Chapter 2

Kennedy

 

I shove my pillow down farther, trapping it between two of the boxes in my back seat in an attempt to increase my visibility out the back window. Twenty-seven years of personal possessions fit in my Toyota. With a final glance, I pull out and head toward Haven Point, Virginia.

Skyscrapers are replaced by brick homes with large wraparound porches adorned with wicker furniture. The stretches of concrete and brick that connect Bostonians to restaurants, shops, bakeries, and historical sites become expanses of grass and dirt roads that lead out to rolling hills and trees that are shaded in emerald and shamrock hues, dotted with the occasional golden leaf.

With each mile, another pound of failure, loss, and regret settles on my shoulders.

My phone trills: Violet’s ringtone.

“Tell me again when you’re coming to visit?” I prompt her as I answer.

“I miss you already,” she says. “It’s like I can feel your absence from the city.”

“Probably because there’s an extra gallon of coffee waiting to be drunk.”

Violet’s laughter makes my eyes itch with tears, reminding me again of what all I’ve left behind. “Where are you?”

“Officially in Virginia.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Mortified. Embarrassed. Filled with dread . . . pretty much the same as I have since realizing this was my only option.”

“You can always come live on my couch.” It’s the offer she’s extended a dozen times.

I take a deep breath. “That’s okay. This is going to be short term. I’m going to get my finances in check, work on my résumé, and start applying to every company in Boston until I land a job that can pay off my student loans, pay my rent, and allow me to eat something other than boxed macaroni and cheese and ramen noodles.”

“Oh, fancy!” Violet laughs.

“That’s right. I’m going to buy the brand-name cereals, too. No more Lucky-O’s for me!”

“You can do it. You have to do it. I need you to move back ASAP. I’m already experiencing frosting withdrawals. Those chocolate-cherry cupcakes with the vanilla frosting had me ready to propose to you last night. They were amazing.”

“You don’t think they were too sweet?” I ask.

“No. They were perfect.”

My smile wanes. My thoughts aren’t on cupcakes or frostings, but on the sign welcoming me to Haven Point. Everything about returning home feels like a contradiction. I once loved Haven Point, but returning has caused dread to take up residence in my mind since the idea first settled. And though this is the only logical situation for me, I keep searching for all the reasons for it not to be.

“I will be back in Boston before Halloween,” I promise her.

“Will you send me pictures of Haven Point? I really can’t imagine it with the descriptions you’ve given me.”

“Hills, trees, more trees, lots of old things, and once you hit Haven Point, you enter the smallest town on earth.”

Violet laughs again, this time louder. “Really, though, all I know is that it’s near the ocean and very small.”

I giggle. “That’s pretty much it. It’s a lot of farms surrounded by even more woods, and if you keep heading south for about thirty miles, you’ll run into the Atlantic Ocean. It’s just . . . Haven Point. There aren’t any fast-food or chain stores, and everyone knows everyone and their entire history.”

I have to apply the brake and come to a complete stop as a sheep wanders close to the road.

“You’re going to love this,” I tell her.

“What?”

I honk as two more sheep follow the first. “Are you trying to die?” I yell.

“What’s happening? Where are you?”

“There are sheep stopped in front of my car!” I tell her as more wander forward with several others following close behind.

She squeals. “Send me a picture! I want to see the cute sheep.”

“They aren’t cute. Have you ever seen a sheep’s eyes? They’re creepy, like goats’.”

“Oh my gosh! If you see a goat, you have to send me pictures of it.”

“There’s an entire flock of sheep in the middle of the road.”

Violet laughs. “You’re like Little Bo Peep.”

I lay on the horn, ignoring her as one finally moves to the side of my car and a few more file in behind it. “That’s right, off the road.”

“Are they going? Where’s my picture? Better yet, send me a video.”

“You don’t want to see this.”

“I do! Send it.” She hangs up without another word, and because she’s my best friend, I open the camera app on my phone and press “Record” as more pass by.

“Why are you stopping?” I ask a group of the sheep staring at me over the hood of my car. “You’re sheep! You’re supposed to be following each other. It’s what you do!” But they don’t. They continue staring at me, even when another sheep begins its own course on the other side of my car.

