Hattie & Dean

Chapter 1

Hattie's POV

If the road back home had a smell, it would be dust, diesel, and a touch of honeysuckle. I roll the windows of my Expedition down even though the air is thick enough to chew. I let the wind tangle my hair as a splay my hand out the window. It's been six years since I left Briar Creek, Texas. Six years later and nothing has ever changed. There's the same crooked welcome sign. Same feed store with peeling paint. Same herd of cows sunbathing like they're royalty on the side of Highway 9.

And Lord help me, I've missed every single inch of it.

My SUV rattles as I turn onto the gravel drive that leads to my grandmother's old place. It still feels like hers even though the deed sits in my passenger seat with my name sprawled on it. She passed last summer, quiet and peaceful in her sleep after a day of riding. For a while I considered selling the land. My grandmother raised me, just her and I for 18 years on this plot of 50 acres. After I graduated high school, I went off to college in Dallas. Then I got a job and settled down. When she passed, I told myself it made more sense to let go of the land and keep my shiny little job in Dallas.

But I got tired of it all. Tired of smiling through meetings where my ideas were taken and handed off to someone with a stronger jawline and penis. I got tired of busting my ass for a job I sort of liked and watched someone else take the credit for my work. I got tired of being underestimated and sweet-talked into silence.

So, I quit. Packed up. Sold the loft. And now here I am, dragging my life in cardboard boxes and several stained tote bags into the house I grew up in. I put the car in park as I stare at the house.

The paint is more faded than I remember. The shutters hang a little crooked. Oe of the porch steps looks like it's barely holding on. But the bones are still good. This place raised me. Fed me, sheltered me, held me when no one else did.

I kill the engine and climb out. My boots hit the dirt, and a puff of dry earth kicks up around my ankles. It's quiet out here. Not the city quiet where you still hear the sirens and horns. This is country quiet. The kind where the wind rustles the trees. The birds chirp at each other. The creek rushes out in the back section. I smile as I look around the land.

I walk up to the porch, running a hand along the railing. The wasp nest is still tucked in the corner above the door. Grandma and I were always too scared to deal with it. I shove my key in the lock, knowing it's going to stick a little. When the door finally creaks open, it smells like Grandma's lemon polish and dust. I breathe it in like it's my last breath.

Everything is covered in sheets. The sheets covered in a thick layer of dust. Grandma had written me a letter telling me to expect all of this. She had said, "It'll be dusty be the time you get here, darlin'. There's still life in that house; you just got breathe into it and shake it loose. I'll leave the cleaning caddy under the sink."

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. My grandma and I only really had each other. She had gotten sick a while ago, so I moved her to Dallas about six months before she passed. She had always told me how she made sure the house would be ready for me, but I didn't expect her to have been this thorough. I laugh quietly to myself.

I should've known better. I look out to my car, knowing her letter is folded up in my glove box. I've read it a thousand times by now. I don't think I'll ever stop reading it. Her words still sound like her voice in my head. Warm, yet scratchy. Her letter is safely tucked into the notebook she filled out for me, recounting all of our years together.

I moved here to Briar Creek when I was 6 years old. My mom and my grandpa were going to Dallas for a concert when they got into a car accident. They both died that night. I never knew my daddy and never wanted to know him. So, I moved in with Grandma.