Page 29 of Where Roads Lead

Approaching the gazebo in the center of the park, I sat down on the bench, lost in the chaos of my thoughts.

I wasn’t allowing myself to go backward, no matter what. Boston was no longer an option for me.

I’d rather live in the gutters of Colbridge than prove my mother right.

As soon as I decided that, I felt the weight on my shoulders lighten a tad.

“There. One decision done. Onto the next.”

Where will I go? After three months here, I’ll need something cheap. Or something guaranteed to make money quickly.

I couldn’t count on my manuscript for that.

“Realistic. I need something realistic,” I muttered hopelessly.

What were my skills?

I was a good writer, technically. I hoped. Either that, or my English professors were all filthy liars. I was a people-person. I was pretty coordinated. No, wait. That one was a lie.

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands.

“What do I need to be coordinated for, anyway? I’m not a dancer,” I muttered.

When I lifted my head, I nearly yelped with surprise at the sight of a small child who had seemingly apparated before me.

“Um, hi.” I waved, blinking at the little blond boy with the skeptical eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, apparently having been privy to my meltdown.

“Nothing,” I told him, thinking the response: I’m having an existential crisis of the greatest magnitude might be a little over his head. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Max!” he chirped, at the same time a woman ran up from behind him, calling the very name he just offered to me.

“Max!” she gasped out, breathless and angry. “You can’t just run off like that!”

Middle-aged and stout, she was past the stage of her life where chasing after a six-year-old would’ve been an easier task.

“But I wanted to see if this lady was okay.” He frowned. “She kept lookin’ d’stressed, like you do.”

The woman huffed.

“Distressed,” she corrected, and then turned her gaze on me. “And that’s because your mother failed to mention that you were an eloper when discussing our nannying arrangement.”

“I’m not a loper.” He frowned, offended. “I was just running.”

“E-loper, Max.” She sighed. “And that’s precisely what it means,” the woman said with an exasperated hand to her head.

I laughed, then tried to cover it with a cough when I realized the nanny might not see the humor in the situation. I couldn’t help it. Max was cute, all bright eyed and skinny legs. And he was looking at me with such earnest eyes when he asked, “So, why you duh-stressed, lady?”

His nanny tsked, bringing a hand to her brow in obvious defeat, as if it wasn’t worth the bother of correcting him anymore.

“My name is Elsie,” I told him, admiring something about his bold nature and dimpled smile.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he remarked, tilting his head as if the reason for that might come to him if he thought hard on it.

“That’s because I just moved here,” I told him. “Well, sort of. I’m staying here for a little while.”

“Why?”