Brodie joins Dylan at a table in the window. Then he says something I can’t hear, and they move to a secluded corner table. They order coffee, then choose a burger each from the chalkboard menu. I make the drinks and take them over.

“Modeling, huh?” says Brodie as I set down each of the cups. “I know some models in Boston.”

“I’ll bet you do,” I mutter under my breath. I wear my polite café assistant smile and I’m sure no one overheard.

“That’s right,” Dylan says. “Rita did really well at modeling, didn’t you, Sis? Had an agent in New York who sent her on jobs all over. Where did you go? Somewhere far. Tokyo? Moscow? Italy?”

“Yep. Tokyo, Moscow, Milan, and some other places too.” I keep my face expressionless: a skill I learned from being a model. On the catwalk or in front of a camera, I never showed what I was really thinking or feeling.

“Sounds great,” says Brodie. “So, you quit? Why was that?”

“Ahhh, yes.” Dylan jumps in to answer for me. “Rita decided, having checked out all those places around the world, that Oak River is the best place to be. The center of the universe. Isn’t that right?” Dylan beams at me.

“Something like that.” I laugh along with my brother. “I think I’d just had enough. The fashion business is not all fun and glamor the way it looks in the magazines.”

I signed to a fashion model agency straight out of school. A woman approached me when I was helping out at the Annual Oak River Spring Fair. She handed me her business card and said that, if I ever wanted a career in modeling, I should give her a call. She asked me to turn my head left and right and asked me to step out from behind the cake stall so she could see my legs. She winked and said that I had ‘The Look’.

I had no plans. I had just finished school and my future stretched out in front of me like an endless length of unbleached calico. Absolutely blank. Modeling sounded like fun. All my friends were so excited for me. It felt as if I had won the jackpot, which, in a way, I had.

So, I called the number on the card and moved to New York for my first job at a Gap show. I was nervous but I had great support and mentoring. For a while there, I loved it. I got to wear beautiful clothes and meet amazing people. I quickly became one of the biggest earners in New York. Then I was poached by a talent scout in Paris.

Soon I could name my price. I earned a truckload of cash. People wanted my face on their products; they wanted me to wear their clothes; to be seen with me at parties. Oh, and I partied hard. My name was on guestlists left and right. But then, I don’t know. I got tired. Burnt out. The lifestyle was frantic. I was always on the go, from one job to the next. Always at an airport or in a studio or at a designer getting fitted for next season’s collection. The pace took its toll. I was ready to bow out of that game; walk away from it all.

I needed some grounding, to reconnect with my family and close friends: people who saw me for more than my face, my legs, and my size-four bankable body.

And then, one night, something else happened that opened my eyes and made me one hundred percent sure that I didn’t want this life anymore.

“You have to take care of yourself, don’t you. In that kind of industry.” Brodie fixes me with one of his adorable sincere looks. “Sometimes it’s like that in football. Things get too much and…” Brodie’s voice trails off to almost a whisper. “Sometimes things get crazy.”

“So, Brodie,” Dylan says, lifting the mood. “Are you moving back to lil’ ol’ Oak River too? That would be rad.”

Brodie laughs and shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

Kate calls out to me that the food is almost ready, so I go to the kitchen to help plate up burgers, fries, and salad. I load up a tray with an assortment of sauces, cutlery, and serviettes, and take it all over to Dylan and Brodie. Kate brings the two large white plates piled high with delicious food.

“That looks and smells incredible,” says Brodie, his eyes lighting up as Kate puts down a plate in front of him. “Thanks, Kate.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Aren’t you going to take a picture of your lunch and post it on your titterfeed or whatever you celebrities do?” says Dylan laughing.

“Actually, my phone’s flat. So, how about we just eat?”

“That’s right, Dylan Carmichael. Eat your food while it’s hot,” Kate says, then walks back to the kitchen.

I’m about to follow Kate when I hear Dylan ask, “Where are you staying?”

I tune into Brodie’s answer. “The hotel in town.”

“No, you’re not,” says Dylan emphatically putting down his knife and fork with an unnecessary clatter. “You’re coming home with me. The folks will be buzzed to have you stay. Mom asks about you all the time.”

Chapter 4

Brodie

On the drive to Oak River the talons of stress release their grip on my shoulders and fly away like a bird avoiding winter. The scandal that seemed so overwhelming in the team manager’s office evaporated with each click of the odometer away from Boston. By the time I loop around the town square, I feel almost normal again. I cruise down the main street and notice how nothing has changed in the ten or so years that I’ve been away.

The grand civic buildings still stand proud with their ornate carved stonework over monumental doorways. Like stern old relatives they welcome me back but with a certain cool restraint as they question my integrity. I feel like yelling out of the window, “It wasn’t me!” But I don’t.