Something else intrigued me that night though. The feeling I’d had for the first time in a long time, a version of me I hadn’t seen since before Zane. My belly rumbled with excitement and my brain buzzed with motivation.
Things felt lighter.
I hated to say it, because Maggie would never let me live it down if she knew, but getting out of my apartment and going to a party might’ve been exactly the push I needed. Because even though everyone knew who I was and what had happened withZane and me, no one cared. At least not anymore. Everyone had moved on from talking about it. They’d all found other gossip to obsess over.
With that understanding, and maybe a little help from said shaggy-haired cowboy, I’d found—for the second time in my life—the realization that life went on. Even in those moments, the dark and nasty ones you thought might never end, the ones that seemed to drag you into the darkness and hold you hostage… Even those eventually loosened their grip and let you go. The sun continued to rise and the world kept on spinning. Thankfully so.
“What are you doing today?” Maggie asked, her words muffled through the phone.
“I think I’m going to take a bunch of shit to Salvation Army, maybe stop by Rolling Meadows—I haven’t seen George in a few days—and then I’ll run byThe Quincey Falls Tribuneoffice and see if Ms. Hansen is around.”
“TheTribune? What for?”
“Remember the night after Booker’s party when I told you I had an idea…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, that’s it.”
“I’m not following,” she said. The clatter in the background implied she was preoccupied.
“I don’t want to jinx it, so I’ll call you after.” I had a sudden urge to do something about my current situation, even if I wouldn’t ever be able to fully rid myself of the doubt. The doubt that true happiness was even in the cards for me. Therefore, I believed it was better to stay tight-lipped about certain things. At least for now.
“You promise?” she questioned, her voice more focused than before.
“I promise.”
“Okay, fine,” she huffed. “And Scar?”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“I’m proud of you. You’re on a roll and it makes me so happy to see.”
“Thanks, Mags. I’m trying,” I admitted.
“See, I told you; everything is going to work out. It always does, remember.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, a light chuckle escaping the back of my throat. “One day, maybe I’ll actually believe you. I’ll call you later. Love you.”
“Love you.”
I’d spent the last month cleaning out my apartment and had even sorted through my closet from top to bottom. Hence the reason for the Salvation Army drop-off. Too many memories were held in a lot of those clothes. If I had any chance of making this fresh start a successful one, then I had to cleanse myself of the bad shit, especially the memories.
I looped around the corner, a little pep in my step making an appearance as I swayed onto Main Street. November filled the crisp air, which meant fall was well underway and the window displays proved it. Pumpkins, leaves, hay bales, and a sea of orange and brown clouded every storefront. I didn’t know if it was the wistfulness of it all, but this time of year was my favorite and it never got old.
The black light poles that lined either side of the street were joined by mums. Strung in a zigzag across the street were light bulbs that illuminated the pavement at night and made the whole street sparkle.
You couldn’t go five feet without running into a neon sign, whether it was a store’s name or just a decoration in the window, they were everywhere. Between those and the flyers promoting the upcoming Annual Fall Festival, this town was on a constant high from simply existing.
However, the best part of Main Street in the fall wasn’t anything you could see with your eyes. The Quincey Falls Cider Mill had its own storefront and residents were very grateful for that, because the second you stepped onto the street, the smell of compressed apples and sprigs of cinnamon danced through the air, immediately warming you from the inside out.
I aggressively inhaled, making sure to get as much of the cider scent as I could before continuing on toward theTribune. The red building was old—each tarnished brick was aged with time, dust, and a speckle of nostalgia—and had been home to the paper for as long as I’d been alive. I could only imagine the stories these bricks would tell if they could talk.
My breath slowed as I opened the door.
“Hi, how can I help you?” Ms. Hansen chimed from the back of the room as she sat behind a large desktop computer that blocked most of her face. She tilted her head to the side to get a better look. “Scarlett Carson, is that you? My heavens. I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Hi, Ms. Hansen—”
