A coin glinted in the light from the streetlamps, teetering on the edge of the fountain’s rim, and April smiled slightly as she reached for it, tucking it tightlyinto her palm. All she needed was a fresh start. To rediscover who she was without Tyler, and without her dad. Somehow leaving New York had pulled at the old wounds of her grief, and, more than anything, all she wanted was to start afresh, to navigate happiness without the presence of two of the most important men in her life, now gone.
Her fingers gripped the coin for a moment before releasing it into the water with a gentle plop. Throat tightening, she blinked several times and shook out her hands, like she could release the weight of her thoughts into the fountain’s waters.
It had been a long-ass day.
The breeze stirred, gently lifting a strand of her newly dyed hair, and she bit her lip when it seemed to caress her cheek the way her dad used to do, like the town was welcoming her home.
CHAPTER TWO
Wish made, and legs sufficiently stretched, she made her way back across the damp grass and over the road to her car. Despite the detour taking less than ten minutes in total, she felt better for it. Different, somehow.
A smile curved her mouth in the near-dark as she imagined what her dad would have said if he’d heard the thought—There’s nothing a bit of fresh air can’t fix.
The smile faded and she exhaled raggedly before turning over the ignition. Her dad’s absence was proof that there were, in fact, some things a walk outside couldn’t fix, but she knew he would have told her not to be so cynical. That the earth has ways of healing that can’t be measured. He’d been a bit of a hippy like that.
April laughed and the sound was wet, so she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, swiping away her tears with the palm of her hand as she pulled out of the church’s parking lot and back onto the main road.
Her parents lived at the other end of town in the same little suburban community where April and herbrother, Noah, had grown up. After their dad had died, there’d been talk of selling the place for something smaller—a fresh start. But their mom had been against the idea and really they’d wanted to do whatever felt right to her in the moment. Six months later, April was questioning whether that had been the best approach.
The brakes faintly squealed as she pulled up to the curb outside of her childhood home and took it in for the first time since the funeral. The grass in the front yard had gotten a little too long, unkempt instead of healthy, and the blackberry bushes had started to grow over the top of the white picket fence that sealed the garden off from the sidewalk.
Once upon a time, her mom had loved gardening. It was an activity they’d done together when April was growing up, and it was probably the thing that had felt the most unnatural about living in the city: not having that green space, dirt to bury her fingers in, plants to tend. But she’d persevered, because she’d thought Tyler was worth it—that the future they were building together was worth it.
She’d been wrong.
April stepped out of the car and hesitated before grabbing her phone from the front seat, tucking it into her bra, and avoiding the unread notifications spanning her lock screen. She’d deal with all ofthatlater.
The closer she got to the front door, the harder her heart beat and the more signs of neglect shesaw—flowers in the hanging baskets on either side of the steps that led to the small porch dead or dying, muddy footsteps stamped across the porch in a way that would normally have driven Kathy Jones around the bend but had been left to dry onto the white-painted wood.
April should have come home sooner.
There was probably a key under the worn brown welcome mat, but April didn’t bother to search for it. It was Magnolia Springs—who’d ever heard of locking the front door? The handle turned easily under her touch and she stepped inside after a moment’s hesitation. It was quieter than usual. Flickering lights played against the sea-foam walls of the hallway, the TV clearly on in the room just off to the left, but otherwise the house was still.
April toed off her shoes, wincing when one thumped to the floor a little too loudly, and then padded over to the living room doorway to peek inside.
She’d been right. The TV was on, the sound playing so quietly that April hadn’t heard it from the hall. All the lights were off but the brightness of the screen fell across her mom’s face. New lines had formed in the familiar expanse of her fair skin, but at least while she was asleep she looked peaceful.
April smiled and stepped backward, deciding to let her mom rest, when the floorboard gave an almighty creak.
Kathy’s eyes flew open and April’s hands shot out to catch the pillow that was flung her way.
“Mom, it’s me.” She tried to hide the laughter in her voice with a cough but Kathy Jones missed nothing.
“Scared me half to death!” Her mom scowled before her face softened and she stood, opening her arms and gripping April tightly when she stepped into the embrace. “Hi, sweetie. I made up your old bed for you. Must have fallen asleep waiting for you to pull up.”
April inhaled deeply, the gentle sweet scent of her mom’s perfume putting her instantly at ease. “It’s OK. I didn’t mean to wake you. I forgot about the floorboard.”
“I asked Martin a hundred times to fix that,” her mom said, glaring down at the offending board even as her voice remained soft. “Your dad never did get around to it, though.” They both stared down at the floor for a second, each lost in their own thoughts, before the moment passed and Kathy seemed to shake herself. “Do you want me to fix you a drink? Hot cocoa?”
April smiled. “No, thanks, Mom. I’m just going to head up and sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“OK, honey.” Her mom pressed a kiss to her cheek and then turned as if to go back to the living room. Kathy chuckled, the sound ringing hollow. “Just turning off the TV, then I’ll be heading up myself.”
April nodded, satisfied, and made her way toward the small staircase at the far end of the hall. Most of the houses in this area were bungalows, all one story, but a handful had second and third floors. A pangwent through her as she reached the top of the stairs and found herself face to face with the pictures on the gallery wall. Not so long ago, her dad had joked that the stairs would be hell on his hips when he got older.
Little had they known, that wasn’t a problem he would have to worry about.
She turned away from her dad’s gentle smile, not quite ready to face one of the last family photos they’d taken together, and instead approached her childhood bedroom. It was muscle memory—the turn from the top, the feel of the handle in her palm—and the room beyond was almost exactly as she’d left it.