Page 10 of Mountain Freedom
Anyway,” I said, clearing my throat to try to mask the emotion I was struggling to hide. “One of the men didn’t seem too happy about her coming back. Said someone needed to put her in her place and drive her out before she got started here. I know her dad wasn’t well liked, though he seemed like a saint compared to mine. He was a drunk and a gambler though, andhe didn’t hold much respect from anyone. They spoke negatively about her mama, too, but that’s probably guilt by association.”
Greg frowned. “Well, I don’t like that at all. Who was doing the talking?”
“Larry and Gus.” I knew the names alone would be enough for Greg to realize why I was concerned.
“Great. Just great,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Last thing we need is for Larry to have a grudge against yet another person in town. What other kind of trouble did her dad cause?”
I shook my head. “Other than his addictions, I don’t know why people had such disdain for him. I had my own things going on at home and didn’t pay too much attention to town gossip. You know how it was.”
Greg nodded, his face grim. He didn’t know everything I had been through as a kid, but he knew enough about my dad to know it hadn’t been easy. He rubbed his face and muttered under his breath about not being able to get a break in this town. “Find out what you can,” he finally said, looking weary. “Were you and this Allison close?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back an unexpected wave of emotion. “Like I said, we were just kids. I haven’t spoken to her since she left. But Allison was the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Chapter Three
Allison
A thousand feelingswarred inside me as I drove the highway that led to Rosemary Mountain. It felt like I was seeing two realities—the real world, where the road was as unfamiliar as if I had never driven it before; and my childhood, where all the memories played against a backdrop of this very view. It felt like coming home again, in a way that brought happy tears to my eyes and a stab of pain to my chest. The memories here were the very definition of bittersweet. Childhood innocence and joy living side by side with the darkest days of my life.
But a lot had changed since I had been in this neck of the woods. The mountains were still the same, although they seemed smaller and softer than the ones that lived in my memory. The curves in the road were still familiar, curves I used to count every time my family drove back home after a trip to the city to visit my grandmother. Curves that marked the minutes until I could get out of the car, throw off my shoes, and run down to the creek to play with the friends I had missed desperately.
Everything else seemed different though. There were new housing developments, shopping centers, and restaurants on the outskirts of town. Rosemary Mountain had apparently become something of a tourist destination, a fact that triggered pride and heartache at the same time.
As a kid, I had felt like our town was isolated from the rest of the world, a poor little mountain town where nothing ever changed. That had been reason to despise it as a child and dream of the day I would leave and make my way in a more sophisticated part of the world. But then Mama and I had left, much sooner than I had ever imagined, without a chance to even prepare for it and say goodbye. The world had opened up for me. My life had improved in a thousand ways. But on nights when I longed for the stars or wanted nothing more than to splash in the creek, I suspected that the loss was greater than I ever would have predicted.
I slowed down, coasting into the city limits with a lump in my throat. The town square brought a genuine smile to my face, as it looked exactly as I remembered, only better. The old storefronts that had been boarded up when I was a kid had been revitalized and turned into something new. Here it was clear to see the benefit of tourism dollars at work.
I spied a cute coffee shop, an art gallery, and a clothing boutique I couldn’t wait to explore when I had more time. Just down from them sat the clinic where I would soon be working. I drove past slowly, pleased to see the cute black shutters and white sign I remembered from my childhood. As clinics went, this one was a relic from another age. But as long as the equipment had been updated, I was actually quite happy about it. It was as far away from the hospital in Memphis as I could possibly get, and it felt like the perfect fresh start.
With a smile on my face, I turned off the main road and followed the directions to my new house—a house I’d nevereven seen. The clinic had been in such a rush to get a doctor in residence that they had arranged temporary housing until I could find something of my own. It made moving easy, especially since the rental came fully furnished, but I couldn’t help but feel some trepidation about what the house might look like.
What I hadn’t expected was the location. The address was only a few miles outside of town, but it might as well have been a million. The narrow road wound its way through lonely hills, and when I finally pulled into the driveway, I took in a sharp breath.
The house was beautiful, with a long front porch, a white-painted brick exterior, and a new black metal roof. It had clearly been redone by someone who was a fan of farmhouse-chic style, and it looked like a picture sitting there, fully surrounded by the forest on all sides. The clinic had told me it was a vacation rental, and upon seeing it, I could understand why. It was the perfect place to escape from it all and enjoy feeling alone in the woods in something much nicer than the old hunting cabins that still dotted the landscape.
But as someone who was used to living in a townhouse in the city, I felt unnerved by the isolation. It was beautiful, but the idea of staying out here alone sent a shiver up my spine.
You’re being silly. I navigated Memphis every single day—a city recently ranked as the most dangerous city in the United States—and I was nervous about being alone inRosemary Mountain?The town where I had run around completely unsupervised as a young girl without a single issue?
I was perfectly safe here.
The moment I opened my car door, the aroma of the mountain hit, taking me straight back to my childhood. The warm summer breeze was perfumed with pine and fresh rain and a thousand memories. I took a few moments to close myeyes and just breathe it in, basking in the sheer quietaround me. No sounds of the highway, neighbors yelling, or music blaring. No roommates arguing about whose turn it was to mop or who got the TV that night.
A new stab of homesickness hit, but this time, it was for this right here—the home I had left as a child and nearly forgotten. A completely different world than the one I had lived in the last couple of decades. A world where time stood still and people still drank sweet tea on their front porches and women could take long walks through the woods without constant worry of someone waiting to attack them. I had missed this and not even realized it.
I headed up to the porch to check out my temporary home. The door opened to a small entryway with a table holding a fresh bouquet of roses.Welcome home,the card said. I smiled. It was a nice touch, presumably from the rental agency.
I wheeled my suitcases inside, locked the door behind me—some habits, I knew, would linger for a long time, no matter how unnecessary they were here—and took a look around.
The place gleamed, with real hardwood floors and those same farmhouse accents. There was a study on the right that would make a perfect home office. To the left was a small dining room with a gorgeous rustic table. Stairs in the entryway led to the second floor. There was a nice kitchen in the back, more than what I would need. Finally, there was a living room, complete with a fireplace. I was impressed. The house was beautiful.
I bit my lip, wishing I could hug the child I had once been—the child who grew up “on the wrong side of the tracks” in a rundown trailer, who dreamed of someday living in a home like this. I had already lived in much nicer homes than the one of my early childhood, obviously. My mother had made sure we never lived in that kind of poverty ever again, and my Memphisroommates and I had pooled our resources to live in a nice townhouse during residency.
But this? This was all mine. And I had earned it.
Upstairs was smaller, with two bedrooms—one on each side of the house—and a shared bathroom between them. I frowned at that, as I preferred an ensuite. But did it really matter? I lived alone—and this time the thought gave me a little thrill. Attached or not, the bathroom was all mine. I probably wouldn’t have visitors that often. My mother had made it clear she had no intention of ever setting foot in Rosemary Mountain again, my friends would all be busy with their new jobs, and Mike…
Well, Mike and I weren’t even speaking anymore.
