Intent Page 3

  “Your car is right over here,” the man transporting my luggage indicates. I follow him to find Marcia has rented a four-door soft-top Jeep Wrangler.

  Chuckling to myself, I remark. “She knows me way too well.”

  “What’s that?” the man asks.

  “Oh, nothing,” I reply. “I was just talking to myself.”

  He hands me the keys after opening the back of the Jeep to stow my things. As I slide behind the wheel, I imagine riding through the winding mountain roads with the top down, the wind blowing in my hair, and the sun shining on my face. There are no skyscrapers here, nothing to block the scenic view, and no bright lights to diminish the twinkling of the stars at night.

  I’m already feeling more peaceful. This mental-health vacation may be exactly what the psychiatrist ordered to cure my insanity.

  “You’re all set.” He smiles and waves.

  “Thank you so much.” After passing his tip to him through the open vehicle window, I key the address into the GPS and make my way toward my new home. Knowing Marcia, I’m sure her vacation home is extremely nice. One thing I immediately remember about this area is the scarcity of houses. They’re spaced far enough apart to give some semblance of privacy, but just close enough to be neighborly. I hope that’s the case with where I’m staying. I could use some wide-open space and room to move around.

  I make a quick call to the Realtor, Martha, to let her know I’m on my way in. She’s a sweet older lady who assures me she’ll be there waiting for me to show me around and help me get acclimated to the town. The first real smile I’ve had in the last few weeks covers my face after we disconnect. A genuine, small-town, Southern-hospitality welcome gives me hope in mankind again.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, Marcia,” I say when she answers her phone. “I made it. I’m on my way to the cabin now.”

  “I hope you love it there as much as I do,” she replies. “And I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “So do I, Marcia.” I hope I find myself again. Somewhere along the way, I lost myself in the idea of my relationship with Bobby, in my quest to have a baby, and by extension, to have a family.

  Somehow, I lost the confidence that I am enough, exactly as I am.

  “It’s kind of hard to get lost in that small town, but let Martha know if you need anything at all. She knows that area like that back of her hand and she’ll be happy to help you.”

  “My goal is to be as self-sufficient as possible. If I make mistakes along the way, at least they won’t be from a lack of trying.”

  “That sounds more like my girl. Have some fun while you’re being completely independent,” Marcia chuckles.

  “I’ll try,” I promise before I hang up.

  Within minutes, I turn onto a driveway that winds through the dense woods of pine, oak, and cedar trees before the clearing reveals the two-story log cabin that Marcia calls her vacation home. The large home in this serene setting is even more beautiful that I imagined. Creek rocks accent the thick wood beams on the chimney and around the skirting, completing how perfectly it blends with the surroundings.

  Another car is parked in front of one of the garage doors, and a woman steps out of it as I approach. My excitement is barely contained as I put the Jeep into park. As much as I hate to admit this, even to myself, a nervous breakdown was imminent if I didn’t get away from the stress I’ve been under. Exiting the vehicle and inhaling the sweet, clean air, I can feel my foggy brain already beginning to clear.

  “Martha?” I ask as I approach her. She’s obviously older than Marcia, probably in her middle sixties. She’s tall, thin, and her gray hair has more of a silver sheen that looks beautiful on her.

  “That’s right. You must be Layne.” She smiles and extends her hand. As I take it in mine, I’m suddenly pulled into a full-body hug. Her eyes are bright and full of life as she releases me. “Marcia has told me so much about you, I feel like I’ve known you forever. She loves you, ya know. Come on and let me show you around this place. I just love it here. If you decide to move to our little town at the end of the summer, you just let me know and I’ll find the perfect place for you.”

  Apparently, that fog hasn’t completely lifted because I have no idea where we are in the conversation now. In my disoriented nodding and smiling, I may have just agreed to marry her grandson, but I’m not sure. Martha is the picture-perfect grandmotherly type—full of zest, a little bit of mischievous spunk, and a genuine warmth that naturally draws people to her. If I am, in fact, betrothed, I’m not sure I could’ve refused her even if my mind were firing on all cylinders.

  “Here’s a card with the security code and my phone number. Keep that in your purse in case you ever need to get in touch with me.” She hands me the card and opens the front door. “I’ve tried to tell Marcia that all these huge windows aren’t a good idea. Anyone can see right in.”

  I follow her gaze and hand gesture toward the back of the great room and gasp at the view. The entire back wall is floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the winding creek flowing on the property. Rolling mountains as far as I can see provide the perfect backdrop, and I have a sudden urge to stay on the back deck during my entire stay. My eyes pan across the landscape until another cabin catches my attention.

  “Who lives in that cabin over there?” I ask Martha.

  “His name is Ace Sharp. He’s lived here all his life, except during the time he was away at school. Nice boy,” she replies.

  “Cabins must be very popular here. His home looks almost as nice as this one.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Her Southern accent just became exponentially more pronounced with her declaration, and I can’t help but smile in admiration.

  “By all means, show me, then.”

