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“I love you, babe, but he has a stick lodged so far up his ass, he shits splinters.”
I will not laugh. I will not laugh.
“Oh, just go on and laugh. You know you want to,” Stephanie cajoled, the syrup returning to her voice. “Listen, Syd, Lord knows I’m not an expert on relationships. My idea of one is extending a hookup to a two-nighter. But Ihavelearned this. Whenever anyone—a woman, especially—makes a decision that is beneficial to her but inconvenient to another person, she’s selfish.” She snorted. “Living for yourself, making your own decisions—that doesn’t make you selfish, it makes you strong. Bold. Independent. It’syou. And don’t you forget that. Or let anyone try and convince you differently.”
“That’s just it, Steph,” Sydney protested on a whisper. “I’m not bold or strong. I’m—”
“Scared shitless,” her friend finished softly. “Yeah, I get it. I do, babe. But being afraid doesn’t determine your strength or your courage. Acting in spite of that fear, persevering, pressing forward—that’s courage. It would’ve been easy, comfortable, safe for you to stay in your marriage.”
Yes, it would’ve been, Sydney silently agreed. And all the while, she would’ve slowly suffocated, lost her ambition, her voice—lostherself—as the years passed. That had been the wake-up call for her to walk away from her marriage of almost five years.
And now, she was returning to the place where she’d initially experienced that same sense of drowning. Returning to Rose Bend.
“It takes balls to start over, Syd,” Stephanie continued. “Lady balls. And you, babe, got a brass set.”
Sydney’s bark of laughter sounded a bit waterlogged from the damn tears that refused to go away. Good Lord, she had five more months of this emotional upheaval?
“Thanks… I think.” Clearing her throat, she switched the subject before she started bawling. “So, how’d the meeting with the new sponsor go…?”
For the next ten minutes, they talked about the new client Stephanie was wooing, and Sydney laughed until her stomach hurt over the gossip her friend dished.
“Listen, I have to go. These folks actually want me to work.” Stephanie heaved a dramatic sigh. “You roll up into Gardenia Downs with your head held high and take no shit off anyone. Be good to yourself and give Arwen a rub for me,” Stephanie said.
“Rose. Bend. And you do know, Jesus could stream down here on a golden beam in a chariot pulled by cherubim and I still would never name my baby that,” Sydney drawled.
“Aww,” Stephanie cooed. “It’s so adorable that you think so.”
Before Sydney could reply, her friend hung up, and she chuckled. But the amusement faded as she coasted over a hill and started on the last leg of her long journey.
The Southern Berkshires in mid-June were simply…breathtaking. As much as she resented the place she grew up, she couldn’t deny the beauty of it. Centuries-old trees seemed to preen with their vividly green, lush leaves. Wide fields rolled into hills that were only eclipsed by the majesty of mountains and endless blue sky. As a child, she’d stared up at those great sentinels, imagined they’d been stacked there by lightning-bolt-wielding gods and fierce Titans. And as a teen, she’d studied them, dreaming about what lay on the other side. They’d been her friends, her guardians. And they’d been the only thing she’d waved goodbye to as she’d left Rose Bend eight years ago.
She flicked the A/C dial, switching cold air off, then jabbed the window button. The glass slid down, permitting the outside to blow into her car. Up here, the air didn’t contain the mugginess of the South. Though she’d lived almost a decade in Charlotte, North Carolina, she’d never quite become accustomed to the humidity that clung to her skin like a layer of clothing. Here, though, summer had truly arrived. A high seventies temperature with a fresh breeze that brushed over her skin like a loving caress.
Minutes later, the first house appeared on her left, and soon after she entered a pristine, yet cozy neighborhood of elegant, proud homes. As she rolled to a stop at the intersection, she glanced out her window and gazed at the white, two-story Victorian at the corner. Gorgeous—with a steeply pitched roof, a lovely turreted tower, wide bay windows and a wraparound porch—it was breathtaking, yet still managed to appear homey, welcoming. Perfect for a loving family. A pang of longing echoed in her chest, and she rubbed her knuckles against the ache. She would’ve loved to raise her baby in a house meant to be filled with laughter, joy and affection. Maybe she couldn’t give her that house, but she could offer her baby the unconditional love of her mother, security and stability.
