Chapter Two Clover

Chapter Two Clover

Saturday night, December 2, 2023

Hark! The herald angels sing, “Glory to the newborn king...”

Clover Mills gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to stomp over to her window and draw the blinds. Carolers. December had only just begun, and they were already outside, disturbing her peace with their good tidings and cheer.

If it were any other year in their sleepy town of Salem, Ohio, Clover would have been elated. She would already be outside, dressed in her fiancé’s warm coat and her fuzziest pajama bottoms, ready to pass out her father’s famous hot cocoa to the town’s beloved Christmas choir, while her mom chatted up the neighbors and smiled slyly when they inevitably asked her for the recipe for her famous mac ’n’ cheese. Clover and her parents and her fiancé would be seated in cozy lounge chairs in the front yard, beside the signature Black Santa Claus that her mother had adored, and they’d take care not to wince as their nearest neighbor, Taylor Blankenship, persistently and earnestly sang off-key.

But there would be none of that this year. Clover had neither her mother nor her fiancé, and the sweet sound of coming Christmas

outside her window only made her more aware of those two facts.

She considered her next move. If she did draw the shades, they’d see her in the act. In a town as small as theirs, it’d cause

a scandal. She could nearly imagine the headline “Clover the Hermit Now Hates Christmas” written across her church’s bulletin, then her father getting a text message the next morning asking if they needed to start

yet another prayer circle. However, if she didn’t move at all, they’d still see her, choosing not to come outside but instead

resolutely Scrooge-like in her decision to stay seated at her desk—which was, of course, situated across from the window.

As Taylor Blankenship’s voice cracked on Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace, Clover sighed heavily and decided it would be best if she put the carolers out of her mind entirely. They might’ve been loud,

and also not in key, but Clover had gotten good at blocking things out over the past few months.

Well, pretty good. The email she’d been ignoring for the last twenty-four hours was still taunting her, still marked unread on the open

laptop screen she had now returned to scrutinizing.

New request from your chosen Vacate location(s), the subject read.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. She’d managed to forget that she had signed up on that silly website. She didn’t have Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, Snapback, or whatever the hell else was being built by their future robot overlords, and she was stubbornly proud to keep it that way. She didn’t even have a smartphone.

But she had had a moment of weakness, nearly a year ago. It had been only a few weeks after her mother died and barely a month after

she’d ended things with Knox. She had been feeling lonely and overwhelmed, stuck in a house she’d once shared with people

she’d loved and lost, and then she overheard someone at church mention something about a cheap and easy way to get out of

town.

She’d considered only one location: a city someone else she’d loved and lost disappeared to eons ago. Not that Clover was

planning to reconnect with her or anything. Hailey was long gone, probably nothing like Clover remembered from their high

school days, skipping classes and sharing dreams. But the memory of those days felt like a comforting fantasy, and she often

wondered if San Francisco would be like that too. A distant city she knew nothing about and that didn’t know her. At the time

it felt as much like a dream as anything else Clover could conjure up. After all, who in their right mind would swap out swanky

San Francisco for literally anywhere in Ohio? Apparently one Bee Tyler, age twenty-nine.

But Miss Tyler was ten months too late. Clover had signed up for Vacate before her father’s heart attack, and that was the straw that snapped her back into shape. Now she was focused on nursing her dad back to health and on keeping the farm intact. Sure, she wasn’t nearly as social as she used to be, but she had the sense to step up and take care of what she did have. And these days she felt fine, mostly. Tired, usually. But fine.

Of course, now that December had snuck up on her, old memories were starting to resurface. What made it worse was that people

here were starting to ask about the annual Christmas party her mother used to throw. Earlier that day, while stopped at a

red light on her way home from the grocery store, Lester, the man they always bought their Christmas trees from, had rolled

down his window and said, “Hoo boy, I can’t wait to see what you do with that mac ’n’ cheese this year, Clover. I know you

learned a thing or two from your mama growing up!” He was a nice man, and he’d meant well, but that didn’t mean Clover hadn’t

had half a mind to sneak over to his tree lot and light all his stock on fire.

Even now she chuckled at the thought.

“Whatchu laughing at?”

The laptop snapped shut. Clover prayed she didn’t look guilty as her father ambled in from the foyer. “Taxes,” she replied

as if her heart wasn’t about to explode out of her chest. He looked at her with one eyebrow raised as he held what looked

to be a small bundle of feathers. Clover cleared her throat. “How’s Bennie?”

As if on cue, the silkie chicken in his hands popped her head up and clucked.

“Oh, fine,” he said, patting the little chicken’s head lightly until she tucked her head back into her feathers. “Just a little

cough. Hannah over at the vet’s said she’ll get over it soon enough.”

Clover gave her dad a small smile. Everyone coped with death in different ways—Jimmy’s way was spending a little bit more time with the animals. He’d lately taken to Bennie, who had been shipped to them on accident. She was the farm’s only silkie, and apparently Jimmy’s favorite child. Clover watched as he whispered soothing words to her, taking long, slow steps over to his favorite love seat, which was positioned directly in front of the fire Clover had lit for him. Then he muttered to himself about whether Bennie would be too warm.

