1
LEVI
The road signsannouncing our approach to Stillwater are new. No longer the old painted wooden ones with a picture of the lake that gave the town its name.
These tell a story of a modern town that holds on to its precious traditions but welcomes new people.
Visit Stillwater: Connecticut’s Craft Capital.
Lakeside cabins. Local cuisine. A family vacation to remember for generations.
With every sign we drive past, my stomach tightens.
I never thought I’d come back to the town I used to call home. Especially not while carrying the most precious gift in the backseat of my old Ford Escort.
Through the rearview mirror, I see Ava asleep, holding her favorite toy, a stuffed ladybug I found in a thrift store a few weeks ago.
It was new, with the tag still on it. The toy that some child, somewhere, doesn’t want is now my daughter’s most precious possession.
She’s exhausted, as am I. After two long days on the road, I’m eager to arrive at our destination, even as I’m dreading it.
The gas gauge is low, but there’s enough to get us home, and I don’t want to stop again, so I listen to the radio play nineties pop music as I drive past the sign that tells me I’m back in the one place I vowed to never return.
The street I spent so many hours playing on hasn’t changed much, but the trees along the sidewalk somehow don’t look as big as they did back then. Or maybe it’s because I was smaller when I last attempted to climb them to rescue a ball or something else that we accidentally threw up there.
A flashback of me and my sister running after my dad as he drove the last few yards home from work, hoping he’d brought us some treats from the bakery, hits me.
They were happy times, and for Ava’s sake, I need to remember those.
My sister, Olivia, comes out of the house as I park in the driveway, as if she’s been staring out the window waiting for us.
Ava doesn’t wake up when I turn off the car, so I get out, careful not to let the old door slam shut. I’ll never hear the end of it if she’s jolted awake.
“Levi.” Even when she’s only saying my name, I hear the emotion in my sister’s voice.
“Hey, Liv.” I open my arms, and she crashes into me, hugging me with a strength I didn’t know my older but petite sister has. “I missed you.”
“Where is she?” Liv asks, stepping out of my arms and bending over to see inside the car. “God, she’s grown so much since I visited you in Chicago last year.”
“She has. And she’s as sassy as ever. She’ll have you wrapped around her little finger by next week.” I chuckle. “I’ll get her out of the car if you can get the door for me.”
“Sure. I got your old bedroom ready for her so you can have the guest bedroom with the double bed.”
It’s not a surprise that Ava barely stirs when I pick her up and take her into my childhood home.
The first thing I notice as I step inside the door is how different the foyer looks. We used to have a bench where we’d sit to put our shoes on in the morning, but it’s not there anymore. Just a row of hooks to hang coats, where my sister’s purse now hangs.
As I go up the stairs, careful not to wake Ava, I notice some of the old pictures on the walls, but there’s no longer a patterned wallpaper behind them or the old glass light fittings.
Ava opens her eyes as I tuck her into my old bed.
“Daddy, are we there yet?” she asks in her groggy voice that tells me she’s not yet ready to wake up. My daughter has always loved her sleep.
“We are, Jellybean.”
“Okay.”
With the matter settled, she snuggles up to her ladybug and falls asleep again as I remove her shoes and pants, leaving her only in a T-shirt. I know she’ll probably wake up in a couple of hours, so she can change into her pajamas then.
