CHAPTER 1 - TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE STORM

JUNE 2023

 

June stepped onto the cool, wet, grass and wiggled her toes. Something about the first day of summer always made her feel new again, revived by the power of sunshine and kisses of dandelions floating in the air. Make a wish, she thought to herself. But she couldn’t. These days wishes sat on the sidelines, they danced in other worlds, ones that didn’t belong to her. These days, her worries were like weeds that intertwined in her mind. They grew and expanded and tangled up her insides. She would chop them down one by one, only to feel them grow again, bigger, and bigger each time.

She climbed onto the ripped-up gray seat of her father’s truck and looked up. Her eight-year-old daughter, Melody, peered out of her bedroom window, her long auburn hair cascading to the side as she leaned around the curtain. June smiled at her. Melody looked away and yanked the drapes closed.

June leaned forward on the warm steering wheel and rested her head before starting the engine. It took her a moment before she pressed her pointed toes against the gas pedal.

As she drove along the gravel driveway, she tried to see the beauty of the sun rising over the rolling hills. Just like she used to. But it wasn’t the same. Pastures that were once lush and full of healthy crops had become overgrown, tormented by time of being forgotten. Instead, she stared at the field of dead corn and rotten tomatoes. It made her miss her childhood.   

The drive into town was like an old song, its repetitive rhythm was in her head. She could probably drive it with her eyes closed and maybe they were in a way. Mile by mile, the landscape rolled into her childhood world. But in those days, it looked different. The old barber shop had been replaced by another gas station. The once bare roads now held so many travelers coming and going. The old town had swollen into a place that seemed to be bursting at the seams. Growth. Too much of it and it came too fast. Old gravel roads were paved. Trash now littered the side of the streets instead of Black-eyed Susans. Seemed as though everything had changed.

She turned onto Columbia Avenue and pulled into the parking lot of Franklin Feed, and Seed. It was one of the few buildings left in town that hadn’t been demolished. The two-story red brick building stood like an old man. It had a few bricks missing in the corners. Paint chipped off the sign. But it was sturdy, and it held years of memories stored away for safekeeping. She remembered this place as a place that knew no strangers.

She parked, wrenched the truck door open and headed toward the rear of the truck. There, she pulled out her old work boots that were covered in dry mud and slid them on over her bare feet. She walked toward the glass storefront door, stepping over weeds as high as her knees. A bell rang overhead as she entered. Everything looked unchanged. There was the same variety of nostalgic items that sat on the shelves: paint cans, bolts, nails, year-round Christmas decorations, simple small toys, and books for the children. It smelled like an antique shop and with every breath she inhaled, dust slid down her throat.

She saw a woman holding her child’s hand, walking down the paint aisle. It made her think about Melody. The last time she held her hand, she was a toddler. Now her little girl wouldn’t allow such a thing. Maybe she should’ve asked her to come with her to the store. Honestly, it hadn’t crossed her mind until now.

She turned a corner and there he was. Aaron Spencer. He looked exactly how June remembered him from high school. Every school in Tennessee had a guy like him, good-looking, popular, played guitar and sang like Tim McGraw. She couldn’t help but stare as he stood behind the counter, noticing how his dark blue jeans clung to him just right and how he had neatly tucked in a red plaid shirt. But like her, he had changed too. His hair had lightened from a dark brown to a sandy straw color maybe from working in the sun all day and his boyish whiskers had grown into a full beard. She had never seen him so serious as he shoved a hand through his hair. Then she realized at that moment, he was watching her. He walked around the glass countertop and came toward her.

She could barely breathe.  

“I’d heard you were in town.”

She didn’t move. Every muscle in her body had frozen. Wanting to say something, anything, but her lips stayed clasped together. The absolute shock of seeing him made it impossible, and a small part of her feared that if she did speak, he would see every flaw that she had acquired in their years apart.

It took him a moment to speak. “It’s been a while.”

It made her feel unsettled.    

 “How’s your dad?”

There was a kindness in his gaze, it made her want to find comfort in him like she used to when they were kids. But she wouldn’t dare. Instead, she crossed her arms and steadied her stance.

 “We’re all thinking about him.”

“He won’t want to hear that.”

“I know but tell him anyway.”

