1
ROAN
Roan Hayes rolled into town the day before Thanksgiving, his heart and body bruised but not entirely broken. He slowed the car as he came to the main part of town, taking in the Christmas lights, garlands, bows and holly wrapped around streetlamps. Sugarville Grove had always been festive, but, in the fifteen years since he’d lived there, the town seemed to have embraced Christmas without any thoughts of restraint.
He drove along the country road toward the Hayes Maple Syrup farm, where his Aunt Grace and Uncle Walter lived in the original farmhouse on the massive acreage. His mother, Uncle Walter’s sister, had lived in a house on the edge of the property that had been built by Roan’s grandfather. During Roan’s childhood, Uncle Walter had run the farm. Uncle Walter had retired a few years back, so it was now Roan’s cousin Luke who ran the farm.
He turned down the long driveway toward his uncle’s home, taking in the frozen meadows sparkling under the November sky. The dirt driveway was in good condition, if not a little bumpy. He tightened his stomach muscles, careful these days not to jostle his neck. He drove past the old oak they used to climb as boys and the small pond where he’d learned to skip arock. Soon enough, he arrived at the house and came to stop not far from the house. He cut the engine and sat there gathering himself, his hands still on the wheel. It felt surreal to be back here where he’d spent so much time as a kid. He and his twin, Jason, had loved their cousins, even though at times they’d felt jealous, wishing Walter Hayes had been their father instead of just an uncle. Caroline Hayes had raised her twin sons on her own after their father bailed. Alone, but not really. Grace and Walter Hayes had included them in family activities. There was never a holiday or family event where the three of them weren’t invited. Still, as much as he’d loved his aunt and uncle and his four rowdy cousins, he’d always felt slightly apart from Walter and Grace’s family. A nephew, not a son.
The old farmhouse was as pretty as he remembered, with twinkling lights hanging from the eaves and a large wreath on the door. A thin curl of smoke rose from the chimney, barely visible in the fading light. Through the front window, he could see a Christmas tree lit up, even though Thanksgiving was tomorrow. Aunt Grace liked to decorate early. Some things never changed.
He got out of his car, stretching his tight muscles. It had been a long drive from California to Vermont. He’d stopped four nights on his way, staying at hotels just off the main interstate and highways. In the old days, he might have tried to do the cross-country trip in a few days, with only cat naps to revive him. However, those days were gone. His doctor had been clear about stopping to stretch and rest. His younger self would have scoffed at that instruction. Stretching was for people who took yoga, not a man who could bench press three hundred pounds. These days though? He was a stretching fool. A major neck injury did that to a person.
It also forced an early retirement from the profession he’d loved. He’d loved being a stuntman. All of it—the training,the work itself, collaborating with directors and cinema photographers. After his neck injury, he’d not only lost his calling, but also his sense of identity. Who was he if he could not risk life and limb on a movie set? What was he if not a stuntman?
A thirty-three-year-old has-been with a famous brother and a family he’d hardly seen in fifteen years. When he’d left Sugarville Grove, he’d thought he could never go back. Not after what he’d done to Reese. Not after losing his mother.
Yet, time had a way of changing a man. That, and a career-ending injury.
When the doctors had told him it was too risky to continue working, he’d immediately thought of Sugarville Grove and his family. As he’d contemplated his future that night in his apartment in Burbank, he’d thought of all he’d left behind. He’d thought of his aunt and uncle and his cousins. He’d thought about Reese Monroe. The girl he’d thought was his soulmate. The girl he would have followed around the world and back just to be by her side. And the decision had come hard and fast. It was time to go home.
He’d called Aunt Grace to tell her about the accident and that he would be looking for a new line of work. Grace, in her infinite wisdom, had agreed. “Come home. We’re your family. We’ll help you get back on your feet.” She’d paused then, all those miles away with only the phone to connect them, before saying, “You’ve been gone too long, Roan Hayes. Maybe this is God’s way of getting you back to where you belong.”
But did he belong here? This life had seemed so far away during his years in California.
He sniffed the air, catching the scents of pine and cold soil, turning in a full circle, taking in the red barn and the woodshed, landing finally on the oak with the tire swing. Still there after all these years. But there were grandchildren now. More little Hayes kids who probably enjoyed it as much as they all had.
He glanced up at the sky that felt low and close, like it did before a snowfall. Then, he headed up the porch steps to knock on the door, but, before he could do so, Uncle Walter opened it, beaming at him. “Roan, welcome home.”
“Hey, Uncle Walter. It’s good to see you.”
Uncle Walter pulled him into a hug. “You’re looking well. We’ve been worried.”
“I’m fine. And I’ll continue to be as long as I take care of myself.”
“We’re just glad you’re home. Whatever you need, we’re here.”
“Thanks, Uncle Walter. I feel a little like a dog with his tail between his legs.”
“Nonsense. We’ve always been here for you. With no judgment. Come on in. Grace is just getting a pie out of the oven. Apple still your favorite?”
“Yeah, sure is.”
Grace appeared in the doorway behind Walter, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes softened the second she saw Roan. She crossed the porch and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Roan, I can’t believe you’re home. After all this time.”
“I’m glad to be here,” Roan said.
“Come inside.” Grace gestured for them to enter. “It’s freezing out here. Snow’s coming soon.”
Inside, the house was warm and smelled like woodsmoke and apple pie. It looked much like he remembered, although the furniture was different. And the kitchen had been remodeled.
“Kitchen looks good, Aunt Grace.”
“Thank you. Walter always manages to give me just what I want,” Grace said.
“After we have a bite, we can head over to your mom’s place,” Walter said. “The renters have been gone for a few weeks, so theboys and I were able to give it a good scrubbing. Refinished the floors too.”
“Thanks for helping with the furniture deliveries,” Roan said. “I wanted everything to be ready when I came home.”
