Page 65 of Keeping it Local

My stomach sank with grief.

“I’ll be home by the end of next week, Mom.” I stood up, slipping my sandals on. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t mean to worry you about this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

“You absolutely should have brought it up, Mom. I’d be upset if you didn’t. The good thing is he’s okay right now, but we need to think about what the future looks like. We can’t keep living like this—always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something needs to change.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right.”

“I don’t say it to be right, Mom. I say it because it’s true.”

“Yes, I know. I—” She cut herself off.

“Mom?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. Tell me.” She was always trying to protect me, when I wasn’t the one who needed protecting.

“Michael asked about you again.”

I internally groaned, running my hand down my face.

“He knows everything that’s going on with your dad obviously, and…”

“And?”

“And I think he’s going to reach out to you. I’m not sure what that entails exactly, but he mentioned that you two should talk about it.” She was treading lightly telling me this, and she sounded afraid of my reaction.

“That’s fine, Mom. We all want the same thing. We’ll figure it out and get everything on a better page so that we can move forward. Sound like a plan?”

“Thank you, Beth.” She paused, then continued through tears, “For everything. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if you wouldn’t have been here. Before, that is.”

My throat thickened. We didn’t talk much about everything that happened after my dad’s stroke a few years back. A lot went unsaid. Instead, we focused on actions—fixing the situation, loving each other, even if it wasn’t through words. There was a lot of guilt that I carried with me over those years, and much of that guilt was wishing things were different. As much as I was happy to help, I mourned for what things could have been if I’d had more control over my choices.

I couldn’t think about that now though. We had to fix the next problem on the list.

“You’re welcome.” I paused, blinking back my own tears. “I love you. We’ll figure it out.”

Mary stood outside with Ted laughing in the sunshine. I sat behind the front desk drinking my coffee after a busy morning. There were only a few days left before the Blueberry Festival, and the town was bursting with tourists who were starting vacations early and getting settled in before the festivities.

Especially after talking with my mom and needing to come up with a plan for the farm and my dad, I knew I needed to go home and take care of things. This “adventure”—as my mom called it—had lasted as long as it was going to, and it was time to head home and get back to real life. I was anxious to figure out what that would look like.

On the other hand, my chest ached knowing that I was leaving Johnny. I had this heavy weight that I couldn’t get rid of. I didn’t want to think about leaving him, and in the back of my mind, I was doing mental gymnastics to figure out what we could do to make it work. Even if we did long-distance—which sounded terrible to me—there was no endgame. Neither of us would be willing to give up our lives at home and jobs.

And on top of missing Johnny, I didn’t want to leave Port St. Clair. I’d grown to love this little town that had taken me in and given me a new joy. It was completely unexpected, and if I thought too much about leaving, my eyes watered.

I had less than a week left at the shop. The plan was to work through Monday and move back home on Tuesday. That was it. I was done.

I looked down at my phone and noticed a missed text message from a number I hadn’t seen in a while.

Michael: Hey Beth, I hope you’re doing well. With everything going on at home with your dad, I wanted to chat. Maybe figure out a time to meet up. I was thinking of coming up for this big festival your mom mentioned. What do you say? Like old times?

I stared at my phone. I didn’t need Michael coming into town, and I definitely didn’t need anything like old times either. He was trying to weasel his way in by talking about the farm, and it made my toes curl in the worst way.

Me: I’ll be back next week. Let’s connect then.

Michael: I really don’t want to wait until next week. I’ll plan to drive down this weekend to see you.