CHAPTER THREE

Maven

Iroll my window down, the fresh mountain air blowing in my face with a comforting crispness that I dearly missed. As the bookshop comes into view, my heart expands, and a smile spreads across my face. The red sign hanging above the door is so worn that it's hard to distinguish what it says, but I know the name well.

Tall Tales Bookshop

Before my mom can put the car into park, I reach for the handle on the door.

"Maven! You're a grown woman, for crying out loud! At least wait for the car to stop moving before you decide to jump out of it!"

Ignoring her pleas, I quickly walk up to the shop, a warm light shining through the old windows, which were probably at one time crystal clear but are now foggy with age. I catch a glimpse of the rows of bookshelves inside and pull open the heavy, wooden door, the bell above the entrance chiming a welcoming tone as the strong, wonderful scent of paper crashes into me. A young woman with beautiful, brown skin, dark hair, and warm, hazel eyes appears from behind a stack of books.

"MAVE! You're back!" she says, throwing her arms wide. She probably calls me "Mave" more than anyone, and I have her labeled as "Tash" in my phone. Simple nicknames, but ones that have always stuck.

"I'm back!" I run toward her and fall into her arms.

"Oh my goodness, Maven! I've missed you so much. I've been waiting all day for you to finally come by. I almost called, but I didn't want to rush you." Tasha gives me a comforting squeeze, and I return the sentiment with all my heart because I've missed her too.

Tasha has been my best friend since I was six years old, but I haven't seen her in person for a couple of years. She came to see me in the hospital—though I wasn't awake to remember—and once I started recovering, we texted and video chatted almost every day, and she came to visit me a few times. Seeing her face-to-face comforts my soul—this visit is long overdue.

"You're here, like here here!" Tasha exclaims.

"I know! It's kind of insane—it feels like it's been forever, but it also feels like I was just here, you know?" I reply with a deep exhale, but before I can say more, the charming sound of the bell rings again as my mom enters the shop. In the time it takes me to look back to where Tasha has been standing, she has already run past me to wrap her arms around my mom.

"Tasha! You sweet girl, how are you?"

"I'm great, Tova, even better now that my favorite people are back in town."

"We're happy to be back. Right, Mave?"

They both look at me, waiting for my response. I know they mean well, and this is probably just their way of gauging how I'm doing, but I'm not entirely sure how I feel. Luckily, I've had years of faking my way through these attempts at inquiring about my mental state. Although, it's been a process uncovering how many questions have underlying intentions.

When people ask me, "How are you?" they really mean, "How have you been since the accident?"

Or, "What have you been up to?" means they want to know how well I've adjusted.

Most of the time, I let it roll off me without a second thought, but there are some occurrences when the true answers to those inquiries linger in my mind. I wish people would let me handle it in my own time instead of trying to pry answers out of me like my feelings are in a locked box that has no key.

I wish I could say that now, but I think better of it. I don't want to add on to this already emotional day.

"Very," I say with a smile.

And it's true, I am happy, but that word seems so basic compared to all the feelings flowing through me now. Because honestly, I'm feeling a lot more than simply joy, but labeling it as happiness is enough.

I wasn't expecting everything to magically fall into place. I want to take it one day at a time, and right now, my best friend and I are standing side by side, and that is all that matters to me.

There's a sound from the set of stairs toward the back, and I already know who's making their way down the creaky steps from the apartment above the shop. The distinct sound is something I have heard countless times over the years. Tasha's mom, Mina, rarely had anything but a bright, sunny smile on her face, and as she comes into view, it looks like that hasn't changed an iota as my mom and I meet her at the bottom of the stairs. Tasha is my best friend, and Mina is my mom's.

"I thought I heard you two. Come here!" Mina pulls us into a tight hug, squishing the three of us together. As we break apart, she asks, "Have you two already been up to the cabin?"

I look to my mom to answer. "We have. We actually just came from there. Thank you again for taking care of everything, Mina. It's made everything manageable."

Mina smiles warmly, taking hold of my mom's arm. "Of course! Happy to help, but it wasn't just me; a lot of us pitched in, so it was no trouble at all."

The four of us chat for a few minutes about trivial things, like how the weather was on the drive up, but I can tell Tasha is as anxious as I am to go out to dinner like we've been planning for weeks.

Unable to wait any longer, Tasha interrupts. "I say we let you two catch up. Maven and I have other plans." Tasha winks at me.

"You mean you don't want to sit and talk with two middle-aged women all night?" Mina replies with a smirk.

"No offense, Mom, but yeah."

"Oh, Tash!" she says, swatting at her as we make our way to the door, laughing.

"I'll see you later, Mom," I say over my shoulder.