Deliberately turning away from the house and putting her hand back to the steering wheel, she eased off the brake and continued driving. And as the residential area gave way to more commercial buildings, her guards started rising up. Because while she hoped—prayed—for a nurturing haven for her child, and truly believed she would find it here, she also wanted that forherself, for Sydney “That Girl” Collins. But on that latter point, she knew better. Nothing changed in Rose Bend. Not the houses. Not the town people. Not the opinions. Not the hearts.
Oh God, she’d made a mistake. What the hell had she been thinking returning here? She should turn around right now. It wasn’t too late—
“Stop it, dammit,” she hissed at herself. “Get a hold of yourself and woman-the-fuck-up.”
On autopilot, she steered her SUV to the parking lot adjacent to the small pharmacy that had been a fixture in town for as long as she could remember. A little after five, and only a handful of cars filled the lot. But unlike the city, she didn’t have to worry about her vehicle being towed if she wasn’t a customer. The people of Rose Bend were too polite for any of that “big city” nonsense.
Isn’t that why you’re here?she asked herself as she climbed out of the car.To raise your child in a warmer and safer environment?To give your baby a place where she’s not a passing strange face, but a part of a loving family and community?Yes and yes. While Sydney and her parents had a strained relationship that might be impossible to heal after years of too-cold politeness and stinging disapproval, she believed—had to believe—that they would accept their grandchild. Love their grandchild.
But now that the idea was no longer theory but reality? Well, she would be a liar if she claimed her stomach wasn’t bolting for her throat. And it had absolutely nothing to do with morning sickness.
Hitting the key fob and locking the vehicle, she started off down Main Street. Her parents weren’t expecting her, so she could afford to put off that reunion for a little while. Besides, she needed a minute to herself.
More than a few people strolled the sidewalks in front of the quaint stores and businesses. This time of evening, only an hour or so remained to shop as everything except for the cafes, diners and restaurants closed about six, and customers pushed in and out of the storefronts, grabbing last-minute items. Instead of the sharp honking of horns, the rumble of engines and the cacophony of Charlotte nightlife pulsing on the night air, chatter and laughter filled the warm, June evening. While the city spoke of revelry, excitement and an almost frenetic gaiety, this… Rose Bend whispered of serenity, community…home.
She exhaled hard, and as if of its own accord, her hand lifted and settled over the small curve of her belly. She hadn’t thought of this place as home in a long time, but as she looked around at the cheerful, picturesque town crowded at the base of Monument Mountain and Mount Everett, the word fluttered and snapped through her mind like the US and Massachusetts flags hoisted high in front of the city hall. Even now, several people did double takes, confused frowns marring their foreheads or their eyes flaring wide in recognition. But she didn’t stop to address anyone. Just kept walking. And moments later, she stood in front of the old, white church with its towering steeple and bell that stood guard at the end of Main.
You could throw a stone and hit a church in Rose Bend. Different denominations and congregations served a religiously diverse community. But St. John’s Catholic Church had been the first in the town, and even though its doors had closed before she’d left, it still remained as a revered monument that dated back to the 1700s. It was an institution here. But she hadn’t approached the old church to kneel on its benches and inhale the faded scent of candle wax.
Sydney strode past the black, waist-high iron gate that surrounded the building and climbed the pockmarked steps on the side. The stone path curved around the property and bypassed the ancient cemetery where those first congregation members lay under faded tombstones.
Carlin was buried at the newer cemetery on the other side of town. Undoubtedly Sydney’s parents still visited her older sister’s resting place, while Sydney hadn’t been there since they lowered Carlin into the ground. Eighteen years. What kind of sister did it make her that she hadn’t visited Carlin in almost two decades?
