Page 2 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

"Tara!" I say in surprise, even though I shouldn't be shocked. Aunt May's best friend lives next door, and here she is, looking almost exactly the same as I remember her from five years ago. A few more gray hairs, but the same friendly smile, the same sparkling eyes. She's a welcome sight. 'Aunt' Tara, as I had called her as a little child, had been a constant and welcome presence in my life since my parents had passed away. She had practically been a third parent along with my real aunt and uncle, babysitting for them whenever they needed it. She’d spent hours playing with me, teaching me how to knit and crochet, and even showing me how to apply make-up and do my hair nicely as I had grown older.

She had also been my confidante, and I had spent many hours sobbing in her arms, grieving for the loss of my mom and dad. Later on, I had brought all my teenage angst about boys and falling out with school friends to her, and she had known how to comfort me and what advice to give, as well as knowing what not to say, though I'm sure she'd often thought it. She was all the things my aunt and uncle were not. She was warm, big-hearted, real and genuine. No, that's not fair. It's not that Uncle Roger and Aunt May weren't those things too, but they weren’tgood at showing it, even though I had always known that deep down they cared for me in their own way. I am sure it's been her and her husband who've been looking after the property since my aunt and uncle passed.

"I thought I saw you coming in," she says with a tremulous smile. "Aww, little Hailey, it must be what, four years… more? You've grown so much."

Tears prick at my eyelids as I drop my duffel bag, filled with just about everything I own. I've always liked traveling lightly, it makes it easier to explore the world.

Tara wraps me in a hug that smells like lavender and chocolate chip cookies, and suddenly, everything hits harder.

"Look at you," she chokes out, her voice hoarse with emotion. She pulls back to look me in the eye. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too," I reply, and I mean it.

"I have some documents for you—things that came in after the funeral—and some other papers your aunt left with me." Tara holds up a cardboard folder. "She knew... I think she knew she hadn't long..." Her voice falters. "…I didn't want them to get lost."

She offers me the folder, and I take it, my hands shaking slightly. "Thank you," I say. "I'm guessing you're the reason everything still looks so well-kept?"

"I come to clean every Saturday. I hate seeing it dirty, because I know how May would have hated it. Desmond cuts the grass once a week." She grabs the kettle and turns on the tap. "I would come more often, but…"

"No, no, you're already doing more than enough," I hastily tell her. "Thank you."

I settle into the couch and open the folder. Aunt May had always been so organized. I flip through the papers—bills, a property deed, a letter from her lawyer asking me to come tothe reading of the will. I'd already spoken to him and arranged a meeting for tomorrow.

"What are you going to do with this place?" Tara calls from the kitchen.

"I'll probably sell it."

"Are you sure? This would make a lovely home for you. Desmond and I would love to have you as our neighbor again."

"Thanks, Tara, and I would love to be your neighbor too, but I don't want to stay here," I say, my words firm. Despite growing up here, I've never felt like I belonged in Aurora.

One envelope is different. It's older, scruffier, slightly yellowed, like it's been kept for years, even decades. My name, "Hailey," is written carefully in large, handwritten letters on the front. Inside is a simple, one-page letter, also handwritten. I open it.

My heart tightens. It's from my parents.

Hey, munchkin,

This is Mom and Dad. Well, it's Mom writing because her handwriting is better, but Dad's dictating too, so it's definitely a combined effort. If you're reading this, it means you're already eighteen or even older, and no doubt you’re taking the world by storm. We want to let you know how proud we are of you and everything you've achieved so far.

I cover my mouth with my hand, a sob catching in my throat. Oh my God. It sounds exactly like her. Like the ghosts of the two of them are still here, speaking to me through the ink on the page.

My chest aches. The tiredness from traveling, the weight of my grief… all of it converges in that one moment, and I feel like I'm drowning. I miss them so much. I can almost hear my mom's voice, warm and encouraging, as if she's right here beside me, telling me everything will be okay.

But it's not okay. It's never going to be okay again.

I can't stop the tears. They spill down my cheeks, and for a moment, I can't breathe. The shock of this letter, coming on top of everything else—returning to this house, experiencing all these memories—hits me like a hammer to my chest. I want to crumple the letter in my hands, throw it away, bury it somewhere deep where I don't have to face it. But I can't. The words are too precious, even as they rip me apart inside.

"Are you okay?" Tara's voice pulls me from the letter.

I look up, blinking, trying to clear my vision. She's standing in the doorway, concern in her eyes. I feel the weight of her gaze on me, and for a moment, I almost don't want to respond.

"Yes," I say, my voice shaky. "I'm fine..." The words trail off, and I can't finish. I can't say the truth, can't explain how this letter has turned everything inside me upside down. How, for all the anger I felt at the life I was forced into, all the resentment for the life I didn't have, I would give anything to hear my parents' voices again. To have one more moment with them, just one.

I force my attention back to the letter, but I can't focus. Every word blurs together as the weight of their absence presses down on me, breaking me into a thousand pieces, and I wonder if I'll ever feel whole again. I read on.

We're writing this because we think it's time to tell you about our little gift to you. We would give you the world if we could, but all we have is love. We do have one earthly possession, though. The True Heart Lodge in San Juan County. Do you remember it from when you were little? We used to have such fun there, the three of us together. Well, it's yours now, and we'll probably be giving it to you ourselves when we celebrate your twenty-first birthday. But just in case something happens to us on one of our adventures, we've left the deed and a key with Aunt May and Uncle Roger. That way, you'll be sure to get your inheritance, no matter what.

"The True Heart Lodge…" I murmur. Vague memories flood back. A small, snug log cabin and a lake, surrounded by trees, in the middle of nowhere. We used to spend summers there—swimming in the lake, exploring the forest. Mom taught me about plants and herbs, and Dad showed me animal tracks—deer, elk, even black bears. I remember the cool, fresh air, and the glow of the sunrise from the veranda. Some of the happiest times of my childhood. I can't believe I'd forgotten all about it.

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