Page 1 of Coming Home for Fall
Prologue
It wasn’t the cab driver’s fault that Mallory hated him.
On that rainy Saturday morning in November, Mallory would have hated just about anyone. She’d just finished one of the worst airborne journeys of her entire life. Having purchased a red-eye with almost all the money in her bank account, she’d been forced to endure hours of loud chatter and crying babies. The woman who’d sat behind her held a toddler on her lap for most of the trip as it kicked the back of her chair like a drum.
It took all of her patience not to turn around and yell at them both.By the time she’d landed at the California Redwood Coast Airport, Mallory was just about ready to open the emergency door and toss the kid out of the plane.
Now, thirty minutes later, she was stuck in the back of a taxi on the way to her hometown: Ferndale. Every mile closer to her parents’ house made Mallory’s mood sour a little more.
“It’s beautiful this time of year, isn’t it?” the driver remarked. They were only five minutes or so from the house now, and Mallory silently prayed that he’d give up on his attempt at small talk. Unfortunately, no one was listening to her prayers.
“Yeah... it is,” she replied, straining enthusiasm.
“Did you come out this way to see the fall colors? Usually, they’re past their peak at this point, but with the climate being so finicky these days, you’ve come at the best time!”
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, forcing a smile. “But that’s nice to know.”
“Are you staying somewhere in town? A buddy of mine rents his basement apartment out on one of those websites. He makes a killing, even though the place isn’t fancy. Guess that’s the benefit of living in a touristy town.”
“Yeah… I guess. I’m not staying in a rental. I’m here visiting my parents.”
“That’s nice. You staying all the way through Thanksgiving?”
Staring at him in the rearview mirror, her smile faded. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugged. “You just had a lot of luggage with you, that’s all. The holiday is in about two weeks, right?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I sort of forgot it was even November.” She sighed and glared at the pile of luggage taking up the rest of the seat next to her. “I guess I might be here for Thanksgiving... I’m sure my mom would like to have all her kids home for the holidays… But I don’t know. I haven’t really figured out my plans yet.”
“That’s the nice thing about family, eh? You can always come home without warning and stay for as long as you’d like.”
Mallory nodded and then glanced out the window, hoping the driver would finally take a hint—this was the last thing she wanted to talk about.
Why did he care how long she was going to stay?
Was he secretly judging her for coming home for the foreseeable future?
Ugh. Don’t go down that rabbit hole.
Mallory didn’t want to think about the series of events that had led a woman her age to come crawling back to her childhood home with a nearly empty bank account and no job. Thankfully, the cabbie didn’t try to talk to her again and they rode the rest of the way in silence. When they pulled into the driveway of the two-story Victorian style house, he helped her with her bags.The home was a cheery yellow color and trimmed with a burnt orange. Her parents had purchased it forty years ago and it was quite the steal. Walking up to the front door, the cab driver whistled as he set the bags near Mallory’s feet.
“This place is stunning.”
“I know.”
“Did you grow up here?”
“Yeah.”
“Lucky,” he said, glancing about at the lush forest landscape. “It’s not just the house either. There are so many trees! It looks like the house is right up against the preserve.”
“It is,” Mallory confirmed, her tone dry. It was a little after 7 a.m. and the neighborhood was slowly starting to wake up. She heard the birds chirping in the forest behind the property and the sound of soft music coming through the open window of the house next door. It was chilly, but not too cold. Releasing a heavy exhale, Mallory saw a faint puff of breath linger in the air as she handed over her debit card to the driver.
“They have us using these now,” he said, pointing to the little white square sticking out of the bottom of his phone. “I guess the old card readers were always screwing things up, and it was hard for people to tip with those. I think this new thing is more confusing, but they don’t consult me when they make changes like this.”
Her eyes flickered with anxiety. Mallory had neglected to account for the tip when she’d decided to take a cab home from the airport instead of calling her mom for a ride. Her parents had no idea she was coming, and she’d wanted to stave off that conversation for as long as possible. Now—she was paying the price for her childish avoidance tactics.
“Um, okay.” She took her wallet out and grabbed her credit card, holding it alongside her debit card. “Is it possible for me to pay the ride fee with one of these and the tip on another?”