"Have fun! See you later. Remember not to stay out too late, we have a lot to do tomorrow." Her light, sing-song voice carries through the store as we exit the shop, and when I look through the window as we pass, my mom and Mina are already in a deep conversation, both of them smiling and giddy. I hear my mom laugh before the door completely closes, and I'm comforted that my mom is relishing the time with her best friend just as much as I am.

I haven't seen her smile as much as she has today in a very long time.

Tasha and I are linked arm in arm as we make our way through town.

"Does The Blue Bird sound okay?" Tash asks, squeezing my forearm.

"Is that even a question? I've been thinking about their scones all day. I've missed them so much," I say, beaming. Just talking about them makes my mouth water.

As we make the short trek from the bookshop to The Blue Bird, we weave in and out of people on the sidewalk—a couple of them I recognize, but most are tourists. Unfortunately, the ones I make eye contact with notice me too, and they quickly turn a grave face into a smile, offering a sad nod—a look of pity flashing across their faces.

I'm prepared for these reactions.

Sort of.

One of the downsides of Solitude Ridge being a small town—and there are few—is that it means everyone knows the details about your life that most neighbors in large areas or cities normally wouldn't. I'm not surprised that people remember the accident because it was significant for our community, and I watch the recollection on their faces as if it were yesterday.

But for me, it feels like a lifetime ago.

I try to push aside the grief of recalling the countless trips here over the years, and try my best to focus on the fact that they were good times as we step inside The Blue Bird, the warm, bright-blue lights imitating the restaurant's sign. The interior hasn't changed a bit, with its cozy style—but I don't recognize the people working. While the staff has always been mostly made up of the local teenagers, I look for familiar faces, but see none. Or maybe I do know them but they've changed so much in the last five years I don't recognize them.

We take our seats in the familiar, bright-blue laminate, upholstered booths, and a young girl wearing the staple blue-and-white striped button-up shirt and white apron takes our orders.

The Blue Bird is known for good food, but the scones are the main pull. Each is perfectly baked to create a rich, buttery texture—crisp on the outside and soft in the middle—covered in powdered sugar, and served with a side of sweet icing to drip over the top. Tasha always dumps her entire cup of icing over her scone, while I like a little drizzle. Not too sweet; just the perfect amount to balance the flavors.

"So, tell me everything! Please don't leave anything out," I say once our food arrives.

"Hmm, where do I even begin?" she asks, folding her arms in front of herself and resting them on the table. "Well, Kaden and Trista broke up about twenty times since you were last here, but they got married about a year ago, if you can believe it."

"I don't believe it, actually," I say with a chuckle. They were the last couple I'd ever thought would settle down together. "Tell me more!" I urge, loving how Tasha's personality shines when spilling gossip. I've missed her bright positivity and enthusiasm.

For the next hour, Tasha fills me in on all the town drama as we indulge ourselves with the deliciousness of the battered and fried perfection. I spend most of the time laughing, as Tasha's highly entertaining exuberance fuses into everything she says.

"Oh! And we have a legit coffee shop now with fancy drinks, desserts, and everything," she goes on eagerly.

"I saw that when we pulled in. I love it!"

Baked goods and coffee are my weaknesses.

"Yeah, a retired couple bought the space about a year ago, and it's been a big hit with the town and tourists."

"That's great!"

Tash stops for a moment, pursing her lips and giving me a knowing look. "So . . ."

"So . . ." I mimic.

"How are you really feeling about being back?"

Tasha might be the only person in my life who gives it to me straight and asks me to do the same. She doesn't dance around tough subjects, and it's refreshing most of the time, but definitely not now.

"Honestly," I say, pausing for a few more seconds, "I don't know yet."

She studies my face. "Was it hard seeing the cabin again?"

I nod. "But it also made me happy. It's all just weird."

Tasha hums in agreement. "I have to say, seeing you walk into the shop today was like witnessing a miracle." Her eyes appear glassy, like she might cry, but she keeps it in. I coyly smile, not ready to go there—not even with her.

"Yeah, I guess in a way it was."

"And what about work?"

"Everything went smoothly, actually. As soon as I made the request, it was just some paperwork to fill out and I was good to go. Turns out, taking a sabbatical was a lot easier than I thought."

Tasha nods along. "That's amazing."

I shrug. "It's my dad's company, so I doubt they could have said no."

Tasha looks a little lost on what to say next. Instead, she takes my hand from across the table. "I'm proud of you, Maven, and in case it wasn't already obvious enough, I'm so happy you are back."

With both my hands now holding hers, I say, "Me too, and thank you." We hold on to each other for a little longer until I change the subject.

"Anyway. What do you have going on tomorrow?"

Tasha huffs dramatically. "Inventory day."

"What does that entail, exactly?" I wonder, picking up the last bit of scone left on my plate.

"It's terrible! We have to go through every single book in the shop to check it for damage, clean off the shelves, and scan them into the new system to catalog. All the books we don't keep, we're donating." She releases a long breath.

