Page 1 of Just Like Magic

ONE

HazelWoodwardwas runningfrom her problems.

Andthese weren’t little problems, like having a bad cold, or getting annoying spam emails, or having shitty wi-fi.Infact,Hazelwould gladly trade her problems for a never-ending runny nose, a hundred spam emails a day, and never having reliable wi-fi again.Becausethe problems she was running from….well.

Shewas running from the long list of things she didn’t want to think about.Thingslike her ex-husband, her potentially imploding career and subsequent financial ruin, and the best friend she’d thought she’d known.Itwas a short list, but certainly not lacking in depth.

So, she wasn’t running from much.Just, you know.Herentire life.

Shesettled back in her seat, unwinding the scarf from around her neck.Itwas sunny and unseasonably warm for the beginning ofOctober, and the interior of the train was stuffy.Shetossed it on top of the worn satchel at her feet, the dark brown leather creased with time and use.Init, she had her laptop, planner (although what she was going to need it for over the next couple of weeks she had no idea), a notebook, and an assortment of pens.

Justlooking at it made her anxiety spike.Butshe’d have to get over that because not only did her career and livelihood depend on it, part of the reason for this trip was to get out of the city and clear her head in the hopes that the ideas would start flowing.Hell, she didn’t even need them to flow.Atrickle would be welcome in the desert of her creativity.

Witha snap, the doors closed and the train lurched forward, pulling out of theMTAstation on 125thSt.Theroller bag she’d stashed beneath her seat slid forward, bumping against her heels.Init, she’d packed clothes, toiletries and other necessities for the next two weeks.

Maybeit was foolish to think that getting out ofManhattanfor two weeks would really change anything.Twoweeks was barely enough time to do anything, never mind figure out her life.Orat the very least, her long overdue book.

God, the book.Shedidn’t want to think about the book.Shewas tired of thinking about the book.Orrather, the complete lack of a book, despite the multiple extensions granted to her by her publisher.Hergaze flicked to the bag at her feet.Shecould work during the ninety-minute train ride.Sheshouldwork during the ninety-minute train ride.

Shestared at the bag, rubbing her hand over the back of her neck.

It’sfine, she told herself, her skin prickly with heat.Youcan work once you get settled.

Itwas a small reprieve, one of the hundreds, if not thousands, she’d negotiated with herself over the past couple of years.Tomorrow, inspiration would strike.Tomorrow, she’d sit down at the computer and write.Buttomorrow never came, always just slightly out of grasp.

Theelevated train started to wind its way throughHarlem, bright fall sunshine streaming in through the train’s windows.Decidingto enjoy the ride as best she could, she popped in herAirPodsand cued up herCarrieClarkplaylist onSpotify, leaning back against the seat and letting the scenery wash over her.

Thesky was a brilliant blue, streaked with wispy white clouds that looked like they were clinging to the tops of the low lying brick buildings inHarlem.Thefall colors had already come to the city, the trees lining the sidewalks below having shed their green for soft yellows and burnt oranges.

Aftera slight curve, the train clattered across theHarlemRiverand then between graffiti-tagged buildings.Hereyelids felt heavy as the train moved into theBronx, brown brick buildings closing in around the train and blocking out some of the sunlight.Soshe let her eyes close, the rocking movement of the train and the familiar melodies of her favorite singer lulling her into a dozy nap.

Bythe time she woke up almost an hour later, the city was behind them.EvenYonkerswas behind them.Rubbingher eyes, she returned her attention to the scenery unfolding around her.Onthe left, she could clearly see theHudsonRiver, blue and calm.Onher right, breathtaking foliage in every single shade of red, yellow, and orange imaginable.Theseweren’t the muted colors of the city.Theywere bright.Dazzlingand warm.

Asthe train continued north, pastDobbsFerry, throughSleepyHollow, the colors only grew in their intensity.Withevery town they left behind, the trees became denser, the towns sparser and farther apart, the vastness of nature more pressing and consuming.Itdidn’t feel as thoughNewYorkCitywas only fifty miles south.

Thetrain took a bridge that went north over theHudson, crossing lush marshland on the right.Tothe left, a sparsely populated island was ablaze with fall color, the leaves all rippling their fiery colors in the wind.Afew more clouds had rolled in, the play of light and shadow across the endless sea of trees intensifying the bright hues.

Oncethey were over the island, the bridge continued on over a bay.GossamerBay, if she remembered correctly.Sheknew she was right when the crumbling ruins of a nineteenth century foundry came into view.

Asthe train chugged over the bay, the sun burst from behind the clouds, casting sunbeams made of soft, airy gold over the town ofGossamerFalls, which rose up to her left.Ahead, theHudsonHighlandswere a softly rolling landscape of scarlet, saffron, and vermilion, with the occasional towering pine to provide a shot of green.Withinthe highlands was the famous waterfall itself, the one that drew tourists from all over the place.Theone that had inspired the famous short story that had saved the town from destitution when the foundry had closed at the turn of the twentieth century.

Thetown itself looked cozy and inviting, and as the train slowed, nearing the little train station,Hazelfelt her eyes stinging.Shecouldn’t explain it.Butfor the first time in a very long time, she felt as though she were exactly where she was supposed to be.

Almostlike coming home.

Buthow could a place she’d never been before feel like home?Itdidn’t make any sense.

Thenagain, not everything in life made sense.Somethings were better explained by magic than logic.

Thetrain stopped, pulling into theGossamerFallstrain station, which was a cute little red brick building with red and yellow trim.Oldfashioned font scrolled across the side of the building, welcoming visitors to the village ofGossamerFalls, established 1846.Hazelwound her scarf around her neck, gathered up her two bags, and stepped off the train.Theair was cooler here than it had been in the city, and fresher too.Sheinhaled deeply, pulling the cool, crisp air deep into her lungs.

Afew other people had disembarked with her, and they were each greeted by friends or family, remindingHazeljust how alone she was.Herparents were retired and cruising the world.Herbrother lived inAustralia.Hermarriage had gone down in flames.Herbest friend had betrayed her and caused an irreparable fracture in their little friend group.ShehadSarah, her best friend from college, butSarahlived inTexaswith her husband and daughter.Theysaw each other once or twice a year, and it was great, but…on a day-to-day basis?Hazelwas alone.Really, truly alone.

Sheswallowed around the thickness in her throat.Gettingout of the city was doing something to her, as though the tight lid she usually kept on her emotions was loosening.

“MissWoodward?” came a voice from behind her, andHazelwhirled, almost knocking over her suitcase in the process.Ayoung woman rushed forward, auburn hair flying behind her as she raced to right the suitcase.Sheflashed her a grin and then held out her hand. “I’mAutumnShephard, customer relations at theShephardInn.I’myour ride.”

“Oh, really?Youdidn’t have to do that.Icould’ve just…”Hazeltrailed off.Thiswas a town of just over a thousand people.Maybethere weren’t any cabs orUbersor even busses.

---