CHAPTER One:

   The morning of her twenty-first birthday was like any other, and that was exactly how Lauren Quinley liked it. It wasn’t that she was forgotten. The evening before, her friends had thrown her a small dinner party, and the evidence was in the gift bags still sitting next to the sofa in her living room.

   Weekday mornings were a routine, and growing a year older was not so great an accomplishment that it deserved an exception. The sun had still risen, and the dew on the garden had dried up. It was already sweltering. The only plus side to the heat was that no mosquitoes were pestering her.

   Lauren Quinley had not always been so dedicated to a routine. It kept her mind preoccupied, and it was almost like she still had her grandparents with her. Life was less lonely when she had something to do, especially when it was something she had seen them do a million times before.

   Of course, she had been odd long before her grandparents passed away. Everyone in Silver-Bell Creek would agree on that. It was a farming town, and she was a vegetarian. They still teased her about that, but she didn't mind. Sometimes they caught her talking to her garden plants, and she had a pet chicken, which didn't make sense to them. Buttercup had never even laid eggs, so they thought she was useless. But she was a friend to Lauren, and friends were never useless.

   Lauren sat on the porch, holding a tooled leather diary on her lap.

   “I love you, Amanda, but what could I possibly have to write about?" she muttered under her breath as she tapped a pen against the first page. So far, she had only written a list of facts about herself. Name, age, hobbies, and who her friends were. Hardly riveting.

   The sunlight cast a golden glow over the rosebushes, distracting her from the page in front of her. A few days before, she had pruned the roses without any prior knowledge of how to do it. The only other attempt she’d ever made was when she had tried to surprise her grandma for mother’s day. Mrs. Quinley had been surprised. The roses had not bloomed for a whole year after that fiasco.

   “They will grow back.” Mrs. Quinley had insisted, while secretly hiding the clippers.

   This time they looked a lot less mangled. Lauren wished she had asked her grandparents how to properly prune the roses. There was so much she had never thought to ask, after all, she had never realized they would be gone so soon. Her eyes watered. She slammed her journal shut and set it on the table beside her. It had been a year since their passing. Why did thoughts of them still make her cry?

The porch stairs creaked as she climbed down them and made her way toward the garden. Buttercup peeked out from under them, clucking in protest at being woken up so early.

   “It’s already seven o'clock. Don’t complain,” Lauren replied, smiling as she watched the bird fluff itself up and waddle after her.

   Green beans wound their way in leafy spirals up the fence that encircled the garden. Lauren pulled a stray weed out of the rows of corn. Plump red tomatoes hung from their vines. She needed to do something with them, but she didn’t have time. They would have to wait another day. A huge zucchini peered out from beneath the wide leaves. Somehow she had missed it. Well, too late to do anything about it now.

Lauren picked an orange bell pepper. Buttercup busied herself pecking for her breakfast among the dirt.

   “I’ll leave the gate open for you.” Lauren stepped out of the fence again and turned the sprinkler on. She took a deep breath of the morning air.

In forty-five minutes she had to be at work. All that was left to do was get changed and bike there, which wouldn’t take more than half an hour. The sprinkler was looking tempting. It couldn't hurt to stand in it for one minute? No one was around, and she had to shower anyway.

   Lauren glanced around the yard, then, satisfied that she was completely alone, she stepped into the arch of water as the sprinkler turned her way. It was freezing, but it was better than the oppressive heat. 

   The water drops moved away, then came back around for another round. This time, the spigot flew off, leaving a spray of water that hit her square in the face.

   “Argh!” Lauren jumped out of the way and ran to fix it before it flooded the pea patch.

   Now the water was going every which way. She was soaked by the time she was done wrestling with it. Pushing back the brown hair that was plastered to her cheeks, she made her way back towards the house. Her jeans had grown twice as heavy, and water dripped from her fingers and nose.

   “If anyone saw me,” she said, “they would think I was five years old.”

   The sound of an engine revving in the distance caught her attention. She did not live on a busy road. With dread, she turned to look towards the sound. The edge of the property was lined with trees, allowing some privacy. Eventually, a black mustang appeared in the opening at the end of the driveway and turned in. Dust flew in its wake as it rolled along.

   If Lauren had thought to write a list of things she hated in her journal, it would have gone like this:

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1. Noisy cars.