“You know, Daddy, for someone who insists on living on his own, you sure do treat this place like your personal property.”

“Because I paid for it!” he said as he dropped into his seat. Then he flicked the switch on the recliner as if it had the

final say, and he and Bennie settled in.

Clover rolled her eyes as she watched them. She liked to give him a hard time, but she understood why he chose to visit her

every night before retiring to his apartment—the converted cellar that she and Knox used to live in when they were in college.

She and her dad were both lonely now.

Even if he did have Bennie.

“Daddy, don’t let that chicken do her business inside this house. She’s not special just because she’s sick.”

He responded with an exaggerated snore. Clover sighed and relocated to the kitchen, so she could continue ruminating over the Vacate request in peace. She settled into the breakfast nook, a pillow placed at her lower back for optimum comfort and a blanket draped over her knees. The nook was framed by a large window that overlooked the front yard, and while it was typically one of her favorite spots in the house, she was disappointed to realize that she could see the carolers better from here—which meant they could see her too.

Just as she considered leaving, a sharp giggle pierced her thoughts, followed by the hushed rise of conversation. Against

her better judgment, Clover turned. There was Knox, her childhood sweetheart and ex-fiancé, chatting up the carolers as he

passed out what looked to be brownies.

Warm, delicious brownies.

Her stomach made a sound of desperation.

She could resist. She would resist. Except that... well, she hadn’t eaten yet that evening. And Knox was a devilishly delightful cook. And while he

was still the farm’s manager and continued to rent the studio out past the chicken coop, they hadn’t talked much beyond business

and livestock since she’d unceremoniously ended their engagement weeks before last Christmas.

She understood his need for space. She needed it too. But seeing him out there, continuing some form of the tradition they’d

enjoyed together for the better part of their adult lives, made something in her ache. And seeing blond-haired, blue-eyed

Taylor Blankenship flirt with him shamelessly in front of her house made Clover want to roll her eyes so hard that, hopefully,

she’d never have to see Taylor’s stupid cherub grin again.

Ugh. Taylor. She was a fine person, but also, God, she was the worst.

Clover watched as Taylor laid her hand on Knox’s muscular forearm, no doubt trying to comment on how strong he looked, despite the fact that he was covered in a massive winter coat like the rest of them. It was a curious thing, to feel left out without feeling jealous, while someone attempted to woo the person you’d once planned to spend your life with.

Clover wondered, not for the first time, if that made her broken in some way. To have had the opportunity to be loved by a

man as wonderful and charming as Knox... and to not want it.

Knox gently maneuvered away from Taylor’s eager hand and turned to face Clover—or rather, the window she sat in front of.

She blushed, realizing she was caught. He waved. She waved back.

Then he walked toward her front door.

Frazzled, Clover bolted up, leaving the laptop forgotten on the table. She walked quickly to the foyer and had barely needed

to hear a knock before she opened the door. “Knox,” she said breathlessly. “Hi!”

He smiled—politely. “Hi, Clover.”

They were quiet for a moment, and an awkwardness spread between them that Clover had not yet grown accustomed to. Where was

the easy banter they’d always had? The wordless conversation they used to share?

“How are you?” she said, just as he said, “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “Yes. Merry Christmas to you too.”

“I baked some brownies for the carolers. I thought you and Jimmy would want some too,” he said.

Clover’s smile faltered. For a time, he used to say “Father Mills”—a playful joke between him and her father, the evolution from “Mr. Mills” when they were teenagers to “father-in-law Mills.”

Now he was just Jimmy.

“Thank you,” she said. She took the half-empty plate of brownies, and with a polite nod, he turned and walked back down the

steps and headed toward his studio.

Clover closed the door. She took a deep breath. And then she called to her father.

“Brownies from Knox!” She walked back to the kitchen and placed the brownies on the kitchen island. “And don’t you dare feed

any to Bennie!” she added.

Then she sat back in her nook, this time fully facing away from the window. She wondered if this would be the rest of her

December here: watching a fun-house mirror version of the life she used to live, the family she used to have.

The email in her inbox was still unread. New request from your chosen Vacate location(s).

She clicked it open.

Hi, I’m Bee, the message said. I’m 29 years old and I work in app development in San Francisco. (I know, I’m such a stereotype.) I saw your listing in Salem,

and wow, your house looks GORGEOUS. I have to admit, my place is much smaller. It’s a condo, but the view is incredible. I’ll attach some photos here. I know it’s a bit

last minute, but would you want to swap houses this month? I’d love to see some snow, and you might enjoy milder weather—plus

we have some great events in the city. The Holiday Makers’ Market in Union Square is AMAZING.

Anyway, fingers crossed!

xx Bee

Clover looked at the dates Bee requested—they’d swap houses starting next week, and... they’d both miss Christmas.

Hm. A few weeks to clear her mind and get away from town, and this house, and all the memories that came with them...

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Not at all.