Page 47 of Love Felt Like This

Where the hell am I even going?

The SUV jolts when we jump onto a creaky bridge over a babbling creek. Ava sniffles. I glance at her through the rearview mirror as my tense hands squeak across the wheel.

“We’re almost there, munchkin.”

Finally, after peering through the windshield, hoping for any sign of civilization, we round the corner to a small trio of brick buildings, nestled together like crowded teeth smiling at the lookout across the road. I rumble past them toward an elevated spit of land where a yellow-and-cream building perches on top. Cars line up along the craggy street, nestled into makeshift ditch parking spots, likely from years of use. Dirt kicks up behind us as I pull into the only remaining space.

I tense at the movement in the diner.

I thought Beverly said this place was empty in January?

Ava whimpers. I almost want to as well.

I shut off the engine, take a deep inhalation, then climb out of the car. I adjust my hat and pop open the back door. Ava moves her arms to allow me to unbuckle the car seat. I gently tuck the straps over her shoulders and gather her in my arms. She gets hoisted onto my hip, and for a moment I think, We’ve made it. But my accomplishment lasts for two seconds before her mouth yawns open to the skies in a vicious war cry.

It’s a million things at once: a difficult time change. A high mountain. The cold. I don’t blame her at all. But my heart still aches the same.

The diner door swings outward. It’s Beverly, pacing over to my car in yellow bell-bottoms and a striped top, looking straight out of a ’70s fever dream. Her blond hair is pulled up in a ponytail, bouncing behind her like a Barbie on a mission. It’s weird seeing her in this wintery context, with pink cheeks and shivering arms from the cold. It doesn’t suit her sunshine.

Ava curls closer, shoving her nose into my neck and gripping a fistful of my shirt.

“Funny seeing you here,” Beverly says, trying to lighten the situation. She looks toward Ava. “Is she okay?”

I give a grim smile. “She’s adjusting.”

Watching Ava, Beverly raises her shoulders up to her ears in a gesture of innocence. “Well, hi there.” She holds out a hand toward Ava. “I’m Beverly. What’s your name?”

Ava peeks out from her hiding place, then buries her face in my neck once more. Little bubbles of snot pop onto my jacket.

“This change has been a little much for her,” I say. I gently nudge Ava’s cheek with my shoulder. “This is Ava. Ava, want to say hi to Miss Beverly?”

Ava shakes her head, tugging my jacket close to her cheeks.

“That’s all right,” Beverly says. “You take your time.”

Behind Beverly, everyone in the diner seems focused on a smaller old woman at a booth. She’s talking to them with big hand gestures and a stern glare. Part of me wonders if she’s ever been a stage manager before. Robin was a stage manager. They’re brutal but efficient. Never met one I wouldn’t follow to the ends of the earth.

A man in a fishing vest and a long-sleeve shirt flicks his eyes over to us. A woman does the same, and I find myself gripping Ava closer to me. Beverly turns around, and as if she were the guardian between that world and mine, she stares, and their eyes avert back to the old woman preaching.

“Sorry,” Beverly says, wincing. “This is…um.” She sucks in a breath and laughs. “Not a great time.”

Finally, I notice the A-frame signage outside. My jaw tightens.

“Town hall?” I read.

“Yeah…would you believe me if I said I had no idea?”

My head tells me I shouldn’t. That this was a bad idea and I’m dragging Ava into it with me. But then I see Beverly with her tilted-in eyebrows, flooded with worry and guilt, and my gut says I should believe her.

I nod. “Okay.”

I believe you.

She winces. “Okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Someone else exits the diner. He’s a heftier man who’s almost as tall as his stomach is wide. He’s bald, with a thick graying beard. He wipes his palm over his white apron, smeared and stained with the workings of a diner kitchen.