Page 4 of More Than My Hometown

2

MAISEY

I have been a lot of places in the last ten years. Austria, Turkey, Vietnam, Thailand, Spain, Italy, Portugal, Peru, Nicaragua—that last one being a major highlight—but there is really only one place I want to be right now. A place I never in a million years thought I’d miss so much.

Hickory Hills, Georgia.

Of all the map dots, in all the world, it’s this one. A town of a few thousand people, forty minutes from the interstate. How’s that for ironic?

Yet, it’s somehow the only place I want to be. The place my heart has been longing for. Craving. Turns out Dorothy was on to something with that whole there’s no place like home thing.

A home that hasn’t changed one bit.

Slamming the door of my rental car behind me, I straighten out my sundress, taking a moment to let my surroundings settle around me. The shared parking lot between Hickory Hills Baptist Church and the Hickory Hills Town Library is full of cars and trucks that I don’t recognize immediately, yet still look so familiar that I bet I could guess who they all belong to.

Both the church and the library look exactly the same as they did when I left, although there’s an addition to the library that looks fairly new. So maybe some things do change.

I smile to myself, slinking across the parking lot to head inside. I’m halfway up the wide stone steps that lead to the front doors, and a small wave of panic hits me. On the other side of these doors is my past. Maybe my future too. But definitely my past.

One thing is for sure—being back in Hickory Hills is not a simple thing. It’s been a long, long time since I set foot across the town line. Since I packed up what I could in a rucksack and hightailed it off on a mission to see the world.

But if there was anything that was going to bring me back here, it was my cousin Dolly’s wedding. Well, that and the other thing. But outwardly, Dolly’s wedding.

Which is happening just inside this church. The one I need to walk inside. I simply need to remember to breathe.

That’s it. Breathing. Breathing is good.

Breathing is what I tell my patients to do all the time. Inhale deeply, and then let it all out, slowly, until there is nothing left in your lungs. Then repeat.

Alright, here goes.

“Maisey Margaret Phillips!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake…

I’m not a full two steps inside the church and I am already being triple named. By quite possibly the worst person in the world too. This is probably God smiting me for not coming back to visit my mama for who knows how many Christmases and Easters, and I’m not saying I’m perfect, but for the love, do I really deserve this?

“Aunt Hattie,” I greet, putting on my very best Southern manners and turning on my heel to change direction and head toward her.

As one of my father’s older sisters, I know that Hattie Burch is family and therefore I will treat her with respect. That said, she is also something else. A sharp-tongued busybody, she has been the go-to for town gossip for years and has no problem inserting herself into the lives of others, telling them exactly how they should be living it. Even from afar she’s tried to interfere with my life, emailing me articles and websites she finds about safety risks in different countries and advising why it “would not be wise to visit.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her question coming out more like an accusation rather than actually being happy to see me.

Good to see you too, Aunt Hattie…

“I was invited?”

She huffs, air puffing out of her nostrils like a dragon. “But you RSVP’d no.”

“My schedule changed. The network of hospitals I was working in down in Nicaragua didn’t renew their contract with my agency, so⁠—”

“So you were fired?”

I close my eyes, wondering if I count to ten whether it will stop me from strangling the old bat.

“That’s not how being a traveling nurse works, Aunt Hattie. Especially on the international level. The hospitals didn’t renew the contract with the agency, so that contract ended. I’m still employed with the agency, just in between contracts.”

“Dress it up however you want, young lady. You lost your job.”