I drew a breath, my gaze wandering away from Diane’s prying eyes.No matter how much I hated to admit it—it always came back tothat summer.
“To be honest, I thought that Jack and I would pick up where we left off, that things would be the same as they had before. Little did I know, that summer would change my life forever.”
Sims Chapel, TN
May 1950
Glancing out the window of my dormitory, I contemplated the last nine months and how much I’d grown. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally, too. My head was bursting with literature, philosophy, physics, and mathematics—the whole spectrum of an education that I had so longed for. For a small-town girl who had grown up tending gardens and mending clothes, this taste of knowledge was intoxicating.
Aside from my studies, I’d also made friends, genuine and close-knit friends who had taught me much about the world outside Sims Chapel. Like Mary, a physics major from Atlanta, who introduced me to the bustling life of the city through her stories. And Emily, an arts enthusiast from Chicago, who gave me my first taste of Impressionist paintings. They also happened to be my dorm mates, companions in this journey of exploration and self-discovery.
But no matter how hard I tried, thoughts of home crept into my mind, especially in the quiet moments when I was alone. I’d often think about the sound of my mother’s voice, the woods around my house, and the water where once I had splashed and played without a care in the world. And inevitably, my thoughtswould drift to Jack. What had he been up to all this time? Was he still at the water’s edge, counting down the days until I returned? Or had he moved on and forgotten all about me?
I thought of his face—an intoxicating blend of boyish charm and rugged handsomeness that had captivated me from the beginning. His laughter danced in my memory, vibrant and warm, as if he were right there in the room with me. But before I allowed myself to fall under the spell of his memory, I shook my head, blinking away the vision. Jack might have been my past, but he wasn’t my present, and he certainly wouldn’t be my future. He’d made that crystal clear.
On the eve of summer break, I packed my suitcase with thoughts of home. Home, a place I longed for, a place where the scent of my mother’s cooking filled the rooms with a comforting aroma, where I had spent endless summer afternoons running around the woods or navigating the lake with Jack. But after what happened the previous summer, would home ever feel the same again?
Two days later, I sat on my back porch, staring east toward the mountains. Once a peaceful backdrop to my childhood, the mountains now appeared as stoic sentinels, guarding secrets and memories that threatened to flood my mind. The air was rich with the scent of rain and pine, a heady mixture that reminded me of long hikes and lazy afternoons spent by the lake. I traced the grain of the wooden railing with my fingers, its familiar roughness grounding me in the present even as my thoughts strayed to the past. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the faint sound of water lapping against the shore. The lake was calling me, pulling me toward it with an invisible current.
“Is something on your mind?” Mother asked as she joined me on the porch.
“I'm just thinking.” Her eyes searched my face for a moment longer before she nodded, choosing not to press further.
“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do this summer now that you’re home?”
My instinct was to shrug off her question, to avoid the subject entirely, but the look in her eyes stopped me—a mix of worry and hope that made my heart twist uncomfortably. “I've been considering volunteering at the library or maybe finding a job in town.”
“Does that mean you’ve decided against returning to the dock?”
The mention of the dock felt like a punch to the gut. I tried to keep my face blank, my eyes on the horizon, but I could feel them welling up with tears.
“I don’t know,” I said, swallowing hard. “I just don't know if I can go back there. Not after…” I hadn’t told her about what happened last summer, about me kissing Jack and him rejecting me. Or about the guilt and regret that had been my constant companions since. But the long, penetrating stare she gave me told me she already knew, or at least suspected.
“Have you spoken to Jack since you got home?”
“No.” The truth was I had been avoiding him. Our homes were less than a mile apart, separated by a stretch of dense forest, yet it felt like an ocean lay between us. There was no way to explain the aching emptiness that had settled in my heart. “I’m sure he’s busy with his own life. The last thing he needs is me interrupting it.”
She nodded, reaching over to pat my hand gently. Her touch was warm, offering comfort in the midst of my internal turmoil. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what happened between you two, and frankly, it’s none of my business, but if I might give you a piece of advice, don't let your heart become a harbor for regret. If you need to, talk things over with Jack. Mending friendships canbe harder than mending hearts, but sometimes it’s worth the struggle.”
I considered that, letting her words seep into me like a warm cup of cocoa on a winter's day. “Thanks, Mama. I can always count on you to be the voice of reason.”
She gave my hand a squeeze before standing up. “You’re welcome, but remember, you're stronger than you think you are,” she said, her words floating on the evening breeze like a lullaby. “And you're never alone.”
With that, she disappeared into the house, leaving me with my thoughts.
9
In the days that followed,I found myself wandering through the familiar woods around my house. The towering trees seemed to whisper secrets in the wind, their rustling leaves echoing memories of innocent laughter and carefree days. Every hidden hollow and mossy stone seemed to hold some remnant of our shared past. Jack and I had been inseparable once, two halves of a whole, each other's constant in a world that was ever-changing. Now, an invisible barrier divided us, as impenetrable as the densest forest.
One afternoon, while I sat on our old tree swing, Jack appeared. His figure emerged from between the trees like a ghost from the past, causing my heart to jump into my throat. His face was a mask of surprise, his eyes widening as he spotted me. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the only sounds were the gentle creaking of the swing and the distant murmur of the stream.
“Hey,” he said, his voice shattering the stillness.
“Hey.”
“I was wondering when I might run into you. Connie told me you were back.”
“Yeah,” I replied, my eyes locked on his. “I got back a few days ago. I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
