Nevada

“Everyone leave you alone at the store?” Mom asks when I carry in a few grocery bags and place them on her counter.

“Nope.” God forbid I try to buy a bag of fucking socks without being surrounded by a horde of locals.

She laughs. “How many autographs did you have to sign this time?”

“Too many.” Way too goddamn many.

“These people will get used to you being back in town sooner or later,” she says, passing behind me and rubbing my upper back. “Eventually you’ll be another permanent fixture, just a part of Lambs Grove. Like that mermaid fountain.”

“Did you just compare me to the mermaid fountain?”

“You know what I mean. Like the town’s kind of known for that fountain.” She emphasizes with her hands. “Eventually we’ll be known as that town where that basketball player retired and people will drive by on the interstate and mention it for a half second and move on with their lives.”

“You’re digging yourself deeper and deeper,” I say.

Mom clucks her tongue. “Nevada, you know what I’m trying to say!”

I smirk for a fraction of a second. “I know. Just messing.”

She punches me on the arm before digging around in one of the sacks. I told her I was running to the store to grab a few things for the new house, and she asked me to pick up some fresh tarragon and an eight pack of paper towels while I was out. I figured it’d be good for me to do normal people things as I acclimate to this normal person existence.

“Run into anyone you know?” Mom asks.

Pulling in a ragged breath, I contemplate my answer. “No.”

Thought I saw someone I knew for a split second … then I realized she was just a soulless shell standing where an empty promise once was.

“You know … I don’t know if you knew this, but that Devereaux girl you dated is still around here,” Mom says, voice low, though I’m not sure why. “Yardley, was it?”

Growing up, I never brought anyone home because home was a leaky trailer that smelled like cat piss and cigarette smoke. Home was where I shared a saggy full-sized bed in a ten by ten bedroom with my nose-picking kid brother while my sister took the couch, keeping her clothes in the coat closet by the door. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place I liked to take anyone, so my mom only ever saw my friends on special occasions … prom or homecoming or basketball games. I’m surprised she even remembers anyone’s name.

“Such a shame what happened to the Devereauxs,” Mom says under her breath, head tilted as she turns toward me. “Heartbreaking, really.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, and I prefer to keep it that way.

“You heard about them, didn’t you?” she asks. “About what happened?”

“Nope.” I tried to avoid any kind of Lambs Grove-related gossip over the years. At all costs. For the last decade, this was just a place on a map that no longer existed.

Mom leans against the counter, folding her arms across her chest and exhaling. “Well, Devereaux Wool and Cotton went bankrupt … maybe seven or eight years ago? Half the town lost their jobs, of course. And shortly after that, James Devereaux died. Suffered a massive heart attack in his sleep.”

There’s a twinge of sadness in my gut, but I let it go. James was a good man who always treated me fairly, and he would’ve been a good father-in-law. Sure, he had his selfish moments, but for a couple years, I thought of him as a father figure since my dad was long gone. James was the one who first took me fishing and showed me how to change the oil in my truck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.

“Anyway, Rosamund and the girls run a little tailor shop on the square,” Mom says. “The Sew Shop.”

“The girls good for you today?” I change the subject.

“I think they do okay for themselves,” she prattles on, ignoring my question.

“Mom.”

“What?” Her nose wrinkles.

“The girls. Were they good?” I ask.

“What kind of question is that? Of course they were good. Sweet angels. Both of them. Always.” She swats me away as she heads to the fridge. “Essie’s napping right now and Lennon’s watching Frozen for the second time today.”

Sounds about right.

Peeking into the family room, I watch my oldest daughter giggle at a singing snowman. Hopping over the back of the couch a moment later, I loop my arm around her, pull her close, and kiss the top of her head.

“Daddy …” Lennon pretends to be annoyed, fighting the wide smile claiming her face. “I’m watching my show.”

Her hair smells like peaches and her clothes smell like Downy and her silky dark hair falls in her eyes just the way her mother’s did, and all of this makes me the happiest and the saddest man who ever lived, all at once.

I think about waking Essie, just so I can hold both of my girls in my arms, right where they belong. If I’m holding them, nothing bad can happen. Nothing can hurt them. But I let her sleep because it shouldn’t be about what I want. Everything I do from now on is for them. Every move, every decision. Big or small.

Lennon and Essie and no one else.