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Chapter 1
Welcome to Fawn Creek. I murmur to myself as my car charges to the top of the hill, overlooking the valley that contains my hometown. As my car comes to a stop at the four-way intersection on the outskirts of the city, I find myself drawn to the open field under the Fawn Creek city limit sign. Today, the field is full of nothing but rows and rows of short green sprouts. Anyone that doesn’t know better would probably assume they are beans or some other crop planted by a local farmer. However, I know exactly what is coming. Between now and July, those rows of sprouts will continue to grow, resulting in a field full of bright yellow sunflowers.
I haven’t seen the sunflower field in years, but the memory of it is etched into my soul. Every summer, no matter where I’d been or where I was coming from, that familiar sight told me I was home. It’s a shame that I’m going to miss it again this year.
The familiarity continues as I drive into town. Every driver I pass waves in my direction, without having the slightest clue of who I am. They don’t wave because they know me. They wave because this is the way Fawn Creek is; friendly, welcoming and kind, just like it’s always been.
As I drive towards the First Baptist Church, I marvel at the booming downtown business district. On the surface, not much has changed here since I left. Sure, some buildings have been repainted, and a few of the store names have changed, but the charm of Fawn Creek remains the same. I immediately notice that they closed the candy store and replaced it with a clothing boutique. However, right down the street, the flower shop, McDaniel’s, has remained faithfully open and unchanged after all these years. Well, unchanged except the freshly hand-painted flowers that cover the large display windows. The bright, cheerful display puts an immediate smile on my face.
McDaniel’s isn’t the only business that’s put extra effort into their decor. Almost every store front is decorated for the upcoming Memorial Day festivities. Every building boasts American flag bunting, and flowerpots full of red, white and blue arrangements. Per usual, Fawn Creek is fully dedicated to the seasonal festival. I expect nothing less, of course.
I pull to a stop in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church. Not surprisingly, the lot is almost completely full. I imagine by the time the funeral begins in forty-five minutes, there won’t be a parking spot in sight. If that isn’t a testament to how loved my Grandma Hazel was, I’m not sure what is. She was a noble woman and an active member of this community in every capacity that she could be. Fawn Creek won’t be the same without her. Honestly, the world just won’t be the same without her here.
I fire off a quick text to my boyfriend, Elliot, letting him know I arrived safely, after my three-hour drive into town. Immediately, my phone pings to alert me of a text, but it’s nothing more than a thumbs up emoji. The lack of response feels like a punch to my gut. These past few days without Hazel have been really tough. I’ve tried so hard to stay strong. I know she wouldn’t want me to lie in bed for days, crying over her death, but it’s been hard to go through the motions leading up to today. All I can think about is how my life will never be the same without her here. She may have been my grandmother, but she was also one of my very best friends. She was my biggest cheerleader, my toughest (yet kindest) critic, and my safe place to land. My Sunday afternoons will never be the same now that I can’t call her and talk for an hour over any and everything that crosses my mind.
I place my phone in my purse and then I sense the overwhelming feeling that someone is watching me. I glance towards the old brick church and spot the culprit immediately. My mother is peering out the window of the side door. As our eyes meet, she lets loose of the curtain, allowing her gaze to disappear behind it as though the moment never occurred. I take a deep breath and slowly exit my car. So much for taking my time to enter the lion’s den now that I’ve been spotted. Oh well, let’s get this over with. I enter the church through the side door and tiptoe into the family waiting area. I politely smile and exchange pleasantries with family members I haven’t seen in a long time, except for holiday gatherings. Just as I’m getting ready to ask my cousin, Robin, where my parents are hiding, the sound of the swinging kitchen door causes me to start and make a 180-degree turn.
My mom exits the kitchen first, carrying a tray of grocery store cookies, arranged in neat rows. Her polyester dress swishes loudly as she moves in my direction. She places the tray down on a nearby table and then dramatically pulls me in for an embrace. My mother has never been much of a hugger. My childhood was not exactly filled with hugs and “I love you’s”, but when in public, my mother portrays the perfect motherly image.
“Hi, Mom.” I whisper into her hair, taking in the familiar scent of her perfume.
She releases me, only pausing for a moment to look into my eyes while gripping my forearms. Her expression shows a deep mixture of exhaustion and sadness, and I try to remind myself to give her some grace today. After all, she lost her mother this week, just like I lost my grandma. This is going to be a hard time for everyone.
