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“Well, welcome. What brings you to town?”
“Got family here.” I’m not up for explaining my reason for leaving California and choosing Alexandria, so I flash a smile and hope it shows my genuine appreciation.
“Who you related to here? I bet I know ’em. I know everyone.”
A sense of obligation glues me to the spot on the floor, and I feign interest in the conversation because I owe it to Paul. But, my mind’s focus is on getting home to spend time with my daughter.
“The Owens. They’re my aunt and uncle and live off Route 10.”
“Claire and Rufus?” Paul bellows. “Are you kidding me? Mrs. Owens was my first-grade teacher. I still remember the time-out she gave me when I got into a fight with the kid bullying my best friend. She took my recess for the rest of the school year. But the joke was on her,” he quips. “I gave the kid a black eye, and there was only a week left until summer break, so it was worth it. Kid never crossed my friend again.”
“Sounds like you know my aunt pretty well.”
“You’re lucky. Rufus and Claire are good, salt-of-the-earth folks.” Paul’s hazel eyes twinkle with the compliment.
“I appreciate this more than I can tell you, but I need to get back and see my girl.”
Paul steps back. “Your girl? You’ve been in town for less than a week and you’ve already landed a girl?” I grimace, but he continues prodding. “Who you seein’? Bet I know her.”
“My daughter,” I clarify.
“Oh. I gotcha. Hey—if you ever want to join my brother and me for a game of pool or a beer over at Sharkey’s, let me know. We’d be glad to kick your ass at a game and maybe flirt with a few of the regulars.”
“I’ll remember that,” I promise, rushing out the door and knowing I’ll never take him up on the offer.
The drive to Claire and Rufus’ house is picturesque. Growing up in Long Beach didn’t afford me the unexpected joy and peace of driving a country road. It’s my favorite part of Kentucky so far.
The two-lane road is overdue for repaving. I hit a small pothole pulling into the driveway leading to the two-bedroom mobile home I currently call home. Gravel crunches under my tires as my SUV climbs the steep driveway. The turn at the top of the hill brings the house into view, along with my daughter sitting on the porch swing.
I park next to Rufus’ rusted-out pickup, and Maggie bolts off the porch and jumps into my arms as soon as I climb out.
“Daddy! Guess what I found?”
Her honey-brown eyes come alive as she shares about the tiny kitten she found behind a dilapidated metal shed on the Owens’ small farm. A grin slides onto my face as I listen. Watching untamed happiness on my child’s face is pure magic. At six years old, animals are Maggie’s passion, and she’d been so close to convincing Santa to bring her a puppy last Christmas. But my wife got sick, and we put a hold on the dog idea.
“Want to go see it? Aunt Claire says she’s little, but Uncle Rufus bought some special milk.”
I’m happy Maggie’s excited about the kitten, but I can’t afford for her to fall in love with it. I don’t have the extra cash or mental energy for an added responsibility. I still consider getting out of bed every morning a victory.
“You can show me the cat after dinner.” I smile. “Let’s head inside and eat.”
“Fine,” Maggie grumbles and skips toward the house.
Leaving everything behind after Hannah’s death was grueling, but the dreams we long held for our family were gone, and it was up to me to start over. Wifeless and with a six- year-old, I was at my lowest when I called my Aunt Claire five months after Hannah’s funeral. Adrift and depressed, I didn’t have a next step lined up for us. Claire gently suggested coming to stay with her and my uncle in Kentucky for a while, and it was the kick in the pants I needed to dosomething.
After Hannah’s death, Maggie and I had no family in California. A car wreck killed my parents a few months shy of my twentieth birthday, and Hannah’s parents never approved of our whirlwind relationship. They drew a hard line in the sand when I proposed, and their daughter chose me over them. With nothing holding Maggie and me back, I sold most of our stuff and loaded us up to make the long drive to Kentucky.
My aunt and uncle were kind—too kind—to allow their 35-year-old nephew and his daughter to invade their home. It’s a gorgeous property, but two bedrooms is a generous description of their home. The spare bedroom Maggie and I share is suited for a twin-size bed, not the full-size air mattress we’re splitting.
I’m grateful and know deep down, as cheesy and woo-woo as it sounds, Alexandria is where we’re supposed to be right now. I’m making the most of our situation, but I need to figure out a way to get our own place before my dad-bod back gives out from the shitty air mattress.
I flop on the couch and chuckle. If there’s any kind of afterlife, Hannah’s cracking up, watching the stupid air mattress deflate nightly. The sound of my laugh takes me by surprise and causes Aunt Claire to shuffle out of the kitchen to check on me, the smell of whatever she’s cooking following.
“Something smells divine,” I compliment.
“Got pot roast goin’ in the slow cooker.” She lifts her chin at me and adds, “If I recall, it was someone’s favorite meal as a youngin.”
Her memory’s perfect. I spent a few weeks here and there during a couple summers of my youth with my aunt and uncle in Alexandria. I’d hang out on the farm and help Rufus. I hadn’t been back since losing my parents, so my aunt and uncle never met Hannah and missed the first six years of Maggie’s life.
