I pull away from the window before that old bitterness takes over my whole morning. My stomach rumbles painfully loud. So I follow the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon.
The kitchen is already buzzing by the time I get there.
Maggie stands at the stove, flipping something in a cast-iron skillet, her Christmas apron swapped for one with faded blue stripes.
“Morning, sweetheart. You sleep all right?” she asks as she turns to see me.
“Pretty well,” I say, which isn’t entirely true but feels like the right answer.
“Good.” She nods once, then tilts her head. “Do you need to borrow my phone? To call your mama? You’ll catch more service in the kitchen than anywhere else.”
My heart stops.
“Oh.” My voice comes out small. I hadn’t thought about that. It’s a little like time is suspended here. But my mom… I do need to speak to her. I ache to. “Yes. Actually… yes. I really do.”
“Figured.” She’s already reaching for it on the counter. The case is cracked near the corner, worn down by years of use. She presses it into my hand gently. “Go on. Take your time.”
The phone feels heavier than it should. Like a lifeline.
I move toward the back corner of the kitchen, near the window where the snow is plastered in a thick frost against the glass. The voices of the family fade into a low, warm hum behind me.
With a shaky breath, I dial my mom’s number.
It rings. Once.
Twice.
Three…
“Hello?”
Her voice is soft and so familiar it nearly buckles my knees.
“Mom?” I whisper.
A sharp inhale. Then…
“Faith? Oh… oh, thank God.” Her voice cracks. “Honey, I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday morning. And Charlotte has, too. She called me last night in tears because your father kept blowing up her phone demanding to know where you were.”
Guilt and relief collide hard in my chest.
“I’m okay,” I say quickly. “I’m safe. I’m… actually in Buckhorn.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“In Buckhorn,” she repeats softly. “So there wasn’t a wedding after all.” A breath shudders through the speaker. “Your father called Charlotte drunk and furious. She wasn’t sure what happened, only that he said you’d ‘ruined everything.’”
My throat burns. “I didn’t ruin anything,” I say. “I just… I left. I couldn’t do it. I’m at the McCoys’.”
Another long exhale, this one full of relief so palpable I can almost feel it through the phone.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
The kind of “oh” that holds understanding. And heartbreak. And a mother’s too long-held breath finally letting go.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner,” I whisper. “Everything happened so fast, and then I panicked.”
“I know,” she says softly. “I know you did. I’m just grateful you’re somewhere safe. That explains why your father suddenly started calling me after he got nowhere with Charlotte.”