2. Banks.

3. Snotty people who loved the previous two items.
 

   It just so happened the car pulling to a stop beside her represented all three things. She glanced towards the house. It was too late to run and hide. She would have to face this with a brave face. Mustering all the dignity she could, she stretched to her full height and crossed her hands in front of her – bell pepper held between them.

   The door opened, and a young man with smoothed back blond hair stepped out. He pushed back his sunglasses and his eyebrows arched. “Good morning, Lauren. Did I miss something?” He squinted and looked up, his blue eyes mirroring the cloudless sky. “Was it raining?”

   Shut your trap. Lauren’s mouth pinched. “What do you want, Raymond?”

   He scanned the yard, and his eyes settled on the sprinkler. “Ahh. You weren’t by any chance dancing in that?” A smirk settled on his face. “You've never grown up, have you?”

   “If you have nothing to say, kindly go away.” Lauren put her hands on her hips and strode towards the porch. She could go inside and lock him out. Even better, she could use the hose to wash the smug look off his face.

   Raymond tucked his hands into his pastel blue shorts and hurried after her. “I do actually. My parents wanted to talk to you about the payments, and I thought I’d save you a trip to the bank.”

   Lauren stopped in her tracks. Mr. Howland had just sent her a memo in the mail last week. It wasn’t as though she needed a reminder every few days that debts were looming above her head. That was why she worked six days a week, and biked everywhere instead of driving her truck. She looked over at the dodge pickup parked on the other side of Raymond’s car. It was also why she had not gotten a new truck, although this one was making strange sounds, and there was a crack in the windshield that wasn’t going to fix itself.

   Raymond stepped onto the white porch and made himself comfortable in the rocking chair. Lauren forced herself back to the present and hurried after him just in time to snatch her journal from his hands.

   “You can tell them I will be paying on time. Nothing has changed since we last spoke.” She opened the door and stood with one foot inside. “Sorry, you had to waste a trip out here.”

   “They’re not entirely convinced. You have said that before, and they already pushed the deadline once.” He knew that he had the upper ground, and from the look on her face, he knew that he was pushing all her buttons. “If you want, I can put in a good word for you.”

   “And why would you do that?”

   Buttercup had made her way out of the garden and was wandering towards the glossy black car. Lauren watched silently. The chicken reached out and pecked at the paint, then stared up at the sun.

   Raymond finally noticed.

   “No!” He shouted. “Get away from there!”

   If chickens could smirk, Buttercup was certainly smirking. She cocked her head and looked right at him with a beady red eye, then pecked once more. A strangled yell came from Raymond as he dashed to protect his vehicle. Buttercup ran away and hid under the porch, clucking at him from safety.

   I'll have to remember to give her a few extra treats tonight, thought Lauren, holding back laughter. Her brown eyes sparkled.

   Raymond examined the fender closely. Buttercup hadn’t even left a mark. Which was a shame but also fortunate, as Lauren didn’t need to get in any more trouble. He came back across the grass and rested his elbows on the porch railing.

   “We’re having a party down at the creek in a week or so. You should come.”

   “No.” Lauren shut the screen door.

   “It’ll be fun.” Raymond gave her his most charming smile.

   “Yeah. Like the last time you had one? When one of your friends crashed their car on the bridge at two in the morning and we couldn’t get out of town that way for a week?” Lauren shook her head. “Tell your parents I will have their money for them.

   His eyes glinted icily as he pushed away. “You’re going to wish you were nice to me when you had the chance.”

   I seriously doubt that, Lauren thought, watching him kick at the grass as he walked back to his car. “There are three weeks left in the contract, and I will have made the last payment by then.”

   He ignored her, started the engine and backed out, narrowly missing her truck in the process. Then he was gone. She let out a sigh of relief.

   It would be a blessed day when she was finally debt free. His parents would stop hounding her, and he would stop acting as if she owed him something. Maybe then she could finally get some peace and quiet. Just because she had business with their bank did not give them the right to trespass on her land. Or to send their bratty son out to do their dirty work. It was not professional.

   Lauren had inherited more than a green thumb from her grandparents. She had a beautiful cottage with teal walls and a sturdy foundation, a beat-up truck, and a well. The last one was important because they had taken out a loan to drill it. 

   Lauren set down the pepper in the kitchen sink and stared out the window at the round little building built around the well.

   The loan hadn’t even been half paid off when her grandparents got sick. Her grandpa's hospital bills were the first to add up. The Howlands considered themselves generous – they were alone in that opinion. They had given the Quinleys a mortgage on the house. What other choice did the old couple have?

