Marrying a Beast

Part 1

Makenna

After being on the road for four days, it's nice to see the sign leading into my hometown of Rogersville, knowing our journey is almost at an end. My four-year old daughter, Maci, has woken up from one of her many naps and is chattering in the back seat about the cows we're passing. She's never seen anything but the city she was born in, so the country is completely new to her.

"Mama! More cows!" she cheers from her car seat, clapping her little hands in joy.

As I watch her from the rearview mirror, I can't help but be glad to see her smile again. This year has been brutal for the both of us, and Maci has been my only anchor in the chaos that has become my life. The sign welcoming us to Rogersville, where we will hopefully find a new start, a new chapter for our lives, disappears behind us, leading me to wonder once more how the hell I ended up back in the podunk town I swore to which I would never return.

It all started nearly nine months before, when my husband, Matthew, was killed during his ER rotation at the hospital. For several months, I tried to pretend I could stay in the townhouse he and I had bought after college, where we had discovered we were pregnant with Maci, the place we had watched her take her first steps. About a month ago, that idea came crashing down around me.

"Makenna, you need a change. You and Maci staying in Boston is only hurting you both," my aunt Liane had told me. "Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but why don't you come back to Rogersville? Maybe the small-town scene is exactly what you need to heal and move on."

Aunt Liane was right; as always. I knew staying in Boston wasn't healthy, no matter how much I longed to cling to all the memories of my life with Matthew. At long last, I put the townhouse up for sale, and started packing. It sold in three days, and we officially left that part of our lives behind us five days ago.

Maci started singing as she watched the fields begin to fade into the little town, her eyes round and inquisitive. Her eyes were about the only thing she got from me; the same blue-gray color, fringed with long, dark lashes. Everything else reminded me of her dad. She had his slightly olive skin, hair that bordered between fawn and a rich brown, depending on the lighting; but mostly, she had her dad's smile.

Matthew could light up an entire room when he laughed, which was often. We made quite the pair-him a doctor, me a writer. Together, we planned to take on the whole world, and Maci was where we started. He used to spin with her in his arms, both of them smiling and laughing, making me thankful for these two dancing sunbeams in my life.

Now, I only had one sunbeam left, and my thoughts snapped out of retrospection as I realized she was trying to sing "You are my Sunshine". I briefly glanced back at her to smile, reaching back to take hold of her little tapping foot. I can't sing to save my life, but I quietly join her in finishing the song, which only makes her smile more.

"Where are we, mama?"

"This is where mommy grew up, lovebug," I tell her, taking in the sight of the square before us as we sit at one of the only stoplights in town. Under my breath I add, "Doesn't seem like much has changed."

Part of the reason I ended up all the way in Boston for school instead of staying around here, was I couldn't stand the small-mindedness of the community. In Rogersville, everyone lived for the Friday night football games, the cheerleaders doing their routines to energize the crowds, and summer barbeques were a staple. There was hardly any room to breathe in this town, and I had hated it, despite doing my best to embrace the nature of the people while stuck.