Rett set the last plate into the draining rack and wiped down the countertops. The television played in the other room, laugh-tracks and one-liners. She smiled when her mother laughed along with the show. It was Rett’s favorite sound, listening to Eliza decompressing after a long day of being on her feet. Matthew murmured something inaudible under the sitcom, and Rett’s smile grew.
Home had never felt so much like home before.
Telling her parents she would be on the porch, Rett slipped out the front door to sit on the top step. Crickets chirped in the grass, and fireflies woke from their slumber. She wondered what they all dreamed about, if they even dreamed at all. Night fell over the sleepy town as gently as it ever did. Kids had gone inside, and only the old women were out doing their evening speed-walks.
Miss Agatha Emerson was bound to break a hip if she wasn’t careful. The woman was nearing ninety and still moved as if she was thirty.
Miss Jeanie Morgan waved as the small group of women approached. “Good evening, Loretta.”
“Evening, Miss Jeanie. Lovely night, isn’t it?”
“Right you are.” She grinned, false teeth too white in the twilight. “Have a good night, Loretta.”
“Good night, Miss Jeanie, Miss Maudie, Miss Agatha.”
Miss Maudie raised a hand to wave, sending her arm fat swaying. Rett watched the women vanish around the corner. She breathed in slowly, let the town seep further into her blood. Her thoughts traveled from the peace she found on the porch. She swore to herself she wouldn’t, but Rett considered all the possible reasons for Calum’s sudden appearance in Oak Creek. Maybe he was on the run from the law and knew nobody wouldfind him here in the middle of nowhere. After all, a town with so few residents was the last place anyone would hide.
Or maybe he got into some trouble back home and was exiled to Tennessee. Had he gotten a girl pregnant? Too many fights? Grand theft auto or arson?
The possibilities were endless, and Rett would drive herself crazy if she kept trying to figure it out.
Her parents had already gone to bed by the time mosquitoes annoyed her into going inside. She stood in the doorway, staring out over the quiet street, then closed the door. There was no reason to lock it. Making her way through the darkened living room by muscle memory alone, she stopped at her parents’ bedroom door and listened for the familiar voices.
It was a song she’d listened to for her entire life. Eliza and Matthew’s quiet conversations before falling asleep, the insects through open windows, the creaking of the floor beneath Rett’s feet as she went to her room. The routine was familiar enough, and she derived stability from it.
The bedside lamp came on with a soft click and hum when she flipped the switch. Her sea-gray walls hid beneath posters and photographs, and she smiled at the picture of Kellie Marie and herself at the 4H fair two years ago. They’d been waiting in line for the Ferris wheel, trying to eat all of their cotton candy before it was their turn to clamber into the basket seats. Rett remembered how ill they’d felt after they had come off the ride.
She flopped down on her bed, fingers running over the seam of the quilt. Her Mamaw put it together using all of Rett’s baby clothes—of which there were too many—and added to it on Rett’s birthday every year until Sandy died four years ago. Rett had taken over stitching more squares onto it, though she didn’t use the quilt outside of winter. Tennessee summers were far too hot and humid for that. So she kept it folded at the end of her bed until it was needed. Every time she used it, shefelt as if her grandmother was holding her once more. Sandy’s embraces were always full of love and warmth. She was an amazing woman, even if the old badger would throw shoes to get someone’s attention.
Rett closed her curtains long enough to change into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank-top, then pinned the fabric back again. Turning off her lamp, she sprawled across her bed and listened to the sounds of the night coming in through the open window. An owl hooted somewhere in the nearby woods, and there came the mournful sound of a train horn blaring through the night. Calum might never warm up to Oak Creek, but it was her home. All she could do was try to show him how beautiful it could truly be.
Calum waited with his cousin at the bus stop when Rett joined them. Tiffany raised a perfectly plucked brow, glancing between him and Rett before tossing her hair over her shoulder. “My mama wants me to say thanks for showing him ’round yesterday.”
“Wasn’t a problem,” said Rett as she shrugged, her beat-up sneaker scuffing in the dirt.
“Yeah, well, you know Mama. Gotta say thanks for the dumbest things.”
“I’ll stop by this afternoon.”
Tiffany nodded, though they both knew Rett wouldn’t go to the corner store, then turned toward her friends walking toward the stop. Rett fell into line next to Calum, still stubbing the toe of her sneaker into the ground, and stared at him out of the corner of her eye. His outfit looked out of place here: Dark jeans and top, immaculate shoes. She knew it would change the longer he was in Oak Creek. No one could go anywhere without wearing half the town on them.
She cleared her throat. “So…”
“Does everyone here start sentences with ‘so’, or are you the only annoying one?” he snapped, and Rett reared back.
“Get bad sleep or somethin’?”
“No, just already sick of this town.”
“Get used to it. You’re stuck here for however long for whatever reason. No need to be a jerk to me for it.”
To her surprise, his lips twitched though he still didn’t look at her. Rett frowned and stared at the ground. He wasn’t supposed to find amusement in what she said, but he had. Why? She didn’t get the chance to question it. The bus pulled up, and the group filed on.
He moved his bag so she could sit beside him.
Rett knew she didn’t need to—the high school was too small—but still, she led him from class to class. He remained silent the entire day, not even answering questions from the teachers. He didn’t do the classwork, and he refused to look at anyone. But he scowled less than he had the day before, so Rett considered it a win.
She doodled on a scrap piece of paper while the teacher pointed to various words on the board. It was just a rough sketch of Mister Harper droning on, the students little more than uneven circles for heads with drool bubbles. Once finished, she slid it across the desk to Calum. She didn’t expect a thing from him. She didn’t even anticipate him looking at it. But he was full of surprises: He spent the next ten minutes doodling back.