I don't admit it, but I'm dreading my day tomorrow too. My mom and I agreed to go through everything that had been packed away, but so much of it was my dad's . . .

"What if I come and help you?" I ask, hoping to put off the anguish for a bit longer.

Tasha perks up. "You want to help at the shop? Don't you have a bunch of unpacking to do?"

She's right, but I don't want to think about it. Not yet. It was enough for me just to see the cabin again, and I have no motivation to dive into the past all at once. I have time. It isn't going anywhere.

"Truthfully, I think it might be good for my mom to look over my dad's things alone first. I'm sure there are more items she'll want to keep than I will, so it might be good to give her some space."

Tasha contemplates my answer for a moment, but she looks convinced. "Okay. I mean, it would be amazing if you did. It could actually be fun if it was the two of us."

"Well then, count me in!" I say enthusiastically.

"Okay, but fair warning, we need to start early to get as much done as we can before the weekend."

I shake my head. "I don't mind. Like you said, it will be fun."

Tash looks pleased, and I'm glad she doesn't push further on the fact that I'm clearly avoiding going through my dad's stuff.

"In that case, we better head back so we can get up bright and early," she says, scooting out of the booth, and I follow.

"Sounds perfect."

The mountain air kisses us in a cool, crisp breeze as we return to the bookshop. Strings of lights adorn every lamppost, creating a tapestry of a dream-like ambiance through the streets.

I've always loved the way the town feels in the evenings. The low sunset rays behind the tall evergreen trees shadow them in black as they are silhouetted against the twilight sky. The bookshop is closed for customers, but there's still light streaming from the windows as we walk inside. My mom and Mina must have moved their conversation to the upstairs apartment where Tasha and her mother live. We're quiet as we make our way up, but before we reach the door leading to the apartment, I pause when I hear my mother's voice drifting toward us on the other side. The door is slightly ajar, and Tasha reaches for the handle, but I softly grab her hand before she touches it. My mom is speaking in a low, serious tone, but I can hear her words clearly.

"I was shocked when she suggested it. Visiting is one thing, living here is another. I'm trying to be supportive, but . . ."

"But what?" Mina asks in the same low tenor, like they are unconsciously trying to whisper.

"She still never talks about it. She's been so focused on getting well and her career that she hasn't made room in her mind to mourn him. Not really."

Tasha shoots me a concerned look, but I ignore it, leaning closer to the door.

"Maybe living here will help her do that. With so many memories of him, living in the cabin, how could she not?" Mina asks.

There's silence for a few seconds, and I think about opening the door, but then my mom speaks again.

"I thought so too at first. She loves this place so much, but I worry she will focus on everything else—like making trips to the bookshop, the coffee shop, anything to distract her—so she can ignore everything that reminds her of Marc. She's still running away from that day, and I fear it will only lead her to face more down the road. I'm not sure if she's ready for it."

I knock on the door, pushing it open abruptly. "We're back!"

Both women are sitting at the island in the small kitchen, and they jump as I barrel in.

"Hey, girls!" my mom says a little too loudly, and I pretend Tasha and I weren't just eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Did you guys have a good time catching up?" I quickly ask.

"Of course we did," Mina replies, grabbing my mom's hand.

Tasha keeps giving me side glances, and I shoot her a "we'll talk about it later" look.

"So, Mave, were the scones just as good as you remembered?" Mina asks.

"Oh, absolutely! There's nothing like them anywhere," I say.

"Did you tell her about the coffee shop?" Mina asks Tasha.

"Of course I did. They will be pleased to know their best customer has now arrived," she says, blowing her lips.

"I'm already planning on getting a coffee there tomorrow," I add, not attempting to refute that comment because she's probably right.

"Speaking of tomorrow, we better get going. Still lots to do at the cabin," my mom says, standing, and I catch the worried glance Mina gives her before we head for the door.

On our drive back, my mom asks about Tasha and our night. I share some of the gossip, and then I ask her, "What did you and Mina talk about?" I try to sound as subtle as possible, wondering if she will actually tell me what I overheard, but I'm not at all surprised when she says, "Oh, just mom talk," shaking her head like it was nothing major, and I leave it at that, knowing better than to pry further.

We remain silent the rest of the way home, but my mind is anything but quiet. I knew my mom had reservations about me coming back to Solitude Ridge. I mean, who wouldn't after what happened here? But I didn't know her concerns for me ran so deep that she doubted my capability to succeed here. But the biggest problem isn't if I believe her, it's that she knows me better than anyone, and I hate that she's worried. It makes me think maybe I haven't been playing it off as well as I thought. Her words keep echoing over and over in my mind.

"She's still running away from that day, and I fear it will only lead her to face more down the road. I'm not sure if she's ready for it."

The truth is, she's right. I am running away.

And I fear that maybe the thing I'm running away from is something that, no matter what I do or where I go, I will never escape.