Page 82 of Bonus Daddy
Maplewood, Vermont, was the kind of idyllic, postcard town that people flocked to for a taste of authentic New England.
It was the place I’d spent the first half of my life trying to escape and the last several years trying to come back to.
“Can we get ice cream at Scoops?” Greta asked from the back of the car.
I smiled as I kept my focus on the road. “Of course.”
“Can we hike to Cora’s Rock and go behind the falls?” Kit added.
“We sure can.” With every mile, my shoulders lowered, and now that we’d hit town limits, the tension had all but vanished. Already, I was itching to take my mat out into the maple grove. As a kid, I’d spent a great deal of time among the trees, sometimes jumping and maneuvering around the tubing, to get a little peace and quiet.
Three siblings, a working farm, and two parents who loved loudly made me crave stillness from time to time.
I was flooded with memories as I drove through town, passing the general store where I’d worked in high school, then Clem’s Diner, where I’d drowned my sorrows in poutine after Joe Willis didn’t ask me to prom.
Every building was pristine, making it feel like the complete opposite of Jersey City.
It was America’s most charming small town, after all. A designation that was takenveryseriously. Stoneridge, thirty miles north, had been angling to steal the title from us since before I was born. The rivalry had always been heated, and here and there, it turned ugly. Any person who’d grown up here had been raised to have an automatic dislike of any resident of Stoneridge. Like Maplewood, the town consisted mostly of farmland, mountains, and covered bridges. But we’d always had an edge, and every citizen worked hard to keep it that way.
Rural life had changed so much since I was a kid. The granite mining industry had died down, and most timber came from overseas, meaning there simply weren’t many good-paying jobs to keep young people in state. If not for the tourists, I feared, this town would fall apart.
Some neighboring areas had been hit hard by opioids and the loss of manufacturing jobs, but Maplewood had survived. Berkshire Maple could be thanked for that. Though in part, the town was still thriving because the people here reinvested in it. The festivals, the covered bridges, and the waterfall brought people in for all four seasons, keeping shops and businesses open year-round.
After almost six hours in the car, the girls were desperate to escape. The moment the tires crunched over the long gravel drive, they cheered, and I’d barely shifted into park before they threw the doors open and ran straight through the field toward the river.
The temperature today was mild, though the air was sticky with that stifling humidity that descended every July.
As I popped the trunk and grabbed our bags, I considered which trail I’d walk to clear my head and stretch my legs. The distant clucking of the chickens in the far barn and the fresh air wafting around me further settled my nerves.
The farmhouse where we’d grown up had been transformed. Josh had added a shiny metal roof and new siding, and he’d expanded theporch to face the pastures and forest. When I stepped inside, I was certain I’d find even more improvements. Lately, I’d begun worrying about the number of projects my brother had taken on. But I supposed it wasn’t unexpected. Josh had always had a restless mind that could only be quieted by working with his hands.
As I hauled our things up the path, admiring the black-eyed Susans and coreopsis blooming on either side, I yearned to text Brian.
To check on him. Show him the view and the wide blue skies.
Though just crossing the state line had relieved a good deal of stress I was under, we weren’t here for vacation. Yes, I intended to rest and spend time with my family, but this was a working trip. I had many details to take care of in the week we’d be here. I had to register the girls for school, apply for jobs, and negotiate rent with Josh, who continued to insist that he wouldn’t charge me at all.
Knowing him, he’d made significant changes to the cottage on the property. That alone had probably cost thousands, so there was no way I wouldn’t contribute. He’d warned me the renovations weren’t finished yet, so the girls and I would be staying at the farmhouse this week.
The thought of how I’d repay him instantly soured my mood.
Now that uprooting our lives had become a reality, the idyllic dream I’d held tight to had morphed into thoughts of all the tasks I’d have to complete.
I couldn’t deny the pull of this place, the happy memories, and the slower pace. Vermont would be good for the girls and for me. Yet for the last several days, I’d begun to consider all we’d be leaving behind in Jersey.
Lana and Max, Kit’s piano teacher, Greta’s sports friends, Sloane and Lo. And, most importantly, Brian.
In a few short months, he’d become an irreplaceable part of my life. A friend and a confidant. And during that weekend in Boston, a lot more.
Josh appeared in the doorway of the barn, his baseball cap low, his beard untamed, and his giant dog, Bruce, at his side.
“Jessie,” he called as he jogged toward me. Before I could argue that I didn’t need help, he’d taken all the bags from my hands. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Josh was the quiet one, but the brightness in his dark eyes gave him away. He was delighted to see me.
I threw my arms around him and, with my face buried in his chest, said, “I’ve missed you, little brother.”
“Come on, I’ll get you settled. I take it the girls are running wild and barefoot already?”
