𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆
“Your father left everything to you.”
It was late winter when I received the call. I’d been trying to fix my dishwasher to no avail when my cell phone rang. I rinsed the suds from my hands—it was spewing water and soap—and answered with a grumble.
Then the woman who had acted as my father’s lawyer dropped the bomb without even a curt hello. Quite rude, if I was being honest.
“What?”
Because what else could I say?
Her voice never wavered from its polished professionalism.
“Is this Anna Halle?”
“Yes.”
I watched a squirrel climb onto the frosted sill of the window above my sink.
What are you doing up, little one?
It was snowing.
“Your late father left you his assets,” she said. “I’ve called to book an appointment to sign the necessary paperwork so they may be relinquished to you.”
I took a moment to answer, staring at my glass dining table and metal chairs, trying to understand what was happening.
“Ma’am?”
I hadn’t seen my father in a decade. The last time we’d spoken had been on the phone. I’d told him I was never coming back.
He’d told me not to.
Yet he’d left me everything.
And he was apparently dead.
“He’s gone?” I asked once my mouth began working again.
Silence.
Then: “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
“What kind?”
Did it matter?
“Bowel, I believe.”
I wanted to feel vindictive. To tell myself he deserved it—that kind of end, alone. But I couldn’t. A pang deep in my gut opened into a dull ache, throbbing and persistent. I placed a hand on my stomach and walked into my small living room, sitting in the olive-green armchair beside the brick fireplace.
“He left me something?” My voice sounded distant.
“Everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“His house. His assets. He didn’t have much in terms of money.”
“In Fairview?”
“Yes.”
My childhood home. The one I vowed I’d never return to.
She didn’t wait for me to speak.
“My office is on Park and Main.”
I heard her distantly.
“On the nineteenth of the month, at ten in the morning,” she said. “Would that date and time work for you?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Thank you for your cooperation at such a difficult time. I will leave a message the day before, reminding you.”
“All right. See you then.”
She ended the call.
My phone slipped from my hands. It hit the chair’s arm, then the floor, bouncing across the grey carpet.
I didn’t cry.
I wanted to. My eyes burned, and my throat tightened, but I held it in.
After all, that’s what you taught me, Dad.
(7 months later)
I passed Dot and Fred’s apple farm with my windows rolled down, inhaling the smell of grass and dirt. I didn’t know if they were still in business or if their son, Greg, had taken over. I was glad to see their name was still on the wooden sign, at least.
The road into Fairview Pines was bumpy and cracked. I jostled and cursed under my breath, forgetting how out of touch this place was.
I should’ve remembered.
I grew up here.
My winters were spent playing with Rebecca in the forest behind my dad’s house—or I guess mine. Then spring would come, and I’d help with planting the crops that had been sown during the colder months. I spent my summers swimming in the bay behind Pete’s wheat farm. And in autumn, I went trick-or-treating and enjoyed the fairs the mayor liked to set up every season.
It sounded like a dream when I thought of it like that.
And in many ways, it was.
The others—the ones behind closed doors—I ran away from and never looked back.
I took it all in with a heavy heart as I drove down the winding road to the place I once called home.
Pete’s farm, with grain silos shadowing the wheat fields swaying in the summer breeze. Georgina’s ranch, horses grazing just past the rickety fencing meant to keep her cows and pigs out of Jeremiah’s fields. They always made it in anyway. He’d pretend to kick up a fuss, grumbling and complaining, but he always sent the animals home well-fed and happy.
I reached town, driving past the giant sign painted with apples, peaches, and corn:
Fairview Pines
Home of the Giant Apple!
I missed this.
I could almost forget why I’d run away—almost.
He’s gone, I told myself. Maybe it will be different now.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel as I drove the narrow streets of Fairview, familiar yet touched with age and change.
Martha’s Boutique—a small store sandwiched between a bookshop that hadn’t been there when I’d lived here over a decade ago and Bart’s Diner—had been painted bright pink.
It matched the rest of the town.
I knew right away Nancy wasn’t the mayor anymore. She’d never have allowed the buildings to be painted yellows, oranges, reds, blues, and purples—as if someone had dropped a box of crayons and decided to paint with the first colour their fingers touched.
Bright. Whimsical.
I drove through the town hub as one of the only cars on the road. Small shops, the lone town diner, and Martin’s grocery outlet passed me.
I tried not to reminisce, but I couldn’t stop myself when I drove by the schoolhouse.
It looked exactly the same as when I left.
A long, single-storey building. Pine and memories in every plank.
I pulled my car into the lot. Parking, I got out. The summer heat blared down, warming my bare shoulders. A light breeze rustled my skirt as I walked to the field behind the building, and I found what I was looking for beside a small, baby tree whose trunk was wrapped in white crepe paper. The giant pine overshadowing it swayed softly.
“Hello, again,” I whispered, placing my hand against the massive trunk. It probably wasn’t even full-grown and wouldn’t be for another ten years. I planted it when I was a junior in high school. I inhaled the scent of dirt and nature. “I’m back—are you surprised? I think I told you the day I left that I was never stepping foot in this town again. And yet, here I am. Did you miss me?”
I was talking to a tree, yes, but technically, I was its mother. I had a responsibility to make sure it was happy and flourishing.
“You look healthy to me,” I said, patting the trunk, smiling. “They took good care of you. Did you—”
“Ma’am?”
The husky voice caused me to jump. I spun around.
A familiar face met me. Not my first—I’d seen people walking around the town’s downtown, older and wiser—but this was the first one to steal my breath and tighten my chest uncomfortably.
Jason Heart.
A little taller than I, but he still felt shadowing, as his icy blue eyes slowly widened with recognition. Did I really not change at all? How disappointing. His black T-shirt pulled at broad shoulders and the lean muscles of his arms. Thighs built for running, probably after prey, were squished into dark jeans. He held a litter picker and bucket, frowning slightly. Probably some form of community service for criminal activities.
As he stepped closer to the tree, a whiff of wood smoke and soap hit me. My chest constricted.
“Anna?” he whispered, his deep voice shaking a little.
I knew what he felt because I was feeling the same—shaky, like the world had stopped spinning and now gravity had betrayed me, and the only thing keeping me from floating up and up, to be lost in the wide blue sky, was my quickening breath.