She slid her hands in her pocket, considering how to change the subject from her father. “You’re still here, huh?”

“Where else would I be? This is home.”

She cleared her throat. “Just figured you’d—”

“Not all of us wanted the same things.”

She breathed in a long breath of air and tried not to open a past that had been locked away in the most secret spot of her heart. “Is my dad’s order ready?”

He gave a quick nod and moved toward the back of the store. A few minutes later, he returned with a cart filled with ten fifty-pound bags of horse feed. June walked beside him in silence.

Two women behind the counter kept whispering. They pointed to June a few times. She had seen the magazines. Rumors had circulated as they always did. But this time, it had become personal. Pictures of her husband with headlines that read: Country Music Biggest Cheating Scandel. Every time she passed one, she would grab a cooking magazine instead. Even though she had no idea how to make spaghetti or rice.  

They headed outside toward her father’s truck. It was parked around the back beneath an old oak tree. Tossing the last bag of feed onto the truck bed, Aaron stopped and wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. The canopy of leaves cast a shadow upon his face. Beads of sweat dripped around the creased corners of his eyes.

He lifted the tailgate and patted it a few times. “All right, all packed up.” He reached under the cart for the invoice and started to hand it to her.  

June glanced at her truck keys in her hand. She had stopped opening the mail, thirty days overdue, ninety days overdue. Everyday debt collectors called the house. “Can you tell Jimmy I’ll pay him next week? We have a good crop of corn coming in soon.”

“Let me pay it.”

She thought for a moment before she spoke, wanting to tell him, “I’ve got this,” but that was furthest from the truth. June nodded, got into her truck, and rolled the window down. “Next week, I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

Aaron stepped up to the driver’s side window. “No worries.” He wrote paid on the invoice and reached over her and put it in the middle console. His broad chest brushed up against her. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face. Instantly, their past floated back into the pond of memories. Her cheeks heated up. She turned her head so he wouldn’t notice. He slowly pulled away from the window. His eyes shifted toward hers.

She started the engine and shifted the truck into reverse. With a deep breath, she mouthed, “Thank you.”

He held up his hands and stepped away from the truck.

Her attention flickered to the reflection of him in the side mirror as she backed up.

At the red light, June adjusted the rearview mirror. The person in the reflection wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. People used to say she was movie-star gorgeous. She moved the mirror downward, and turned her attention to the light as it turned green and stepped on the gas. The wind blew her tangled short brown hair into her face. She blinked her tired eyes as she focused on the road—anything to keep from thinking about her run-in with Aaron. She sifted through the deluge of emotions that, now alone, were flooding her mind despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. She knew what her silence had done to him, how it separated them. All those unreturned voicemails he left her years ago. 

She turned the radio on and winced as she heard her song coming through the speakers, hearing her past resurrected.

As she neared her homestead, the narrow gravel driveway weaved a comfortable pattern back into her life. She traveled over green patches of long grass and hit every puddle, leaving a line of muddy tire tracks behind. The old farmhouse remained unchanged as though time had stood still in this one spot. Longstanding white rocking chairs marked the right side of the porch, and a wooden porch swing hung on the left. Baskets of dried-up yellow Begonias hung from every post. The gabled two-story clapboard farmhouse had been repainted a pearl white when times were good.

June opened the truck door, climbed out, and studied the house. Old feelings of safety and unconditional love from her parents washed over her. She steadied herself, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air, trying to hold on to that old feeling. It was the same house but not the same emotion. The warm house that made them a family, now was cold and drafty, and it didn’t even smell like home. No home cooked meals or roaring fires in the fireplace. Only quietness.

When she was halfway to the house, she noticed her mother, Ellen, standing behind the screen door waving. Her bun had come loose, strains of white hair fell awkwardly around her face and her dress was soaked in mud at the bottom.

June started up the porch steps. The old oak floorboards shuddered at the movement, but like everything in Franklin, they were sturdier than they appeared.

“I’m sorry,” Mama said as she opened the screen door. “It only took a few minutes, and she was gone. I was doing dishes and when I was done, I went to check on her but—”

“Mama, I’m sure it’s not your fault. You know how she is.”

“She’s a spitting image of you, I’ll tell you.” Mama drew her mouth to one side. “You need to talk to her. I’d talk to her, but I don’t know what to say.”

