Page 30 of Sweet Escape
She nods, turning and striding toward her car, the modest vehicle doing nothing to reassure me of her safety. It’s a war against my own instincts to let her leave, and as she backs out of the drive with the last light of the day rapidly disappearing, my entire being implores me to follow her, to make sure she gets there in one piece.
I focus on my breathing. Inhale, exhale. It does nothing to chip away at the awful feeling clawing at my chest, so I stride over to my truck and put it in drive. My headlights illuminate the darkness all the way to the diner, where I slow down to pass the green car already parked in its spot. I circle Main Street and pull up across the road, glancing up at the sliver of light peeking through the curtains in the window above the diner.
My phone vibrates on the console.
Cupcake: I’m home. Goodnight :)
Minutes pass, and when the light clicks off, I give myself permission to head home.
She’s safe.They’re safe.
Chapter 8
Porch Goose
?No One Needs to Know - Shania Twain
Olivia
A rushof nostalgia hits me the moment I step onto the rickety porch of my childhood home, the weathered boards creaking beneath my feet. Mom’s gardening gloves are sitting atop the table beneath the crooked mailbox, with her rubber boots on the mat below. The little goose statue with his yellow raincoat and matching hat is still perched on the opposite side of the sage-green door with the sun-bleached artificial tulip wreath.
The familiar scent of home envelopes me when I walk through the front door. Everything is just as I left it, almost as if no time has passed at all. Boots are lined up near the same floral wallpaper that’s been in the entry forever, behind the coat hook holding Mom’s well-worn straw hat and gardening smock.
I turn the corner through the narrow archway into the living room. The walls are a light butter-yellow, covered inmismatched framed photos from my childhood. The same slipcovered cream sofa sits near the picture windows with the gossamer curtains filtering the harsh rays of the mid-morning sun.
It was a beautiful childhood, though sometimes lonely. I grew up an only child, but that wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I was one of a set; one half of a whole that never was. Tucked away inside the china cabinet, there’s a faded photo of my mom holding a tiny bundle wrapped in a pink and blue striped baby blanket—the only proof of my baby brother’s momentary existence.
I trail my fingers over the glass before following the familiar path through the hallway toward the sun room at the back of the house. Mom’s exactly where I thought she’d be, in her white wicker chair with her knitting needles in hand—a set of newborn booties in the making.How ironic.
“Livie!” Mom places her project on the side table next to a steaming cup of tea and pulls me in for a hug. “What are you doing here?”
Do I tell her now? When the stick turned blue, I wanted to call my mom immediately, but there’s another part of me that’s terrified of her reaction. I thought I might be able to muster the courage if I showed up in person, but now that I’m standing here, the timing doesn’t feel right.
My parents aren’t terribly religious, but I know it’s going to disappoint her to find out I’m pregnant with a near stranger’s baby. I’m afraid she’s going to judge me for my impulsiveness, and even though she’d be right in that assessment, I’m not ready to face it. Call me a coward, but I want to bask in my excitement for a little while longer. My life may be a mess, but this baby is the best thing to happen to me in a long time.
“Just missed you. Where’s Daddy?”
“Out in the fields, of course. Almost plantingseason.”
“Corn? Or is it soybeans this year?” I sink into the chair on the other side of the table as Mom retakes her seat and pulls her knitting back into her lap.
My mom has always been beautiful—the spitting image of a younger Grammy. Her blonde hair is peppered with greys these days, and the lines around her blue eyes have deepened, but looking at my mom is like getting a glimpse into my future.
“Corn,” she says. “Half of last year's soybean crops failed, so Daddy’s been looking at buying some extra land. Something about the water retention in one of the fields. You know I don't understand half of what he’s saying.”
I giggle. “Over thirty years married to a farmer, you’d think you would’ve picked up a thing or two by now.”
“We were busy doing other things.”
“Ew. Gross, Mom.”
“Oh, stop it! I meant raising you. Not to mention chasing you and Sarah around the damn farm.” Her face turns serious. “How are you doing since…”
“You mean since the man I thought I was going to marry cheated on me with my best friend?” I wrinkle my nose. “Not great, but I’ll survive. I always do.”
“Better you know now, Liv. The right man is out there somewhere.”
My mind automatically drifts to Wilder and our stolen moments on the plane. The big, broken cowboy who somehow worked his way under my skin in a matter of forty-eight hours.
