I climb into the truck and stare at the list in my hand.
Feed store. Hardware store. Groceries.
Simple. Easy. Nothing complicated about any of it.
I shove the key into the ignition and pull out of the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.
After the early wake up call, thanks to Frank, I am happy to just be doing errands. Just another morning in Everwood.
But as I pull out of the drive, my mind wanders back to Bo. It’s been months since we’ve heard anything. I tried to tell myself it was nothing to worry about. But my heart hoped I could see him one more time, just to make sure.
Chapter 2
The Weight of Promises
Bo
Pearl's house looks the same as it did eighteen months ago.
Same white shutters. Same flower boxes under the windows, though the petunias are now tulips and daffodils. Same porch swing that creaks.
I stand at the edge of the driveway, duffel bag on my shoulder, and try to remember who I was before I carried the weight of too many miles and not enough answers.
Pearl opens the front door before I reach the steps.
"Bo Gates." Pearl's voice cracks just enough to undo me. She's smaller than I remember, or maybe I've just gotten used to seeing the world through a scope. Her hair is silver now, pulled back in that same loose bun, and her eyes are bright with relief and happiness.
"Hey, Aunt Pearl."
She doesn't wait for me to reach the porch. She meets me halfway, arms wrapping around my ribs like she's checking to make sure I'm solid. Real. Still breathing.
I hug her back and pretend the tightness in my chest is just from the long bus ride.
"You should've called," she says, pulling back to study my face. Her hands frame my jaw, gentle but firm. "I would've picked you up from the station."
"Didn't want to be a bother."
"Bother." She huffs, the sound somewhere between exasperation and relief. "Get inside. You look half-starved."
I follow her into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind me. The kitchen smells like coffee and cinnamon rolls, and for a second, I'm fifteen again, sitting at this same table while Uncle Anthony reads the paper and Pearl hums some old hymn I can't name.
But Anthony's gone. The chair at the head of the table sits empty, and the silence where his voice should be is louder than any explosion, I've survived.
Pearl catches me looking and busies herself at the counter. "Sit. I'll get you a plate."
"You don't have to?—"
"Sit, Bo."
I sit in the same chair I did when I told Anthony and Pearl I joined the military and the same one I sat in when I came home for the funeral, holding Pearl until her tears ran dry. It is my chair.
She sets a plate in front of me. The usual scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, the works. She pours coffee into a mug that saysWorld's Best Unclein faded letters. I don't tell her I haven't had much of an appetite lately. I just pick up my fork and take a bite because that's what she needs me to do.
"So." She sits in the chair across from me, hands wrapped around her own mug. "You planning to stay awhile, or is this just a quick visit?"
"Depends."
"On?"
