Page 60 of Hometown Girl

Maybe he did owe her.

He made his way up a hill surrounded by trees and saw the little chapel in the clearing. It seemed magically illuminated by a ray of sunlight shining through two clouds overhead. Roxie ran in front of him, leaving Drew alone with the tiny church, a place where he and Jess were never allowed to play.

“Why do you have a church in your yard?” he’d asked her after a rousing game of hide-and-seek.

“It was built before the house,” she answered. “I’m going to get married there someday.”

She lay down in the lush grass and stared at the sky overhead.

“Why would you want to do that?” Drew asked, sitting down beside her.

She picked a dandelion. “Because my mom did.” She handed him the weed in flower’s clothing. “You can be my husband, if you want.”

He took the dandelion with a shrug. “I guess so.”

She sat up then, put her face right in front of his. “Really?”

“Sure. It’s not like you’re a real girl anyway.”

She gave him a shove. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I meant it as a nice thing. Girls are boring.” He popped the head off the flower, and she laughed.

“That’s true.” She plopped back down, hands under her head. “I’m glad you don’t think I’m boring.”

He lay down next to her, and they stared up at the clouds. “I think you’re awesome.”

They’d spent that afternoon finding shapes in the clouds until their parents called them in to eat.

Now, the air was filled with the smell of lilacs from the bushes all along the side of the chapel. She would’ve been married there. Someone would’ve loved her till death did them part.

But she’d never gotten the chance.

Was he to blame? Could he have stopped what happened to her? If he’d hidden in a different spot that day, would Jess still be alive? Would her parents have lived full, happy lives?

His pulse quickened at the thought, and he started off in the opposite direction from the chapel.

Beth had given him a clear deadline. He hadn’t told her he’d be leaving as soon as he got what he needed from this place. He also hadn’t told her there was a chance they wouldn’t get the farm up and running by late August and she might have to wait another season before they could open at all.

Instead, he kept his head down and checked things off the list.

She showed her gratitude with home-cooked meals and morning coffee deliveries. And the absence of questions, which he appreciated more than any wage.

He walked along the back of the property, forcing himself not to linger at the abandoned barn, willing away unwanted emotions, the same ones that still woke him every night.

Regret. Shame. Sorrow.

He’d never been allowed to grieve. Not really. There had been too much commotion. Too many questions. An ambulance had rushed him off to the ER, where his scalp was treated with four stitches where he’d been struck from behind. Before they’d even finished stitching him up, a detective pulled a stool up next to him and started with the questions.

They came at him fast, making it impossible to remember what had really happened.

He’d been struck. He heard a scream. Jess. He blacked out. He woke to the panicked voices of his and Jess’s parents, begging for answers, but none came.

His dream told him there was more, but his mind never uncovered the foggy, faded details, and he vowed not to talk about it out loud. Ever.

The doctors tried to get him to open up. He sat on their couches staring at the wall until the hour was up. One by one, the therapists told his parents that his subconscious had buried it to protect him, and when he developed signs of post-traumatic stress, they stopped prodding him. Finally, his parents left him alone.

He’d been alone ever since.

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