Leah Mitchell isn't the same shy, poor girl anymore. Now a college student, she is enjoying her life in the city and the freedom she longed for. She works hard and knows her worth. She has it all, but her heart aches for the only person from her pas...
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Jim asked Declan, his chauffeur, to give me a ride to Westmore. Now that I don't have a bike, there aren't many options left.
The morning traffic is dense in Emerport, but when we leave it behind, I am met with the familiar sight of the cornfields and an almost deserted highway.
My stomach roils in anticipation. My parents have no idea I'm back. I wanted to surprise them, but the closer to my town we get, the more nervous I am. The bright sun and the cloudless spring sky fail to calm me down.
Lost in thought, I keep my focus on the scenery behind the window of Dec's Toyota, right until the Welcome sign comes into view.
I smile. It's painted, and it looks new. Gone is the rutted road and the pits that filled with rainwater, making driving a living nightmare. The new asphalt is smooth under the car's wheels.
More surprises await me later. The downtown area looks new thanks to the clean façades of the few historical and official buildings. Trees and flowerbeds make the town square look even better.
I notice small changes everywhere, but my parents' house looks the same. Declan draws to a stop next to it and smiles at me. "Welcome home. Don't forget to call your brother later."
"I will. Thanks for the ride, Dec."
"Anytime."
I grab my backpack from the backseat and get out of the car. As soon as Declan has driven away, I stroll to the porch. After a moment of hesitation, my knuckles connect with the wooden door.
Dad's footsteps thump, and the door opens.
We stare at each other. I'm relieved he hasn't changed, and when he hugs me, I can finally exhale.
"Look at you," he says. Dad's smiling, but his eyes are glistening, and I have to swallow several times not to show how affected I am
"Hey, Pops," I say.
Dad chuckles. "Come on in, or something."
He steps aside, and I follow him into the house. Mom comes out of the kitchen, and her eyes widen when she sees me. She finally gave up and moved in with Dad three months ago.
Her palm flies to her mouth, and then, her arms wrap around me, and she ruffles my hair as if I were a kid.
"You're thinner," she says. "And taller."
"I don't think I'm taller." I huff out a chuckle, wiping at my eyes. "Thinner, maybe. Blame it on the change of diet."
Dad smiles. "We were about to eat, little fucker. Come on."
He made his lasagna. It tastes just as good as I remember. The three of us eat without saying much, but I can see all the questions my parents want to ask written all over their faces.
"I guess I've got lots to explain," I say when Mom makes coffee for the three of us.