  By the end of the tour, I’m certain that I’ll never want to leave here, and I begin to scheme for ways that Marcia will let me work from home. Well, I’d actually work from her home, after I research the validity of a squatter’s rights claim. Martha has shown me how to operate every high-tech appliance, the sauna, the pool, and the extensive entertainment system.

  “Here are the keys. Make yourself at home and let me know if you need anything at all.” As I take the keys from her, she grasps my hand in both of hers and squeezes lightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  With what I can only describe as the pure essence of Martha’s personality after spending the past hour with her, she bounds down the steps and is gone before I can reply. Laughing, I shake my head and begin unloading my luggage and hauling it into the house. By the time I’ve sorted through the disaster contained in my suitcases, I realize I haven’t eaten all day. And for the first time in quite a while, I actually feel like I can eat without getting sick.

  As I drive through the middle of downtown Oak Grove, a sudden pang of jealousy hits me at how happy everyone seems to be. Families stroll together down the main street leading through town, window-shopping at the small shops that line the sidewalks. Most small-town kids dream of leaving and making it in the Big Apple, and here I am, dreaming about leaving the big city to live the simple life.

  When I spot a small diner just up ahead, I pull into a parking spot right in front of the door. This would never happen in New York City. Never. The bell above the door dings as I walk in and the cashier-slash-waitress looks up at me as she refills a customer’s glass. “Just have a seat wherever you’d like, hon,” she says with a sweet smile. She’s a petite brunette in her early twenties. She’s gorgeous with her big, expressive brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, and a kind smile.

  I slide into a booth facing the windows and watch the cars and trucks slowly drive by. No one seems to be in a mad dash to get to where they’re going, they don’t look like they’re agitated with life in general, and there are no horns blaring in aggravation. I’m lost in my musings when the waitress appears beside me to take my order.

  “You must be new here.” There’s no judgment in her voice, just mil
d curiosity. Before I answer, my eyes drop to her slightly protruding belly and I realize she’s just a few months pregnant. That pang of envy just escalated to a stabbing pain in the center of my chest. “Spring is a perfect time of year to visit here. The temperature isn’t too hot or too cold; it’s just right.”

  After I manage to tamp down my feelings of inadequacy, I smile and nod. “I am new here. Actually, I just got here a little while ago. I’m just visiting until the end of summer.”

  “I’m Tara Wilbanks. Welcome to Oak Grove.”

  “Thank you, Tara. I’m Layne Elliott.”

  “If you like to swim, you should do the inner tube race on the river in a few weeks. Everyone has a blast out there. It’s just for fun, but the money from entry fees goes to help the county children’s home.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  “And it’s a great excuse to stare at Ace Sharp without his shirt on,” she giggles and waggles her eyebrows animatedly. “I shouldn’t say that too loud,” she says conspiratorially, her mouth partially hidden behind her order pad. “If my husband hears me, he’ll pout at me for a week solid.”

  Twist that knife in my chest. No, really, I’m beginning to enjoy the pain.

  “Aren’t men the biggest babies?” I try to play along like I normally would.

  “They are, girl!” she exclaims with a laugh. “If they had to go through a quarter of what we women have to go through, they’d end up rocking in a corner somewhere.”

  We laugh together at the visual when the dinging bell draws both of our eyes to the diner door. An older couple walks in, and it’s obvious that they’re regulars because Tara immediately prepares their drinks without asking. The man walks toward what is undoubtedly his every-day table because Tara sets their glasses down just as they reach it.

  “The usual today?” Tara asks.

  “You know us too well, little girl,” the man replies jovially. “It’s almost like you’re stalking me, trying to steal me away from my wife.”

  “Aww, I can’t believe you’re on to me, George,” she teases. “So much for me ever being a spy. I can’t get away with anything.”

  “Honey, I can guarantee you one thing,” his wife starts with her finger pointed at Tara. “You’d bring him back.”

  The trio bursts out into laughter, and it’s clear there’s a lot of history between them. Tara looks up and inclines her head toward me. “George, Louise, this is Layne Elliott. She just got into town today.”

  George’s and Louise’s heads simultaneously turn to my direction. Confusion covers their features for a moment, as if they couldn’t fathom why an outsider is here without their permission. A bit of my previous bravado returns, since I was never one to back down from a challenge before, and I raise my hand to wave at them.

  “Layne, George Edwards is our superior court judge and Louise is his beautiful wife, who tells him what to do so he can do it right the first time.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  “Welcome to our fair city,” George replies. “Are you staying long?”

  “A few months. Until the end of summer.”

  Louise smiles knowingly. “Go ahead and start looking for a permanent residence. By the end of summer, you won’t want to leave here.”

  “I don’t doubt that at all. I’m looking forward to getting out and exploring the area.”

  “Where are you from?” Louise asks.

  “New York.”

  “Well, we certainly hope you enjoy your stay,” she replies.

  I thank her just before Tara steps in front of me, placing my meal on the table. “I had to save you,” she whispers, “or Louise wouldn’t quit asking you questions.”

