Page 4 of The Forever Formula
Going back to working while someone else got rich off my efforts wasn’t going to happen. I’d spent too many summers already, breaking my back for other people’s dreams. After nearly four years of brewing beer for fun and two more years hustling to get this far, nothing was going to stop me.
Especially not Rachel Tyson.
3
BLAST FROM THE PAST
Rachel
Arriving at the empty cabin where I grew up was harder than I’d expected it would be.
Devoid of any life or warmth, it felt like a completely different place. It looked exactly the same as the day I left, but it couldn’t havefeltmore different.
I stood in the entryway for a long time—like if I took a step through the door, it would all be real. But, of course, I knew it was real. Grandpa was really gone, and so I finally made myself go on inside and closed the door behind me.
It was so quiet. Too quiet.
The woodburning stove rested squarely in the corner of the front room. The hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom was dark, and suddenly I wondered if my bedroom was still the same way I’d left it. After passing by the kitchen, which was clean and tidy, I ventured down the hall to find out.
The sight of my grandfather’s room—with his bed neatly made in the same old green-and-blue quilt he’d used for decades—sent a pang of longing through me. There was a framed photo of him and me on his dresser. I was probably about ten years old at the time and was holding a fishing pole with a big catfish on the hook. Grandpa looked as proud as could be.
Squeezing my eyes closed for a second, I drew in a slow breath.
My bedroom looked much the same. Same twin-size bed under the window. Same tall chest of drawers against the far wall, with a desk next to it. The familiarity of it was both haunting and comforting.
And while it was kind of eerie being here, there was no place else for me—at least not at the moment. I had no job to go to, no place to call home, and no fiancé anymore.
Leaving Roger was for the best, though. He was overbearing, and it took me way too long to see it. I hadn’t even realized the implication of moving into his house with him. Now, after two years of paying rent to him, I had to leave with nothing to show for it while he’d actually made a profit.
Even if I was being assaulted by memories everywhere I looked, being here felt better than being in Texas at the moment. I stopped at the dining room window and gazed outside, remembering sledding down the hill in the back and hiking over the far ridge.
Even the creaky floorboard in the hallway reminded me of sneaking out and trying to be quiet. My destination, of course, had been the neighboring land that belonged to the Hart family. It was hard not to feel a pang of emotion as I thought about the family next door. Maybe it was because some hidden part of me had always longed for a big family.
There was always something going on at that house. It was constantly loud. Happy. Four boys running around, with a dozen friends in and out. Their fridge was always stocked full of snacks, and Natalie, the ever-doting matriarch of the brood, loved playing host, even if she complained about it from time to time. To me, they had the ideal household, like a TV family. The perfect childhood.
Not that my childhood wasn’t a happy one. It was. Very much so. I loved my grandfather, and he had done an incredible job raising me. But I’d always longed for more, for at least a memory or two of my parents.
Maybe if I’d had a sibling, I wouldn’t feel so alone right now. A sister, maybe, who would fly into town and stay here with me. We would mourn together, and she would help me figure out how things should go.
Grandpa hadn’t wanted a fuss, as he called it, so there was nothing to plan. He hadn’t wanted a funeral. Waste of money, he’d once said.
He’d been cremated two days after his passing, and at some point, I knew that Mr. Davis from the funeral home would drop off the urn for me. It was something I was dreading, especially with no one here to share it with. I must have gotten used to having Roger around, because at least he paid some attention, however minimal, to my needs.
“Knock, knock!” a female voice called out from the front porch.
Confusion raced through me as I made my way toward the door. “Yes?”
A face I hadn’t seen in years appeared at the doorway.Natalie Hart.
Her hair was completely gray now and cut into an efficient but stylish shoulder-length bob. Her eyes had a few more wrinkles around them than I remembered, but her smile was every bit as kind. Just seeing her here soothed my ragged nerves.
“Look at you,” she said, smiling. “Even prettier than I remember.”
I smiled right along with her and let her pull me in for a hug when I opened the screen door. When was the last time I’d hugged someone? I savored the closeness of the only person I’d ever remotely seen as a mother figure.
“Are you okay?” she asked, releasing me and giving me a serious look.
I nodded and swallowed a lump of emotion in my throat. “I’m not sure it’s really hit me yet.”
