CHAPTER 4
Austin cut the engine and stared up at the large, two-story, cottage-style B&B. It was eerily identical to the mental picture he’d held on to since the last time he’d seen it, which had been the summer before his senior year of high school. The town had changed slightly. Not a lot, but enough that in his brief drive through it, he’d noticed the differences, especially the names of all the businesses. Gas N’ Go was now Goldilocks Gas N’ Go and had three bears painted on the pumps. And The Diner was now The Drawbridge Diner and even had what looked like a working drawbridge and mote. The Café was now the Cobblestone Café and stonework replaced the brick exterior.
Somehow though, this building had managed to stay frozen in the exact same state for over a decade. It was as if time hadn’t touched this tiny corner of the world. Like it had been hermetically sealed and preserved.
He knew that wasn’t possible. Still, he couldn’t deny that it looked like the paint was chipping off the exterior trim in the same pattern that was in his memory. The back porch dipped slightly to the left, just as he recalled. Even the three small circular patches of dead grass in the yard that had always reminded him of an outline of Mickey Mouse when he was a kid were exactly as he remembered. As were the yellow rose buds that grew in a heart shape on the bush out front.
What was keeping him seated in his parked truck was not the things that were the same, it was the things he knew weren’t.
He would not be seeing his Grandpa Cliff sitting at the kitchen table reading and drinking coffee when he walked through the back screen door.
He would not see his Grandma Alma at the stove wearing one of her floral aprons, cooking soup and swaying in time to the music she’d always had playing on the tiny radio sitting on the counter.
He wouldn’t smell the delicious scent of his grandma’s homemade cookies or her state fair blue ribbon brownies.
He wouldn’t feel the heavy pat of his grandpa’s large hand on his back as he pulled him into one of his famous bear hugs.
He wouldn’t sit beside his grandma as they worked on crossword puzzles and he listened to her tell stories about her time as a welder during the war.
He wouldn’t hear the booming sound of his grandpa’s voice as he called the cats for dinner.
Emotion caused a lump to form in Austin’s throat as memories he’d buried out of self-preservation resurfaced. There were three people in this world that had loved him unconditionally, cared for him and raised him. His mother and his grandparents. And they were all gone. He’d never known his dad who’d passed away when he was three. He’d been an NYC police officer and had died in the line of duty.
He’d seen pictures. Heard stories. But he didn’t have any memories of his father that were his own. It had been hard growing up without a dad. He wished he’d known him before he passed—that he had memories, not just stories, to hold on to.
But now that he knew the difference between losing someone you knew and loved, and losing someone who holds a significant place in your life but that you never knew, he was starting to think he would choose the latter. The pain of knowing what you’re missing was so much worse than the unknown. Maybe it wasn’t better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Knowing that he couldn’t put off the inevitable forever, Austin took in a deep breath and headed inside the B&B. The third wooden step squeaked beneath his boot, and he froze. The memory of his grandma hollering from the kitchen for his grandpa to, “Do something about that dang step!” flooded back to him.
A year ago, almost to the day, he’d been shot during a mission that had ended in his unit being backed into an ambush. The pain had been searing, and he’d passed out while bullets were still flying around him. He’d thought that was it. He was done.
When he’d woken up in a hospital in Munich, he’d been shocked he was still alive. Then, after a few months of physical therapy, he’d received a medical discharge and had come back stateside, where he’d had more surprises in store for him. The first shock he’d had was that Brielle was pregnant. She hadn’t said a word to him during their FaceTime calls. But when he’d walked in and seen her coming down the stairs, the evidence was indisputable. He naively—it turned out—assumed that it was his. He’d seen her a few months before he’d been shot. He’d actually been happy he was going to be a dad, he’d thought that maybe things really did happen for a reason.
But that joy was short lived. Before she even made it to the bottom step she was bawling and apologizing. That’s when his best friend since grade school walked out of the bedroom, in a towel. They explained that he wasn’t the father. That they’d been having an affair for close to two years and had unprotected sex.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t get mad. Just walked calmly into his bedroom, grabbed the small safe he kept in his closet with important documents and the mail that had come while he was overseas. That’s where he found the paperwork that his grandparents had left the B&B to him. It had come as quite a shock. They’d never discussed it with him but he guessed it made sense that they would. His father had been their only son, and he was their only grandchild.
It had still been a lot to take in, which was why he’d gone and stayed with the only family he had left down in Texas. And why a visit that was supposed to be a few weeks had turned into a nine-month stay. Hearing the squeak and facing the truth—that he’d never hear his grandma hollering at his grandpa to fix it. That was exactly the kind of thing he’d been dreading.
But his procrastination was over. He was here now. He needed to face this.
The lump in his throat grew even larger as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and go inside. He braced himself for the crash of bittersweet nostalgia he was sure would hit him but never did.
Unlike the exterior of the house, the interior was barely recognizable. The kitchen had been painted at some point, so instead of the canary yellow that had been his grandma’s signature color, the walls were now a light sky blue. The cabinets had gone from dark oak stain to off-white. The vintage stove and refrigerator had been replaced with updated models. There was still linoleum flooring, but it was a different pattern.
The only thing that had remained the same was the large round table that sat in the far left corner of the room. Although, even that was sporting a fresh coat of paint that matched the cabinets.
Austin crossed the small kitchen and ran his fingers along the back edge of his grandpa’s chair. The one he’d sat in to eat, read, do paperwork, and visit with his wife as she cooked. Instead of a flashback of his grandpa seated in his spot, Austin pictured himself seated at the table and the woman at the gas station singing along to the radio as her kids ran through the kitchen laughing and chasing a dog.
A dog. Kids. That woman.
What the hell?
Where had that come from? An even better question was why did it make him feel happy?
“Well, hello there, young man. Can I help you?”
Austin turned to find a thin woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen holding a basket of towels. Her gray hair was worn in a bun. If he had to guess, he’d say she looked to be in her seventies.