Around here, I am still the boy who walked away. I’ve heard it, not directly, though. Lavender Creek residents don’t confront; they hide behind whispers.
At the hardware store, two older men went quiet when I stepped into the aisle. One of them whispered to the other, “I didn’t think we would see him back here,” like I wasn’t standing three feet away.
At Violet’s café, I picked up on some elderly ladies gossiping. “Thought he was too good for this place.”
“He’ll leave again.”
“City life didn’t work out for him, I guess.”
Henry told me he overheard something in the general store, and although he tried to brush it off, it bothered me, and I can tell it bothered him, too.
Then there’s the other side of the coin. “He looks different.”
“I heard he did well out there.”
“I wonder what made him come home.”
They all want a reason. A failure, a scandal, a broken engagement. Something dramatic enough to justify coming back.
The truth isn’t quite so dramatic.
I didn’t leave because I hated this place.
I left because I needed to know who I was without it.
And now that I am back. I need them to see that I didn’t return defeated.
I came back with a purpose.
Thankfully I have the theater. It has been my escape, somewhere I can come to be alone, get some work done and make progress on what will hopefully be a successful business. Being alone is good in context, especially when you feel judged and not comfortable, but it can also be the loudest place, where your mind wanders, and that isn’t always a good thing.
It’s been a couple of weeks since the town meeting. The ownership of the theater has officially been switched to me, and I am now in full control. There was a shift when that happened, I felt it deep in my bones, a sense of peace and a sense of belonging as well.
Since being here, I felt like I had a purpose. I have been at the theater every day, I want to do as much work as I can to save money. So I started with cleaning it out and getting rid of all the old equipment. A lot needs to be torn down; it’s in rough shape,and from the looks of it, hasn’t been used in probably a year or so.
The hinges squeak when they move, so the sound carries through the empty space. I turn, expecting it to be one of the contractors or maybe even Henry stopping by.
Instead, it is her.
Violet stands in the doorway, sunlight framing her like an angel's halo. Two cups of coffee are balanced in one hand, and a brown paper bag folded at the top is in the other.
For a second, I just stare.
“I come in peace,” she says, smiling. “Strictly business.”
I smile back. How can I not? “Let’s talk business.” As I approach, I take the coffee on top, so it doesn’t spill.
She steps inside, glancing around at the ladders, and there is dust everywhere. “You’ve been here every day since the meeting. People are starting to talk.”
“Good talk or bad talk?” I ask, walking toward the folding chairs in the middle of the theater.
She sighs. “Do you really want to know?”
Fair enough.
“Thank you,” I say and take a sip. I feel the life enter back into me right away.
“Small town rules, new business owners get fed and watered,” she says.
