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Four cardboard boxes, two large plastic storage bins, and a bucket with cleaning supplies stood in an orderly line on her classroom floor. Greta Houston pushed her fingertips into her temples and rubbed in circles.
Inadvertently, a blonde wisp of her hair got pinched under her finger. “Ouch,” she whispered when it snapped out of her scalp. After rubbing the tender spot, she raked her fingers through her short waves and tied them into a messy ponytail at the back of her head. Strands fell away along her hairline, and she blew them out of her face and sighed with a finalizing huff. “It’s for the best,” Greta declared triumphantly to herself, striding to her desk to begin the emptying process.
It was for the best.
She’d made do at Innovative Learning Academy, the only place with an open teaching position mid school year. At least, the only one in the ten-mile radius of Mile Square, where Kadan both lived and worked. She’d had to settle in order to live near her ex-fiancé.
Instead of high school sophomores with their classic literature and compelling research papers, she’d accepted stinky fourth graders with their mind-numbing spelling bees and cliché science projects. Instead of a classroom with windows, she’d been relegated to a pod on the inside of the school building. After all, without the proper elementary certification, Greta was little more than a warm body, holding a place for the pregnant teacher on leave.
Greta’s career wasn’t the only part of her life in which she’d been forced to make concessions. Oh, no. When she met Kadan, she figured that his money (and he had a lot of it) would equate to some sort of upper-middle-class utopia. After all, he’d promised that if she bought the first-floor condo just two miles from his office, he would help cover the mortgage until they were married. At that point, they could turn it into rental income. It could be her little weekend project after they built the perfect family home.
In her mind’s eye, together, Greta and Kadan would move mountains out in green-lawned suburbia with exactly two-point-five children and a minivan. She would tend a modest vegetable garden and plant flowers while the kids played in a safely fenced yard. Every weekday morning all three-point-five of them would wave pleasantly to Kadan as he left for work, his suit and tie in perfect order, for a pat eight-hour workday. Family dinners would commence at precisely five o’clock, leaving plenty of evening for Mommy and Daddy to cuddle on the sofa as the children snoozed upstairs.
As the thirty-something ought to have realized much sooner in life, reality never jibed with one’s fantasy. The woulds quickly became would-nots.
Besides the prevailing issue of her disappointing teaching position and oversized mortgage payment on a condo with no yard to speak of, other issues cropped up, multiplying in a short time span. Just weeks after he proposed, Kadan’s promises wore thin. That, and Greta started to learn about his lifestyle more intimately than she had when they were only dating on the weekends.
Soon enough, Greta learned that he was happy to keep his sports car. He might only want one child. “Down the road,” he’d said. He was allergic to grass, by the way. And, in fact, Kadan’s days were quite long. Not as long as their engagement promised to be, however. She wanted two months. He wanted two years. Two years! Who could wait two years? Her clock was ticking, but the only thing pressuring Kadan was a sense of obligation, and traditionally, a three-year courtship was appropriate. She started to hate the word. By the bitter end, it became clear that a former country bumpkin like Greta Houston had no say in a relationship with a big-city heir. And, she had no place in his high-falutin’ life.
And yet, it was not Greta who called the whole thing off.
***
Initially, in the throes of her breakup, Greta assumed she’d be stuck there, in Indianapolis. Surely, she could find a better teaching job. But after turning to her older brother, Rhett, a plan materialized for her.
Always the hero type, he’d flown into action, connecting with his so-called friend, Maggie. Greta remembered Maggie from her childhood. She was older, Rhett’s age. A little wild. A lot beautiful. Maggie, to Greta, was an enigmatic figure, cooler and more popular. A cheerleader type except more personable and friendly. At least, to Greta she had been.
It turned out that Maggie had just moved into her family’s old farm. With Rhett’s help, she was converting the barn into a little apartment. Greta suspected there was more to that story, but she didn’t have the energy to badger her big brother. Instead, she’d weakly agreed to his idea: list her condo, quit her sub gig, and move home. To Hickory Grove.
It would do her good to lay low for a while. Even if she only spent a month there, Greta could apply for a teaching position in Louisville or Corydon. Maybe she would reach out to some of her old classmates from college, the friends who’d faded away over the years. All she needed was a temporary fix. Then, she could leave heartbreak in her past, never to look back again.
After all, nothing would keep Greta in the rural farming town. Not her brother. Or a cute barn. Not the ragamuffin children who lived at the farmhouse. Not even the bittersweet memories of growing up among the green hills and fireflies. The fish frys and sweet tea. Nothing.