“We both know that’s easier said than done,” June said.

“She misses you.”

“She hates me.”

“Now, that’s not true.”

“I’m—"

Melody banged the screen door open. There was a storm brewing within those small eyes of hers. Her dress had turned a shade darker than what June had remembered it being that morning and she noticed that her hair was unbrushed and was sticking to the side of her face. Something dark, possibly mud, was splattered all over her chin.

June wet her finger with spit and reached out to wipe Melody’s chin but withdrew. “Where’ve you been?”

Melody stayed silent.

June jammed her hands into her pockets. “You look like you’ve been at the creek,” she said, wanting to scold her for going somewhere so dangerous. 

Melody shrugged.

“You know the Tucker’s…it’s their land, not ours. And they hunt out there.”

Melody moved past them and headed into the kitchen.

June trailed behind her. “They’ll shoot first and realize what they’ve done later.”

Melody turned on the tap at the sink and ran her muddy hands under the stream of water, the dirt swirling around the drain.

June leaned in closer. “I’m serious. You know how they are.”

Melody pressed her lips together, grabbed the soap, and leathered without speaking.

“Talk to me, please.” The edge in her voice gave way as she placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I…love you."

“Don’t touch me.” Melody brushed her mother’s hand off, turned on her toes, and ran upstairs.

Ellen clutched June’s elbow to keep her from running after her daughter. “She’s been like this all day.”  

The loud clap of the door pulled their attention down the hallway. June’s father, Henry, appeared around the corner.

 “What are you two talking about?” Her father faced her mother. “And why the hell are you in my house?”

Mama squared her shoulders back and lifted her finger into the air. “Don’t you talk to me that way, Mr. Henry Waters.”

“It’s my house. I’ll talk to you whatever damn way I want to.” He flung his dirty boots onto the floor. “It was your choice to move into that trailer out there.”

“This is my land too and you’re stuck seeing my pretty face every day. So, get used to it.”

June eyed the two of them. “Nice to see you two getting along as usual.”

Henry looked at June. “So, did I hear you right? Are you getting on that little girl of yours again for no good reason? I’ll have you know she’s been out in the barn helping me all morning.” He pointed to Ellen. “This one is the one you should be getting on. She’s supposed to be watching her.”

Mama frowned. “You can turn that finger around.”

He grunted. “I don’t have time for all this babbling.” He straightened and put his hand on his lower back. “Did you pick up the supplies like I asked?”

“Yes sir,” June said. “I haven’t unloaded them yet, but I’ll get to it.”

Her father carefully sat on the kitchen chair and leaned down, pulling his dirty boots closer to his feet. One by one, he slid them on again. “I’ll help you.”

“No, I’ve got it,” June said.

Mally crossed her arms. “You really shouldn’t.”

“I’m not dead yet, you know…” Henry sounded out of breath and irritated.

“Oh, good grief, go on then.” Mally uncrossed her arms and jetted upstairs, her strides were like a giraffe.

While unloading the truck, June could tell how tired her father was by the number of breaks he took. Even still, he never complained, not once. He leaned on the side of the truck, breathing hard, struggling with each ragged breath he inhaled. She lowered the bag of horse feed on the ground, removed her gloves, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “This heat…it’s a bit much.” She turned her attention to the porch and tilted her head.

He nodded.

They sat on the porch swing and rocked slowly. The screeching sound of the chain was loud amid the silence.

“Can’t seem to do things like I used to.”

June reached for his hand. She felt every bone. “It’s okay…”

“No, it’s not.” He peered out toward the fields then turned toward her. “You need help.”

“You have enough to worry about. Just focus on getting better.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

“You know what.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “He’ll be back.” But as she spoke, something gave a little within her. The ache inside her chest tugged, hammering the lie deeper and deeper. There was nowhere for it to go. It pounded inside of her so loud and hard she could no longer pretend it wasn’t there.

“Well, it’s none of my business,” he said.

“Yeah, you’re right…none of your business, but I’ll bet that won’t stop you.”

He smiled and slowly stood from the swing but kept a hand on the chain to steady himself. “Time’s running out.”

“Don’t say that.”

All I’m trying to say is…this land you see will always be here. It will, but the reality is, it’s permanent. And well—we’re not.”