Page 3 of Call it Reckless

Hopefully, I’d soon find my place among them.

Strings of lights zigzagged much of the length of the street. Glistening fake snowflakes hung from hangers attached to the light posts. I knew they would soon be replaced by hanging baskets of colorful flowers. Several people strolled the sidewalks holding hands or sipping from insulated cups as they browsed the store windows despite the chill in the air.

It was such a different feeling than the city, less self-absorbed. I once hated how everyone thought your personal business should be open for comment. I didn’t welcome the slower pace, constantly feeling a sense of urgency to be doing more. I hadn’t appreciated the clean, crisp air of the mountains or the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets. I especially hadn’t understood the notion to slow down and enjoy lasting friendships or how supportive the community was.

As an adult, I realized what I really hated was why we had to move here in the first place—my mother, or rather, the lack of one. When she took off with another man, it didn’t take long for my daddy to realize that the racing world wasn’t an easy place to bring up children on his own. Potential danger, cursing, close quarters, the public eye, so much travel—all things my mom had once helped balance had disappeared along with her.

But I loved the adrenaline, the energy, and even the smell of hot rubber and engine oil. I was fascinated by what it took to make those wheels turn so fast. So, when my dad brought my siblings, Chase and Cameron, and me back to his quiet, slow-paced hometown to live with his parents, I hadn’t reacted well to the change.

It would be different this time. I’d make sure of it.

At the end of Main Street, I followed the traffic circle around the stately town hall and exited on the road that led back out into the country. Stores thinned out and transitioned to traditional family homes with porches and white picket fences. Further out, older, larger homes with lots of acreage took over. I turned into one of the last driveways and parked under the carport between a large Victorian farmhouse and a carriage house, which had been turned into a guest house decades ago. It was an old home built well over a century ago when the town was still growing.

It had been my grandparents’ house, the house where my grandmother had been raised and her daddy before her. It was where my dad had grown up. And it was where I’d spent my rebellious adolescent years.

Despite my resentment of moving to Sterling Mill, I loved this house and all its space. I loved the enormous property it sat on, where I could run the lengths of several football fields, climb trees, or hang out in the oversized garage in the back with my grandpa. I loved the open kitchen that always smelled like bread or fruit pies. And I loved how the evening meal was unhurried and how time was spent genuinely listening to the answer of“how was your day?”

Now, it was mine. I’d inherited it when my grandparents died several years ago. If Daddy was surprised it had skipped him and gone straight to me, he never expressed it. Instead, I’d stubbornly chosen to define “home” as the place by my father’s side on his professional racing circuit.

The house came with the caveat that it couldn’t be sold until ten years had passed, and then immediate family members had the first right of refusal. When I’d first learned of my grandparents’ wishes, I thought they were crazy. I wished I knew what was going on in my grandmother’s head when the will was written because that sounded like that wily lady’s idea. And if I could have asked her, she probably would have responded with some comment like,“Hasty climbers have sudden falls.”

It was a long time for the house to sit unused, except when Daddy returned to Sterling Mill to visit. In the meantime, Chase, Cam, and Emalee kept an eye on it. I probably could have easily rented it but having a strange family living among the family possessions passed down for generations didn’t sit well with me.

Whatever their reasoning, it worked out because here I was, sitting in front of the old home, less than ten years later, about to claim it as my home again.

I remained in my car for a few minutes, staring at it while recalling memories that seemed to come from every direction I looked: the wide wraparound porch where I used to drink sweet tea while I snapped beans with my grandmother, the octagonal turret where I curled up and read when I needed to escape, the garage out back where I learned how to change the oil in my grandparents’ cars and mowers as well as learn other basic engine mechanics by my grandfather’s side. The giant oak tree I used to climb from my window on the second floor to sneak out.

Even after all these years, I could easily recall the sharp scent of boxwoods mixing with the sweetness of the lilacs that lined the front of the porch and hearing the bees buzzing as they flitted from bush to bush.

Not everything was as I remembered, though. It was apparent my older sister, Cam, had her crew work on more than just the inside. Instead of the solid white I remembered, a fresh gray-blue coat of paint was on the main structure with white trim and rust-red accents on the windows and gables. The grass in the large front yard hadn’t yet greened up, but the bushes were neatly hedged, and the flower beds had been weeded and prepped for spring flowers. Yellow and purple flowed from baskets hanging above the porch railing.

Everything about it screamed “home.” I half-waited for my grandmother to come out and greet me, brushing her hands clean on her jeans from whatever task she’d been working on, or for the sound of an engine coming to life after my grandfather and daddy tinkered with it.

But it remained silent, nothing except the sound of a whippoorwill in a nearby tree. I felt like a visitor and wondered how long it would take to change that—if it ever would.

The ghosts of memories dissipated when my cell rang and my older sister’s name popped up on my dashboard.

“Hey, Cameron,” I answered, injecting a positive tone into my voice.

“Hi. I just wanted to find out if you were here yet.”

I rolled my eyes. “I just rolled in. I’m still sitting in the driveway, just staring. It looks amazing.”

Cam chuckled. “Of course, it does.”

To someone else, she might have sounded cocky, but I knew that wasn’t how she meant it. My sister simply had an incredible sense of design and color. Me? I’d have left it white and not bothered with the flowers.

Her voice grew soft. “I thought the house needed to come out of the past and be something new and fresh. Something to help you feel more like it was yours.”

“It’s perfect.”

It really was. There would always be a ton of memories here, but I needed to make my personal mark on this place. Cam had given me a head start.

“Thank you, Cam.”

“You’re welcome.” There was a pause, and I knew she was trying to figure out what to say next.

“I know this isn’t where you thought you’d end up,” she went on. “But I’m proud of you for seizing a new opportunity and paving your own path. Not to mention, I’m glad to have our family back together in one place.”

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