I jammed the brake pedal, stopping the SUV before I lost signal, and flinched at her implication. As if my feelings of professional abandonment were of my own making. “I was trying to do a good job,” I said. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“And you’re doing a terrific job. You’re always amazing at everything you do. We never worry when you’re in charge, and we appreciate you so much. I feel as if you don’t know that, and I can’t for the life of me understand why.”
An unexpected pinch of emotion drew tears to my eyes. “Sorry. Thank you.” Then another thought occurred. “Hey—do you or Dad know a man named Davis Sommers?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, then repeated my question to Dad. “No. Doesn’t ring a bell to us. Why do you ask?”
I flipped mentally through my bizarre and frustrating conversation with Davis the night before. “I met him last night and got the impression he knew Dad.” Hadn’t he said as much?
What had he said exactly?
“Emma,” Mom cooed. “Why don’t you come back? Talk to us about whatever you’re going through. Let us help. We want to be here for you.”
Part of me longed to accept the offer, admit everyone was right, and go home. But then I’d end up right back where I was before I left. Miserable and aching for something that wasn’t meant for me. And I couldn’t spend another minute like that. I wouldn’t. So the dramatic part of me, the one Annie had called out, lifted her chin and doubled down on her mission.
The beautiful manor beckoned to me from the end of the lane. Its floral wreath and cobblestone walkway begged me to run inside and shut the door, locking out my every care. I imagined staying forever, basking in warm sunlight on lush green lawns and raising flowers to make fresh bouquets for the vase in the foyer. In those images, I was content, unhurried, and happy. Alone.
I inhaled deeply and straightened in my seat. “Thank you for saying all that, Mom, but I have to go. I love you. Tell Dad I love him too. I’ll write you a letter soon.”
“But—”
“Take care of yourselves,” I interrupted. “And keep me posted about Annie and the baby. If you need anything, or if there’s an emergency, you can reach me through Grace at Village Books. The number is on the website, or reach out to her on IBOOM.”
Mom blurted a hasty goodbye, sending her love in a flourish before I disconnected the call.
I watched the bars of service disappear as I drove the rest of the way down the lane; then I slipped the device into my pocket and got out. I unloaded the cumbersome bags of mulch and topsoil from my hatch, hating that they were wet and heavy, not to mention incredibly awkward to haul. But at least the effort kept my mind off my mom’s words, begging me to come home. It was too soon for me to give up. I hadn’t been gone a full twenty-four hours, and she hadn’t even made it to the shop.
My previously ivory peasant top was streaked with mulch and topsoil by the time I reached for the final bag, and I forced my thoughts away.
“Today is the first day of my new forever,” I reminded myself. I’d had a couple of setbacks last night, but that was then, and this was now.
A clap of distant thunder drew my eyes skyward as I recalled Olivia’s warning. I squared my shoulders, steadfast and unbothered by a little rain. I had plenty to do inside, and weeks to plant my garden. This was my time to shine.
A fat drop of rain promptly plunked my forehead, interrupting my moment of self-empowerment.
Then the heavy bag ripped, pouring black mulch down the front of me and onto my shoes.
“Great.”
Chapter Six
Rain threatened to keep me indoors the rest of the day, but I persevered, walking the grounds, then went into town during a break between showers. I enjoyed a leisurely lunch under the protection of a maroon-and-white-striped café awning. The street-facing patio tables provided a lovely view of Amherst while I sat, unconcerned with the time.
The weather had slowed traffic, but it hadn’t stopped people from enjoying the afternoon. Everyone seemed so young and carefree.
I thought of Emily’s poetry, too, as I sat alone at the table, her words dancing in my mind. Emily loved life, but she knew loneliness despite a vibrant family and the many connections all around her.
It was believed that Emily spoke of her own loneliness in her writing, and that she, like me, wondered if she’d only feel worse if she gave up the only life she knew. I’d traveled to another town, hoping to give up on the epic love I’d always wanted. But part of me wondered if resigning myself to eternal singledom by choice would leave me in a worse condition than when I’d started.
“I hear you, Emily,” I whispered into the rain as I headed back home.
I popped into Village Books before going to the manor, immediately overcome by the enticing scents of warm cinnamon and apple cider. A display table just inside the door held a little sign beside a hotdrink dispenser, cups, and napkins, saying,Please help yourself. I cheerfully obeyed. “Don’t mind if I do.”
The shop’s interior was gorgeous, open, and inviting, with a front wall of windows and wide whitewashed floorboards. Reclaimed-wood slats hung from the walls, working through their retirement as decorative shelves, displaying framed black-and-white images of Amherst over the years. Aisles of books filled the shop’s center.
I passed several shoppers enjoying their free drink and a good book. Some lingered by the shelves. Others sat in comfy armchairs near the wall.
Two long tables were positioned near a stack of wooden cubbies at the back of the store, where I imagined demonstrations and classes took place.