  Her words almost make me snort with laughter, but I just barely manage to contain it. “I appreciate that, Tara,” I whisper back.

  As I devour my delicious, early afternoon lunch, I realize that I’ve smiled, laughed, and felt lighter more in the short time since I left home than I have in the last several weeks. The realization that this trip is exactly what I needed relieves some of the stress I’ve carried over taking a leave of absence from my job. As I pay the bill and leave Tara a nice tip, I decide to hit the grocery store while I’m already in town.

  “Where is the grocery store from here?”

  “It’s just a couple of blocks down on the right,” Tara replies as she turns to the window to point in the general direction. “You can’t miss it.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “Come back and see us,” Tara calls as I walk out.

  She was exactly right—there is no way I could’ve missed the grocery store. In this small town, there’s really no way to get lost. The grocery store sits back off the main road with what appears to be more parking spots than there are people in this town. Shaking my head, I wonder if these people realize the stark difference that I see. Parking in the city is an expensive and rare commodity, yet here’s a parking lot that would accommodate every resident in this town with space left to spare.

  The customers here apparently all park as close as they can because all of the spaces directly in front of the store are taken. “I need to stretch my legs anyway,” I say aloud to myself as I pull into a space farther away from the doors. Casual glances and outright blatant stares greet me as I walk the aisles with my shopping cart. Undeterred by the curious patrons who obviously recognize that I’m not from here, I fill the basket with enough groceries to last one person the next few days.

  “Hi. How are you today?” the cashier asks as she begins dragging my items across the scanner. She looks young, and I realize she’s probably still in high school and just working a part-time job after school.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “Pretty good. Can’t decide what’s worse—school or work. At least they both get me out of the house, though.”

  “Working keeps you from being bored to death at home, right?” I counter.

  A strange look passes over her face before she quickly hides her feelings again. My suspicions are instantly raised, and I wonder what kind of home life she has. “Yeah, that’s true,” she replies with a noncommittal shrug of her shoulder.

  “What grade are you in?”

  “I’m a junior right now. We get out of school for the year in a few weeks, and I’ll officially be a senior. One more year,” she says wistfully.

  “Do you work here during the summer break, too?”

  “Yeah, but still just part time.” Her melancholy tone and omitted words tell me more than she realizes.

  “Well, Zoe,” I purposely say her name as I pay. “I’ll be back in here to check on you soon. Make sure you’re not too bored.” I wink. The playful jest earns me a genuine smile from her.

  “Make sure you come on a day I’m scheduled to work. My shifts always start after noon because of school, and it just carries over into summer to make it easier to schedule. If I’m not right here, you’ll have to shop on another day.” She’s half joking and half serious.

  “You got it. I’ll only shop here when you’re working.” My agreement to her terms seems to please her more than I thought, making me wonder how much attention she really gets at home.

  As I walk back toward the Jeep, a sudden movement, followed by an elderly woman’s shriek, jars me from my thoughts. The scene in front of me plays out in slow motion even though my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. A beautiful little blond girl, who looks to be around three or four years old, is running full throttle toward the store. The elderly woman with her can’t catch up to her, and the intense fear written all over her face is contagious as I follow her gaze.

  A full-size four-wheel drive truck, complete with a lift-kit and oversized tires, is backing out of a parking space. Even if the teenage boy driving the truck was actually watching where he was going, the truck sits up too high for him to see the little girl darting directly into his path. The boy inside the truck is focused on his radio, trying
to find just the right song to listen to and is completely oblivious to the elderly woman screaming in terror.

  Instincts take over as I push the cart out of my way and rush toward the little girl, praying I reach her before it’s too late. The truck is still moving backward, the girl is still sprinting forward, the woman is still screaming, and my heart is still pounding, but I am intent on reaching her in time. My leg muscles remember the years of running and yoga I practiced prior to my post-betrayal depression, and my days of sprinting pay off.

  I’m moving faster than I’ve ever moved in my life, but I don’t feel my body. My muscles must be burning and twitching, but my adrenaline is way too high to notice anything else. The truck’s open tailgate is within inches of the little girl’s head when I snatch her up in my arms and dive into the back of the truck. The thud of my landing startles the teen driver and he slams on the brakes. The little girl lying on top of me is oblivious to how close she just came to being killed, because she’s giggling and playing with my long, blond hair.

  “Your hair looks like mine,” she says. Only it sounds like she said, Uhr hair wooks wike mine.

  “What the hell are you doing?” The boy jumps out of his truck, leaving his door standing wide open, and stares at us like we’ve lost our minds.

  The elderly woman arrives at just that moment and starts swatting the boy’s arm with her hand—repeatedly.

  “Ow, Mrs. Perkins! Why are you hitting me?”

  “Because, Joey Griffin, you almost ran over River!” she shrieks at him. “You weren’t paying a bit of attention to driving that truck. If it hadn’t been for this lady right here, you’d have killed that little girl. Tell your momma I’ll be giving her a call to talk about this later tonight.”