Chapter 1
Eden
The last few miles of the trip home to Elizabethton down the winding mountain roads is always the best part. When I know I'm close enough to smell Mama's homemade roast and potatoes, or the scent of Daddy's tobacco pipe. But this time is different. I was here only ten days ago for the service, but it didn't feel permanent, not until they put his body in the ground in the back pasture.
The trees have spring buds poking through shoots on their branches, and baby animals peek out now and then as I meander the slick mountain pass, but instead of being enamored with the beauty of it all like normal, I'm sullen, withdrawn into myself and grateful I don't have to see anyone for a few days. My heart squeezes in my chest just thinking about having to deal with all the overly personal questions people in this little town will ask when they learn I'm back for a while.
Not sure if I'll stick around, but I have Daddy's affairs to get in order, final expenses to figure out and all. If it's as bad as it looked when I stayed at the homestead for the service, I'll have my work cut out for me. At least I managed to keep the town busybodies off my back, or maybe they realized how painful it was for me to come back to this town full of dark memories and sadness.
I pull up the lane, winding between the old hickory and oak trees toward the house. The branches wave a welcome to me, their own sort of mourning evident. Leaf litter coats the blacktop driveway Daddy had paved only a few years back to combat loss of gravel when the snow gets bad in the winter. It makes the steep climb a little slippery and the wheels of my Camry slip and spin a bit, but I manage to roll up next to Daddy's old 80s model Ford pickup.
I smile at the sight. He refused to sell the thing because "I can't do repairs on fancy computer cars" was his excuse and favorite thing to say. I miss him and the scent of his pipe already and he's been gone less than two weeks, and I've lived in Johnson City, far away from this place and the painful memories for three years now, ever since Mama had that accident.
My smile fades at the thought and I put the car in park, setting the E-brake to make sure it doesn't roll backward. The house is in bad shape now, has been for a while. The paint is peeling off its wood siding and the porch sags desperately on the west corner. As I stand next to the car, listening to Luna's whimpers from the back seat, I wonder if it's even safe to stay here. The entire house leans on the foundation now, which Daddy called "Charm" but Mark Baker--fire chief--may consider a hazard. But it's home, and as long as I can tend to it, it will be. Or maybe I'll sell the whole place and pretend this part of my life never existed.
Luna paws a the window, whistling through her nose and leaving a fog on the glass. She acts pathetic, but she's really a very smart animal. I got her when I moved into Johnson City because I needed the protection, and she is definitely protective. I open the back door and lean down to unhook her from the safety harness installed in my backseat to keep her safe in the event of an accident. Her tongue laps at my cheek, probably tasting the salt from the tears I cried earlier in the drive. I slick my hand across her white-tan brindled coat and step back so she can jump out. Her long lanky legs carry her like lightning toward the front door. She'll be sad when she realizes Daddy isn't here this time.
Leaving my luggage in the car for now, I slide my keys into my pocket and head toward the house. It's still chilly, and the breeze bites down on my cheeks and the back of my neck as I side step the puddles. Mama would have called it "spring's hugs and kisses." She liked to compare weather to displays of emotion with spring being the season of love and passion. I pray this year spring stays loving and affection it, and refrains from any angry outbursts.
"Come on," I tell Luna, clapping my hand. She sniffs around the old ceramic flower pots long devoid any plant life. The colorful pots use to burst with foliage and blooms of all shapes and sizes, but Daddy never kept up with those either. There are a lot of things he let go when she passed.
Luna comes trotting up the porch steps on my heels and I pull the key out of my pocket to unlock the door. Before the key is all the way in the lock, I hear the rumbling of a large engine, a truck or Jeep. I press my forehead to the door for a second and sigh, then hear the rumble of warning start low in Luna's chest. She'll never hurt a flea, but the bark of a German shepherd-husky mix is something that makes people think twice before approaching me.
I hastily grab her collar as the first bark booms out of her muzzle. She tugs at my grip but so long as I've got a good hold on her, she'll obey me. I look over my shoulder to see a newer, large, Chevy pickup creaking up the drive way slowly. I recognize it instantly. The thick red stripe down the side gives it away before the words "Carter County Fire Chief" are even in focus. Mark Albers, fire chief and nosy neighbor, was Daddy's best friend, and I figured he'd be the first one to come calling. I just thought I'd have a bit more time to adjust to being home.
Luna tugs and barks even harder as Mark stops his truck and slides out. His boots drop in a puddle and send the water out of the divot and trickling down the hill. He lifts the hat off his head and nods at me as he calls out, "Afternoon, Eden."
I can barely hear him over Luna's insanity, so I turn back to the door, wrestling with her while I fumble to get the door open. It sticks a little, between the moisture of the storm and the way the house has settled, it's done that for a while. I shove her into the dark front room and pull the door shut, effectively trapping her inside for now. Then I turn and wipe the moisture from the front doorknob onto my jeans and slide my hands in my front pockets.
It's been so long since I lived here in Elizabethton, I forgot how backward this place is. My skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors probably look foreign to Mark. He's got that classic down-home look, boot-cut Levi's with a nice flannel tucked in. His beard is almost completely gray now too, not unlike Daddy's was. It's painful to compare them because they were the same age, same height, even similar body frame. But Mark lives on and Daddy's massive coronary ended their friendship forever.
"Hey, Mark." I wave at him with one hand then slide it back into my pocket. He ambles up toward the porch but stops short of the steps and looks up at me. There is a sparkle of emotion in his eye. I'm sure it's hard on him too.
"I reckon you'll be here a while to settle some things up." The wad of tobacco in his lip distorts his words, but I'm used to it.
"Uh, yeah." I shrug a shoulder and look down at my feet. Mark knows me well enough to know I'm not good with words in situations like this. I barely spoke the day of Daddy's funeral, and not at all when Mama died.
"If you want, I can give you a lift in to see the banker. Seems the sheriff may serve papers out here soon. There's a matter of back taxes..." As the fire chief Mark plays the role of law enforcement, political voice, and a bit of friendly neighborhood hero. If Daddy had back taxes, it's likely Mark was out here to gently nudge him toward making payments.
"Seriously?" I breathe out, not quite ready to jump right in to handling this sort of stuff.
"Sorry, Eden. There's nothin' I'd like more than to say things will be easy." He hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and spits into the grass.
Luna scratches on the door behind me and barks again, this time a whimper of sadness. She knows Mark, but out here she'd do nothing but put her muddy paws all over his nice jeans and I don't want to have to apologize for that. Besides, it seems like I have a bit of work to do today.
