Over the Moon

Two weeks later I boarded a direct flight from Chicago to Portland, Maine. I only had a few things to my name, so I gave the plants to Lola and everything else fit into my large luggage bag and carry-on. Henry was so easy to deal with and said that he would find someone to take the rest of the lease for me. I think he and I would have been fast friends if we had time. Odd that I am sad about leaving Lola and Henry behind. I barely knew the guy.

I arrive at the luggage carousel, grab my suitcase, and make my way through the crowd. It’s just before Easter weekend so the airport is a little busier than normal.

“Over here kiddo!” I hear my dad yell. I look up and see him walking toward me. When we meet, he gives me a huge hug. “I am so happy to see you.” He pulls back. “You don’t need to tell me anything, you are safe, you are home.” I start to tear up and he hugs me again. “Let’s get you outta here.” We walk out of the airport and jump into dad’s truck and make the two-hour trek home to Styre Cove.

The drive home was spent in a comfortable quietness. Dad had always known when to give me space. He knows I will tell him everything in time so there is no need to push me. When mom was alive, I would rush to tell her anything and everything. She was my rock, my sounding board for so long. When we lost her, I lost a piece of me. We were all hurting but Dad set aside his sadness to help Nate and I navigate the waters of grief. I was eighteen years old, and Nate was twenty-five.

He was already out of the house and had his engineering degree. I was just about to leave for Nova Scotia for college. Nate was able to throw himself into his career and I chose to take a gap year to get myself together. Thankfully Dalhousie allowed me to defer my enrollment. During that year, Dad and I healed. He chose to retire while I worked at Mable’s Diner to pass the time and make some extra money for when I finally left college.

In May, almost a year after mom died, I saw a poster for the local marathon. I never paid attention before, but it’s a fundraising event where all the proceeds go directly to the American Heart Association. Something clicked in my brain. I needed to do this, for me, for mom, and everyone else affected by heart disease.

I trained every day for a month. I was late to the game but still determined. I handed out flyers to my customers, collected donations from Dad’s clients, and even roped Nate into getting pledges from his work buddies in Portland. At the end of June, I ran my first ever 5k and it nearly killed me, but I raised $3500 for research. I have never felt so proud knowing mom was smiling down at me. I can still see her smile and kind eyes, though the sound of her voice is getting harder to remember. In a few months, I will be running my thirteenth race.

Our home is twenty minutes outside town, but still within the Styre Cove boundaries. Dad pulls into the long driveway heading to the house, flanked by cornfields. We didn’t grow up on a working farm, but we did grow up in a farmhouse with many sheds and barns on the property. The land was sold off years before my parents took over the property from Nan and Pop. Dad has lived in Styre Cove, Maine for almost sixty years, save for the time he spent wooing my mom in Nova Scotia.

I hop out of the truck with my carry-on bag and purse in hand. Dad grabs my suitcase from the back, and we head into the house through the kitchen door off of the driveway.

“It’s almost seven. You want something to eat? I bought groceries yesterday. We have everything to make pizza,” Dad says, dropping his keys into a bowl on the counter. “It’s no Chicago deep-dish but it will be homemade.”

I laugh. “I could go for pizza, but you are right I will miss deep-dish pizza!” I reach into the fridge and start pulling out veggies, cheese, and… wait! “Dad!” I turn around and see Dad leaning against the counter as if waiting for my reaction. “How did you get this!?” In my hand, I am holding a package of Brothers pepperoni from Nova Scotia. He smiles so big I start laughing.

“After you called and said you were moving home, I got a hold of Uncle Dave. He shipped it down for you,” he says all proud of himself. For me, there is no other pepperoni. I discovered it when I was in Halifax for school. It might have something to do with my luscious hips but worth it.

“Thanks, Dad!” I hug him tightly.

“Welcome, kiddo. Now get to it, I am starving for something I haven’t cooked.”

I make up the fresh dough and decide to take my bags up to my room and have a shower while it rises. This old farmhouse has one of those shared bathrooms between two bedrooms, mine on one side, Nate’s on the other. Nate’s was converted to an office/library years ago, but Dad never uses it. It has always been like an extra living space for me.

I toss my bags in front of my closet and hop in the shower. The fresh well water, free of chlorine, warms my tired muscles and relaxes me. I hate that I left Chicago. I hate everything that went down. But I know that being here is the right thing for me, not just financially but for my soul too.

I get out of the shower and grab a pair of jeans and a loose black t-shirt. I get dressed and then pick up my phone to text Lola.

Me: Sorry. The flight was long, and the drive from Portland was long. It has been a long day, a long couple of weeks really.

Lola: Glad you are safe. I am heading into a meeting, so I have to run. Let’s catch up soon! Miss you already!

I head downstairs and the dough is ready to go. I make up the pizza and toss it in the oven. Dad is out on the veranda, so I grab two beers from the fridge and meet him out there. It’s a little chilly but Mom’s blanket is outside, so I wrap myself up in it and curl up on the swing next to Dad. “Thanks for the beer,” he says as I pass it to him. We open our bottles and sip as we take in the view as the sun has almost set.

This is my favorite spot here, actually in the world. Dad built this swing for mom when we were kids. It has been repaired many times over the years but it’s still comfortable and downright charming. There is a connection to her here and I think Dad feels does too. “Millie would have been so proud of you, Aubrey. To see the woman you have become,” Dad says out of the blue. I tear up a bit and lean into him.

“Thanks, Dad. Sometimes I think that I might be on the wrong path though,” I say questioning past decisions.

“Not at all. It’s not about what you have done but more about the person you are. You are loyal and you are fierce. I pity the fool that crosses you,” he says as seriously as possible. I laugh aloud.

“That was so sweet Dad, even with the Mr. T reference.”

He smiles and says, “Glad those old A-Team reruns stuck.” I hear the timer I set go off. Dad and I make our way to the kitchen for dinner.

After Dad goes to bed I head upstairs and sit in my childhood bedroom. The twin bed is long gone, I took over Nate’s queen bed when he moved out. The headboard is made from reclaimed barn boards from a barn we tore down years ago. When we moved it from his room to mine some of the old boards broke but I never bothered to fix them. But now, I see that the broken reclaimed pieces have been replaced and there is trim all around the edges. It’s gorgeous. When did Dad do that?

The room is painted a pale lavender, and the curtains and bedding are white with purple and light green accent pillows. The floors are the original hardwood, and, in a few spots, you can see where I spilled fingerpaints and never told Mom or Dad. Not a little girl’s room anymore, but not a thirty-year-old woman’s room either. But it will do for now, until I know where I am going from here.

I will drop into Mable’s tomorrow and see if I can pick up a few shifts to get some extra cash and keep myself busy. I set out an outfit for tomorrow and then start getting ready for bed. I crawl under the covers, turn off the lamp, and shut my eyes. They are closed for about two minutes before I get a text notification.