one
Rett
TEN HOURS. LORETTA COX has been driving for ten hours, and her butt is numb, legs aching from where they are folded under the dashboard. She’s had to use the toilet for the last hour. Backwoods Tennessee doesn’t offer much in the way of public restrooms, though, so she forces herself to focus on the road and not the discomfort. There will be plenty enough of that soon, if not a different manner.
The sun hangs low in the sky, bleeding orange through a deepening navy. Trees blur outside, and the wind whips through the open window. Rett brushes her hair from her face with one hand while gripping the steering wheel with the other. Thick moisture clings to the air and her skin, promising a thunderstorm, and she hopes she reaches her destination beforeit comes. Driving in the rain has never been her favorite thing to do, especially not on these winding roads surrounded by woods.
She never thought she’d make this trip again—not for the reason she’s making it. Her life has been thrown into a tailspin, and she is the oh-so-lucky one who has to clean this mess up. Grumbling under her breath, she turns off the static-filled radio and watches the town limit sign pass by.
Welcome to Oak Creek!
She might not have planned on ever returning for anything other than Christmas, but once upon a time, the town had been home.
Right on cue, her cellphone beeps as she loses signal. She never thought it oppressive before, the lack of service. Now, she feels disconnected from the rest of the world. From the rest of her life.
Rett slows to a crawl as she inches toward the heart of town. Despite the years away, she remembers how the children like to play in the streets. Townspeople stare through the dim evening light at the car making its way down the roads, bumping and jolting with each pothole. She doesn’t bother waving, though she knows she’ll be the talk of the town before the night is up. She almost wonders if they already know why she’s back in Oak Creek, but there really is no need to wonder.
Of course they know.
Turning left onto Cherry Lane, Rett blows out a breath at the silhouettes ambling down the side of the street. Misses Agatha Emerson and Jeanie Morgan slow to a stop as Rett puts the car in park outside her childhood house. The white paint is peeling worse than ever, the black trim nearly nonexistent with age, and weeds grow through the walkway. The ‘2’ by the front door hangs crooked. Time has touched upon this home.
With a sigh, she closes her eyes and wallows in the regret that she ever did something so monumentally stupid seven years ago.If she’d never made the decision then, she wouldn’t be back in her hometown now. She certainly wouldn’t have stayed away from it as long as she could.
She switches her sunglasses for her prescription glasses then presses the button to open the trunk. She steps out of the car with a heavy weight in her chest and rounds the car until she can haul her duffel bag from the trunk.
“Hello, Miss Loretta,” calls Miss Agatha with a wave that sends her arm fat swaying. Her bright pink tracksuit nearly glows in the setting sun. The woman is ninety-four years old and still more active than any elderly person Rett has ever known. “It’s wonderful to see you again, dear.”
“You, too, Miss Agatha. Miss Jeanie.”
Rett forces a smile and hurries up to the front porch before the old women can say more. She can see the questions—the knowledge—in their wrinkled faces, and telling or hearing the truth is the last thing she needs at the moment. Blowing out a steadying breath, she twists the doorknob and pushes open the door. It feels a lot like stepping into the past.
Dishes clink in the kitchen sink, water gushing from the faucet, and Eliza Cox hums an old hymn. Rett can almost see her mama swaying in place with each bar ofAmazing Grace, her light hair pulled into a low bun and her plain nightgown dancing around her legs. It’s a thing, really, something Rett has known throughout her entire life, and the memory feels like home. She drops her bag onto the floor by the door to her old bedroom then ambles toward the tiny kitchen.
The house still smells the same, of lavender candles and fabric softener. A tightness grips Rett’s chest. How could she have stayed away for so long? Her parents are here. Her life was here at one point. But Columbus is her home now, and she very nearly regrets leaving the city.
It takes fifteen steps before she stands in the archway to the kitchen, and she watches her mother. Eliza’s nimble hands dry a plate before she places it in the cupboard, moving back to the rest of the dinner dishes. Since Rett left, there are only doubles of each plate, silverware, and glass. The sight is sadder than it should be.
“Hey, Mama.”
Eliza jumps, wet hand coming up to clutch at her chest. She’s still wearing her work uniform, and Rett frowns at the sight. It’s going on seven in the evening. Eliza never spends this long in her uniform.
“Loretta Jean, what in blue blazes do you think you’re doing scaring me like that?”
“Sorry, Mama.” Rett lets out a soft laugh. “Didn’t mean to. Thought you heard me comin’ in.”
“Of course I didn’t, you brat.”
But Eliza embraces her daughter without hesitation, holding Rett close to her chest. Rett breathes in the scent of floral perfume and industrial cleanser. Tightening her arms, she struggles against the tears trying to form. It’s her fault she’s been away for five years, but her new life doesn’t allow for many visits. Not without questions, judgment. Even if itdidallow, she’d never be able to come back. Too many memories linger in this town, and Rett can’t be reminded of them any more than she already is.
“Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you.”
“I missed you, Mama.”
“Missed you, too, baby. Now c’mon, let’s get you settled in.”
“Let me use the toilet first,” Rett pleads, bolting toward the bathroom without waiting for a response from her mother.
It’s no use arguing with Eliza, so Rett lets her mama haul the duffel bag into the old bedroom, a mere five feet from the door to the bed. Very little has changed—the walls are still paleyellow with peeling white paint on the window frames. The bed still takes up most of the space, and her desk is tucked in the same corner it’s always been. The bookshelf leans farther to the right but otherwise remains untouched by time in the back of the closet. Eliza sets the bag on the bed; the springs squeak under the added weight, and she turns to her daughter.
