“Jesus, Candy,” Brady wheezed beneath the weight of my bag. “What did you pack? All the makeup and beauty products required to make you presentable?”
“You jerk.” I whacked my brother on the chest as he laughed.
“Alright, children,” Mom said, aiming for stern but landing somewhere in the neighborhood of unbearably fond. “Let’s all go home.”
The ride from the airport didn’t take long, but I enjoyed every moment. It was interesting to see the way the area had grown and changed. And the scenery was always a stunner.
Brady and I rode in the backseat like we were eight and five again, my nose disturbingly close to the window on my side. Mom kept up a constant stream of chatter, updating me on neighbors and happenings around town.
I took in the changes as we passed through the tiny community of Miller Creek on the way to Kirby Falls. They had a Pizza Hut and two grocery stores now amid all the lush green farmland. Our route also took us by Legacy Hills Assisted Living, and I thought back to visiting my grandfather there as a small child.
“And we have the Orchard Festival coming up in a few weeks. You’ve always loved that, Candy.”
I nearly winced at being referred to as Candy once again by my father. All my work colleagues—former work colleagues, I corrected inwardly—and friends in the city called me Candace. I risked a glance at my brother. He’d give me endless shit if I asked them to use my full name now instead. He’d probably announce the name change in the Kirby Falls Facebook group to really drive the humiliation home.
I’d just talk to my parents about it later.
“I do love the Orchard Fest,” I replied with a smile for my dad in the rearview mirror. “I can’t wait to help work it.”
Unofficially, I was back in Kirby Falls to visit before I started a new position in January. I’d told my parents I was excited to help out at the farm and implement some new marketing strategies that I thought might help their bottom line.
Judd’s Orchard had been in my father’s family for three generations, and it had always been profitable. But there were lean years when disease or weather had affected the crops. My family’s farm was making ends meet, but the income between seasons often resembled living paycheck to paycheck.
While I definitely had some ideas to help the farm turn a bigger profit, I wasn’t being entirely truthful regarding my return to Kirby Falls. My plans did include going back to New York, but I didn’t have a position waiting on me in January or anytime soon. I didn’t even have a houseplant waiting on me.
“And we are so excited to have you, sweetie.” My mother’s voice pulled me out the guilty thoughts swirling inside my head. “We’re just so grateful to have you home and that you’re willing to invest your time and energy into the farm.”
“Mom,” I said, desperate to stop her. I did not need any of her praise. If she knew the truth of my unceremonious departure from Blakely Hammond Marketing, she’d be much less impressed by my return.
“Especially when you could be in the big city, putting your degrees to good use,” she added.
I swallowed around the hard lump in my throat. That golf ball just kept making an appearance. I only had those degrees because of my parents—their generosity and their sacrifice in sending me to an amazing college.
“Don’t be silly.” I worked hard to make my smile anything but brittle, but I could feel the cracks along the edges. “I’m happy to be back. And thankful that you’re letting me stay.”
A hand hit me on the arm, but there wasn’t any force behind it. Brady was just getting my attention.
Turning, I met his gaze across the backseat.
My older brother was watching me strangely, a confused vee taking shape between his dark eyebrows. “Don’t be stupid. This isn’t some friend’s couch you’re crashing on, Candy Cane. This is your home.”
“That’s right,” my mother added from the front of the car.
I nodded and returned my gaze to the passing landscape, but I no longer saw the hills in the distance or the trees filled to bursting with green leaves. I only saw my failures flashing before my eyes—on repeat and in great detail—until we turned onto the private road that would take me home.
The farmhouse came into view and a sigh escaped me, fogging the back passenger window just a little.
It was just how I remembered it. Ten-year-old Candy had thought the two narrow windows flanked by slate-gray shutters on the second floor looked like eyes while the wraparound porch resembled a wide, smiling mouth. I’d always loved this house. It was where I felt safe and secure and loved.
My mother’s pink crepe myrtles were still wild and overgrown, no matter how much my father trimmed them back every winter. The farm truck sat parked in the same place it had been throughout my entire childhood—between two trees to the right of the driveway.
My eyes eagerly scanned the property for any changes, but all I found was relief in faded memories.
From the way the worn staircase creaked on the third stair from the bottom to the way the kitchen pantry always smelled like tea, this place held so many memories of comfort and stability. The family meals around a scarred claw-foot dining table. Fighting with Brady over the television remote. Waking up early and finding my dad in the kitchen, already dressed and ready for work on the farmwith a thermos of black coffee and a white powdered doughnut wrapped in a paper towel.
My nose stung as the car pulled to a stop.
I was home.
