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ChapterFour
Louanne
It takesme a week to pack my things, sublet the studio, and discuss my case with Ameline. Well, the latter only took me a couple of hours, but I’m all set for this temporary relocation. It’s not like I’ll stay there forever. My children need me to be close by. I’m just heading to Kentbury to make something of myself before I can come back.
That’s possible, right?
I don’t answer my own question, instead focusing on closing the trunk of the massive SUV Paul insisted on renting for my move.
“You won’t need a moving truck,” he had said, and he was right—as usual.
I couldn’t possibly maneuver one of those monsters anyway. My furniture stays behind as it’s now part of the sublease agreement. It provides me a bit of extra cash and spares me the cost of storage.
I open the driver’s side door and hoist myself up into the leather seat, glancing in the rearview mirror as I push the start button, bringing the SUV to life. A mix of excitement and apprehension builds in my stomach. Kentbury, here I come. This is me, Louanne McFolley, embarking on a life-changing journey.
I plug in my phone, my fingers tapping the screen to select my ‘New Beginnings’ playlist. The first song that plays is Dua Lipa’s “Don’t Start Now,” which is supposed to make me feel like I can conquer the world. Instead, it just reminds me of the endless sessions at the gym, striving to achieve the perfect body for Tony. I have nothing against staying fit, but doing it solely for his approval?
That’s a mindset I’m leaving behind. If I ever hit the treadmill again, it’ll be for me, not anyone else.
I switch the song and American Authors’ “Best Day of My Life” comes on next. I guess it’s fitting, in a way. Not sure if today is the best day, but it’s certainly a step up from the mess of the past few months.
As I merge onto the highway, I can’t help but talk to myself—a habit I’ve perfected over the years. “Okay, Lou, remember what the therapist said: new surroundings, new you.” It sounds good in theory, but right now it feels like I’m driving away from my problems, not toward a solution.
The next song comes up and it’s an old sappy love ballad. Okay, what was I thinking when I created this playlist? This isn’t my best work and definitely a massive failure. I don’t need the soundtrack to my failed marriage playing right now.
“Not today, Satan,” I mutter, quickly skipping the melancholy melody.
The interstate takes me through Connecticut, where everything seems to shrink into small towns or tiny cities. Hartford is pretty congested at this time of day. As I cross over into Massachusetts and eventually Vermont, the landscape changes.
The road signs become less frequent, replaced by more trees and open space. I pass a sign for the “World’s Largest Pancake Pan” and chuckle. “Well, there’s something you definitely don’t see in Manhattan,” I muse, briefly tempted to stop for a picture to add to my social media before deciding against it. This trip isn’t about giant pancake pans or other roadside oddities. It’s about starting over.
I don’t even care if my friends—and former acquaintances—learn where I am in the world. Actually, the less I show the better. Tony could use anything I do or say against me.
As I continue deeper into the Vermont countryside, my eclectic playlist becomes my only companion, a mix of songs that somehow capture the roller coaster of emotions I’m feeling. With each new mile and every song that plays, I drive further from the remnants of my old life and closer to whatever unknown future awaits me in Kentbury. It’s scary and exciting and utterly surreal, all at once.
I make another funny observation about a billboard advertising a lawyer namedHarry Pitts. I hope he’s better at law than picking names and I allow myself a moment of laughter.
As I near Kentbury, the wintry scenery transforms into something straight out of a postcard—rolling hills blanketed in pristine white snow, charming storybook cottages with wisps of smoke curling from stone chimneys, and the kind of crisp, quiet beauty that only comes on a cold January afternoon.
I slow down as I drive through the main street, taking in my first real view of the town under a gentle snowfall, this snow-globe of a town. It’s picturesque, alright—like something straight out of a holiday movie where the protagonist finds love, discovers herself, or opens a cozy bakery.
The streets are dusted with fresh snow, small shops glowing warmly against the winter chill, and a few locals wrapped in scarves and coats are milling about. The sidewalks are lined with charming mom-and-pop shops, Christmas lights still twinkling in some windows, a few bundled locals milling about. There’s even an old-fashioned diner with a neon “Open” sign cheerily blinking behind foggy glass. It’s all so . . . pleasant, so perfectly suited for a winter postcard.
A flutter of excitement stirs in my chest, mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety. “This is it, Lou. No turning back now,” I whisper to myself, watching my breath fog up the window. The quaintness of the town, with its snow-covered roofs and the gentle hush that comes with winter, is both inviting and a bit intimidating.
Driving past a cozy bookstore, I’m tempted to park and go inside. There’s a flower shop displaying winter blooms and festive decorations. I can’t help but question how I’ll fit in this town. The thought of starting all over again in such an intimate setting is daunting. Will they accept me, a city girl, in their winter wonderland?
But then I remind myself of why I’m here. This is my chance to reinvent myself, away from the prying eyes of those who abandoned me, and my failed marriage. Kentbury might be small, but maybe that’s what I need—a smaller world, simpler, more genuine.
I pull up to a stop sign and take a deep breath, letting the undeniable charm of wintry Kentbury wash over me. A whisper escapes my lips, “Okay, Lou, let’s do this.”
With a mixture of curiosity and a craving for one of the decadent pastries I spy in the window, I park my SUV along the slushy curb and brace myself for the chilly winter air.
Stepping out of the car, I quickly button up my coat and tug my hat down over my ears, preparing for the short but frosty walk to the Kneady Kentbury Bakes. That’s my grandmother’s bakery and where Paul said to meet him. The quaint shop, nestled between other small businesses, looks inviting, with its warm glow spilling out onto the snow-dusted sidewalk.
The exterior is as charming as the rest of downtown Kentbury. Flower boxes sit empty below the fogged windows, waiting for spring. I take a steadying breath before pulling the door open.Well, here goes nothing, Lou.
A bell tinkles overhead as I step inside, announcing my arrival. I slide off my wool hat and unwind my scarf, instantly enveloped by the warmth and the sweet, mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls.