   If only they had known that the best treatment in the state would do nothing to stop the fragile thread of their lives from breaking. If only they had known how little time they had left. Then maybe they wouldn’t have left their only grandchild all alone, staring at two gravestones while she wondered how she could survive. But she didn’t blame them. They had been a blessing from God in life, and she could never be resentful towards them.

   Maybe I should start working longer hours, she thought. But she was already working as many as her boss would give her.

   Cuckoo. Cuckoo. The train of thought was cut short. Lauren glanced at the clock as it sang.

   “I’m going to be late!”

   And to think that the morning had started off so well. She ran to the bathroom and began towelling off her hair. The phone rang. With a grunt, she ran to answer.

   “Hello?"

   The line crackled in response, a muffled reply, too staticky for her to make out.

   “I can’t hear you. Who is this?” Lauren squeezed her eyes shut and strained her ears as she listened.

   There was only the same loud buzz in response. After a minute of trying to make out the words, Lauren hung up. She didn’t have time to spare. If it was anything important, they would call back.

 

ef

 

   Charlotte Quinley sat in her beat-up car with her hands pressed against the steering wheel, and her teeth gritted. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Simon’s red sports car parked in his spot in front of the fancy three-story apartment. At least he wasn’t out on the balcony smoking.

   “Wait here.” She ran a hand through her hair and then opened the car door.

   “I want to come.” Willow's deep blue eyes stared straight at her in the rearview mirror.

   “Just wait, ok? Listen to me for once.”

   The last time she’d left her daughter in the car, someone had nearly broken the window trying to get her out. It hadn’t even been a hot day, and Charlotte had only been in the store for ten minutes. 

   People nowadays don’t know how to mind their own business, she thought, as she rolled down the windows enough to let in some fresh air, then locked the doors.

   Willow sat patiently for a five-year-old, staring out the window and drawing pictures on the paper on her lap.

   Charlotte didn’t feel guilty or glance back as she marched away. This was nothing for a child to witness anyway. 

   The lobby of the apartment building had high ceilings, with elegant glass chandeliers raining down towards the glossy floors beneath.

   A bellboy glanced at her as she entered. When he realized it was her, he went back to his work. She hurried to the elevator and pressed the up button with a manicured finger before glancing at her watch. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take more than five minutes. She hoped to make good time.

   The silver doors slid open and she stepped inside. A woman with snowy hair and a pearl necklace clasped around her long neck hurried after her.

   “Hold the door for me, would you?”

   Charlotte glanced at her and complied, rather reluctantly. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

   “Thank you.” The woman dipped her head gracefully before pushing the button for the second floor.

   The doors shut, and the elevator lurched as it began ascending. The toes of Charlotte’s high heel tapped against the tiles. The woman gave her a side glance.

   “Nervous?” she asked, her voice a crisp English accent.

   “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to annoy you.” Charlotte steadied her foot.

   “Annoy me? Darling, I know how it feels to have to confront someone.”

   “Why would you think I was going to...” Charlotte was taken aback.

   “I recognize the expression on your face. Had my fair share of confrontations myself.” The woman smiled at her as they came to a stop. The doors dinged and she stepped out. “I’m rooting for you.”

   The doors slid shut again. That was strange, Charlotte mused, bracing herself as she began moving again. On the way back she’d take the stairs, to avoid any more perceptive strangers.

   She glanced at the pristine mirror on the wall to her right. Brown hair perfectly coifed, and almost frightened blue eyes looked back at her. She took a deep breath and set her jaw before wiping a smudge at the corner of her bright red lips.

   Ding.

   An empty hallway greeted her sight. She froze. One step in front of the other. Squaring her shoulders, she briskly walked forward. Door 241 loomed in front of her. She faltered and took a deep breath. You can do this. Lifting a fist, she knocked firmly.

Footsteps sounded on the other side, then the mahogany door swung open.

   “Hello, sweetheart,” a short man with a black goatee and short hair that was standing in every direction smiled at her. “What are you doing here so early in the morning?” He yawned and braced a hand against one side of the doorframe.

   He wore a fitted white tee-shirt and plaid pyjama pants. Charlotte was far overdressed in her cherry-patterned sundress when compared to him. She pushed past him into the apartment.

   “I’m leaving, Simon.”

   “What?” His face screwed up in confusion. “Since when?”

   Charlotte walked into the living room and grabbed her bag from the leather sofa. She ruffled through it and pulled out a pair of cat-eye sunglasses.

