed when I went to New York and didn’t want to sound like a small-town cocktail waitress or an exotic dancer. “I didn’t know y’all would be here. Brady said you couldn’t make it.”
Brady squeezed between our parents and pulled me in for a tight hug. “Yeah, well, I lied, dummy. I can’t believe you thought they’d be too busy to welcome their little girl home.”
I was five eight, but Brady had a good six inches on me. His arms wrapped around my head and nearly suffocated me before he stepped away. “Good to see you, baby sister.”
“You too, loser.” I felt the skin of my cheeks stretch to accommodate my smile.
Peering casually beyond the balloons and the flowers and the three people crowding me, I noticed that not all of the Judds were present and accounted for. “Where’s Joanie?”
Brady and Dad shared a look over my mother’s head. But it was Mom who replied easily enough, “She had some work to do at the farm.”
I frowned. “You’re open on Mondays now?”
“No,” my father replied. “She’s just keeping an eye on things. You know your sister.”
Not really, I wanted to say but didn’t.
Joan had always been this gruff, nebulous presence in my life. She was nine years older than me and had never really had time for a tagalong little sister. And as far as I could tell, she did everything perfectly, always. I mostly spent my childhood and adolescence watching her in awe from afar, like the lions at the zoo.
“You’ll see her later,” Mom assured me. “We’re all having dinner at the house together to celebrate you being back.”
The house being the two-story Craftsman farmhouse on my family’s property. We’d moved in when I was about five. It had been my grandfather’s home—as had Judd’s Orchard—before he passed away. My father, Nick, had inherited the land, the farm, and the house, and he’d been running things ever since.
“Oh,” I said, covering my hurt with a bright smile. “That’s good.” I wondered what my mother had offered Joan to get her at the dinner table celebrating my return. Probably a new tractor. My sister only cared about one thing and that was the farm.
Thankfully, the baggage carousel turned on with a jolt, drawing our attention to where luggage was coming down the ramp.
I spotted my large black rolling cases, and my brother and dad snagged them off the belt.