Next, I move toward my father, who has suddenly materialized behind her. “Hey, kiddo.” He says, squeezing me tightly. He’s wearing a pair of black slacks with a white button-down shirt. His beer belly hangs over the waistline, and the exhaustion on his face is clear as well. I can only imagine how hard this week has been for them both. Even with the best laid plans in place, a funeral is difficult to navigate. Hazel may have had everything arranged ahead of time, but I truly believe we all just assumed that she would live forever.
“Where’s Elliott?” My dad asks, stepping backwards from our embrace while his eyes survey the room, looking for my missing other half.
“Oh,” I pause, nervously tugging at the hem of my dress, “He really wanted to come, but he couldn’t get away from work.”
“Couldn’t get off work, huh?” He laughs with a grunt. “You’d think being here to support you in your time of need would be more important than that silly computer lab he’s sitting in.” He says.
I ignore my father’s snide comment, although I must admit it stung. “I know, Dad. He really wanted to, but he’s working on a big project right now and just couldn’t get away.”
“It’s hard to believe he couldn’t just take one day of bereavement.” He mutters under his breath.
“Well,” I shrug. “Since we aren’t married, he doesn’t get company time off for the death of my relatives.”
“Well, if you two would just get married already, you wouldn’t have those problems,” my mother chimes in. “It’s been three years, Tyler. What are you waiting for?”
I bite my tongue and try to keep from saying something I shouldn’t in the heat of the moment. Especially in the basement of the First Baptist Church. Luckily, the moment is interrupted just in time. A tiny bald man in a suit, presumably an employee of the funeral home, enters the room through a side door. “We are ready for the family.” He announces solemnly. Per usual, Grandma Hazel intervened just when I needed her most.
* * *
After the funeral service at the church, I elect to drive myself to the cemetery rather than piling into the family limo with the others. My mother was resistant at first, but she wouldn’t dare make a scene in front of the entire congregation. I’m sure I’ll pay for that decision later, but that’s a problem for Future Me to worry about. My mother will gladly add it to my list of shortcomings, I’m sure.
At the graveside service, I stand back quietly and watch as they lower Hazel’s casket into the ground. The further she goes, the further I feel my heart sinking into my stomach. Years’ worth of memories come flooding back instantly. She was always there for me when I needed her, for everything from my first broken bone to my first broken heart. She was always the one I turned to when I didn’t know where else to go. And now? She’s gone.
Suddenly, I feel a hand wrap around mine and squeeze it tightly, awakening me from my trance. I glance to my side and meet eyes with Avery, my best friend. She shoots me a soft smile and I attempt to return the gesture, but fall short. She always seems to know the right time to step in and help maintain my sanity. Goodness knows it’s a full-time job. It wasn’t necessary for her to come to the graveside service today, but I’m glad she did. I’m so grateful for our friendship, especially on days like today.
My eyes wander around the graveyard while the preacher speaks. I think every person here but me is crying. Suddenly, I notice my lack of outward emotion and feel extremely self-conscious.
I’m an emotional person by nature. I cry all the time; when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m hungry, or excited. Hell, just last week I cried over a cat food commercial. For some reason, though, I haven’t yet cried over Grandma Hazel. I’ve been waiting for it to happen ever since Mom called me three days ago to break the news, but so far, nothing. I know the dam will break eventually, and I’m sure it’ll be at the most inopportune moment. Part of me just wishes it would happen so I could get it over with.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m devastated about her passing. I loved Grandma Hazel more than anyone else on the planet. As her only grandchild, I know she loved me, too. My best childhood memories all revolve around my time with her. Every weekend, she insisted on “giving my parents a break” and taking me home with her. She would pick me up after school on Friday and basically spoil me until Sunday evening, just before dropping me off for a shower and bedtime. I think she just liked to keep me around for the company. My grandpa had passed away from a heart attack when I was a baby, and she never remarried. “I’m too old to train a new husband.” She would tell anyone who would listen.
Honestly, I think she never remarried or even dated just because she truly enjoyed being alone. She reveled in her solitude and when she was tired of the quiet, she would come and get me to fill the silence. She told me she’d much rather spend time with me than those “dusty old ladies at the beauty shop” and I liked to feel wanted. My mother and I weren’t very close, and we butted heads more often than not. The relationship Hazel and I shared made up for the one I didn’t have with my mother. It was exactly what I needed during my formative years, and I’m extremely grateful for those days.
Hazel was kind and caring, yet fiercely independent. She would go toe to toe with anyone that had ill intentions towards her family or the community. She would make you dinner or give you the shirt off her back in a heartbeat, but she would also tell you to go to hell if you needed to hear it. Hazel was truthful, honest, and strong. She was everything I want to be one day. I hope I don’t disappoint her.
