It was unavoidable having to leave without saying goodbye.Even at twelve years old, I understood it would mean less heartbreak for me and for Lizzy to just cut ties all together. But there was something somewhere deep inside that prevented me from completely severing the connection.
Talking to Logan on the phone was the only way I knew how to keep her close. It would’ve hurt too much to talk to her, knowing the history we shared.
After a while I started lashing out. I was angry about losing my parents, about losing my best friends, and got caught up with the wrong crowd. Another form of avoidance was to turn my attention elsewhere—a lot of female ‘else where’s’.
Finally, my grandparents had had enough and put me in therapy. After a few sessions, my therapist recommended I find another outlet. So they put me in stage classes. And that’s where I found a new passion to focus on—acting.
ten
Seeingmy childhood home for the first time in almost twenty years is surreal. I haven’t been back here since before I graduated high school.
Easing next to the curb, Logan kills the engine without a word, leaving the truck filled with heavy silence as ghosts from my childhood bleed through open window.
The old, two-story white house with its faded blue shutters looks smaller than I remember. The wraparound porch where my mom used to rock me to sleep at night now sags a little in the middle. The tire swing my dad hung from the massive oak tree in the front yard when I was five is long gone, leaving only a thick, gnarled, leafless branch reaching toward the cloudless sky.
My heart jerks when I see the flowerbeds my mom tended so lovingly are still being cared for. A kid’s bicycle is toppled over the first step leading up to the front porch—the same porch I’d skinned my knees on more times than I can count.
A memory of my dad teaching me to ride my bike without training wheels in the driveway takes over. I can still feel his strong hand resting against my back, keeping me steady up until the moment he lets go and I go flying down the street on myown. “You’ve got it, buddy! You’re doing it!” his proud voice calls after me.
I close my eyes, letting a wave of sadness wash over me. When they open I half-expect to see him standing there on the lawn, giving me a thumbs-up with a crooked smile.
The sound of Logan’s voice dissolves the memories clouding my brain. “You okay, man?”
Reluctant to let him see how much being here is affecting me, I swallow the lump in my throat and gesture toward the road ahead, scratching at two weeks worth of scruff.
“Yeah. I’m good. Let’s go.”
“My parents are super excited to see you,” Logan says as he restarts the engine and pulls away from the curb. “Pretty sure Mom’s been baking all morning.”
The drive to the Cade house takes less than two minutes. Their large, welcoming home looks exactly the same. Colorful flower baskets hang from hooks along the front porch. The lawn is freshly mowed, and I can smell Mrs. Cade’s famous chocolate chip cookies as soon as I get out of the truck.
“Home sweet home,” Logan says, leading the way up the familiar stone walkway.
The door flies open just as we reach the front porch, and Mrs. Cade rushes out with open arms.
“Rowan, honey!” she exclaims, pulling me into a tight hug. She smells like cookies and the same perfume she’s worn since I was a kid. “Look at you! You’re even more handsome in person,” she gushes, leaning away to examine my face.
Warmth spreads through my chest making me smile. “It’s great to see you too, Mrs. Cade.”
“Oh, please. Call me Janelle. You’re not a kid anymore,” she laughs, ushering us inside. Even the house smells exactly the same—like home-baked goods and lavender-scented cleaner.
As we step into the living room, Logan’s dad tosses hisnewspaper aside and pushes up from his recliner. His salt-and-pepper hair is a bit thinner than I remember, but his smile is just as wide.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, greeting me with a firm handshake before pulling me into a hug. “Hollywood’s golden boy has finally returned to Lakeside.”
Surprised by how emotional I suddenly feel, I return his embrace. “Mr. Cade. Good to see you, sir.”
“Call me Justin. And it’s good to see you, too,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Your parents would be so proud.”
A pang hits my sternum. “I hope so.”
Justin gestures for me to take a seat on the same couch we used to sprawl out on during movie nights as kids.
“So,” Janelle says, setting a plate of cookies down on the coffee table. “Logan tells us you’re here researching for a new movie?”
Nodding, I take a cookie. “Yes, ma’am. I wrote a script. The studio liked it, so they gave me the green light. I’m hoping this will help convince them to let me direct other movies in the future.”
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaims.