   “Oh come on.” He moved up behind her and buried his face in her hair. “Are you upset with me? Let’s talk about this, baby.”

   She stepped out of his grasp and put the shades on. “I want a new start. For me and Willow both. You know I need it.”

   “A new start?” He laughed. “We could be happy. Listen, you could move in with me.”

   “With Willow?” She put a hand on her hip.

   He held up a hand, starting to get desperate. “Forget the girl. Think about us.”

   “Forget the girl?! Did you seriously just say that?” Charlotte scoffed and moved towards the door.

   “We could find a nice boarding school to send her to, I don’t know how much tuition could be, but we could work it out.” He followed after her. “Or, you know. There is such a thing as adoption. That would be a new start for her.”

   Charlotte shook her head. “No. We're done. This conversation is a perfect example of why. You can’t buy your way out of everything.”

   He blocked the doorway. She was an inch taller than him in her heels, and she took advantage of that insecurity of his. Her chin was lifted in the air as she looked past him and waited for him to speak. He studied her face, his gaze dropped to her collarbones.

   “I don’t know what makes you think you can drive somewhere new and suddenly become a good mother.” His voice rose a pitch. “You walk out that door, you don’t come back when you hit rock bottom. This. Is. It. Understood?”

   The words were cutting, but Charlotte had enough dignity to hide any reaction. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. If she'd had any question about what sort of man he was, she was sure of it now, and her opinion was not favourable.

   “You are understood perfectly.” She moved forward as he moved out of the way. “Goodbye, Simon.”

   Her footsteps were dulled by the carpet, so the only sound was her pounding heartbeat. It was a good thing he couldn’t hear it and instead only thought she was cold as flint. He shook his head as if the whole thing was unbelievable, then threw up his arms and turned away.

   The door slammed behind her and she flinched. Another goodbye. When had her life been anything but goodbyes? The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to let someone out. She turned and made her way into the stairwell before they could meet.

   She wouldn’t hit rock bottom again. She couldn’t. Willow needed this, and so did she. There would be plenty of employment options in the city.

   Her heels wobbled as she climbed down. It had not been very practical of her to wear them, but nothing about her was practical. She glanced down at her phone. No missed calls.

   There is such a thing as adoption. Oh, she knew. She’d tried that before – although it wasn't official. Nearly twenty-one years ago, if she remembered right. It had been a memorable day. Her parents sobbing almost as loudly as the wailing baby. Her, hightailing it out of there and not looking back. If she thought she leaving would help her forget, she was wrong.

   Willow was half asleep when she returned. She awoke when Charlotte opened the door.

   “Let’s go. Good riddance.”

   The little girl seemed to realize something had changed, though she couldn’t see the tears that burned at her mother’s eyes.

   “I want to see Simon.”

   “We’re not going to see him anymore.”

   Willow’s telltale sniffles began. “But... but... he didn’t say goodbye?”

   “You poor thing,” Charlotte scoffed. “I don’t need this right now, and it’s too late for you to see him.”

   The sniffles broke into tears, and tears broke into wails. Charlotte started the car and drove away, turning on soft music on the radio to try and pacify her daughter. 

Sometimes she wondered if she was too hard on the child. No, she knew she was. But no one ever asked if her daughter was too hard on her.

   You can’t drive somewhere new and become a good mom. It was true. The best thing she ever did for her first daughter was let her go. Maybe Willow would be better off with a stable, well-off family. She could have piano lessons – not the flimsy excuse of a violin lesson Simon had given her once, for five minutes. She could have a nice house, with a room of her own instead of the nights ahead, cramped in a car.

   No. She couldn’t let go this time. Her parents weren’t around for her to turn to in her time of need, but Lauren was. Charlotte had tried to call her in the morning, but she must have been out of service.

   What would Lauren’s reaction be when she showed up? The girl was all grown up now, but they were still strangers. Surely Lauren would let her spend a night at her house? It was the least she could do for her mother.

   Charlotte had a sharp mind and a keen will. She was going to have a new beginning, whatever it took to get that. One day she would be able to get Willow everything she wanted, and more importantly, they’d be together.

   “Next stop, Silver-Bell Creek.”

   The last time she had been there was for the funeral. It had only been an in-and-out stop; she had left before anyone had the chance to talk to her. She certainly had not spoken to Lauren. Guilt nagged at her, but she pushed it away. It was no time for regrets.

   One awkward encounter down. One to go.