“Shoo!” I yell. “Go!”

But they don’t budge.

I lean my head back against the seat and sigh. “I’m pretty sure Haven Point might have more sheep than people,” I narrate for Violet as more pour onto the road from a grassy field. “However, for the record, this is not normal. Someone obviously has a broken fence, or kids are playing a practical joke.” I turn off my car and open the door, heading out to face them with my video camera still rolling.

“Get your fluffy butts back on the grass! You’re going to become roadkill.” I turn my phone to face me. “That’s a lie, because everyone will stop for these demonic creatures. But don’t tell them that, okay?” I shut it off and clap my hands, hoping to startle them into moving.

“Where did you all come from?” I work to recall which farmers in town might have acquired this much mutton. As they continue streaming toward the road, I decide to explore exactly where they’re coming from and see if the owner realizes his livelihood is attempting to play chicken on the main road leading into town.

“These are not the right shoes to traipse through a pasture,” I mutter, following the line of sheep until I reach a wooden fence that has been broken for what appears to have been years, the wood no longer jagged and sharp, but weathered and abused. Beyond the field, I see the Porters’ home.

The ground is uneven and covered with grass and weeds. It’s clear the sheep haven’t spent much time in this area because it’s up past my knees, ensuring I’ll need to check for ticks as soon as I get to my parents’.

“Hey!” I yell, spotting someone in the distance. “Hey!” I yell again, waving an arm to catch the attention of a man wearing jeans, a red plaid shirt, and a cowboy hat. Violet would likely appreciate a picture of him far more than the sheep, but I pocket my phone as he draws close.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks when we’re within earshot and don’t have to yell.

His gaze rakes over me, and with that simple gesture, I know who he is: Billy Porter. He was in Grace’s class and was known for his shameless appreciation of women.

“Your sheep got out,” I tell him.

His eyes gleam as he looks at me. “Are you new to town? I don’t recognize you.”

I sigh. “It’s me, Billy. Kennedy.”

“Kennedy?” His eyebrows rise, and I regret even considering taking a picture of him for Vi. “I don’t know anyone named Kennedy.”

“Kennedy Wallace.”

He scratches his head. “Kennedy Wallace?”

“Jelly Bean.” My sarcasm is deadpan.

A smile turns his face boyish and familiar. “What are you doing home?”

“I’m here for a couple of months.”

“A couple of months?”

My stomach flips, hitting the intersection between relief for being home and the regret of failure, where my heart stutters with hesitation.

“Your sheep are blocking the road,” I tell him, pointing in the direction of my car.

He swallows his frustration, and without another word, Billy breezes past me, hopping over the fence and jogging to meet the herd.

One of the biggest differences between people who grew up here in this small town and in Boston is how they speak. It’s considered impolite to swear, especially in front of women. I pause, taking a second to send the video of all the sheep to Violet.

Me: I found the farmer who lost all his sheep.

Violet: Is he hot?

Me: No. I’ve known him since I was 2.

Violet: . . . that doesn’t mean he isn’t hot.

With a frown, I slide my phone back into my pocket.

Once I reach the road, Billy is behind all the sheep, quietly ushering them forward.

I watch, waiting for him to lead them away or do something other than gently nudge them, because at this pace I won’t be able to get to my car for a week.

Surprisingly, they move. Voicing their objections as they slowly tread forward, they suddenly stop, as though an invisible barrier has sprung up from the ground.

“You need to move so they can’t see you,” Billy calls.

I look around at the sheep and then to him, confused; the field is so vast, and I am a single person standing still. I huff quietly, nearly indiscernibly, and shuffle to the left.

Billy watches me, his chin dipping with disapproval before he begins waving his arm in large, dramatic gestures. “You have to keep moving.”

“Are you kidding?”

“You’re in their point of balance. They won’t move with you standing in front of them unless you’ve got a grain bucket in your hand. Come on, Jelly Bean. You’ve been living the city life too long.”

I stare at him for just a moment before he waves his arm again, making me clamp my teeth together to stop from telling him how ridiculous this is. I have no idea if he’s making fun of me, but it certainly feels like it. Slowly, I drift down the road, keeping an eye on my car and the flock of sheep to see exactly what they’ll do.