“Still, I’m sorry. I should have done my due diligence with that order. I knew they were for her, but it was just so busy that day—I let the assistants handle that one and never checked what the message was.”
Parker’s bakery, known for its brutally worded messages, had delivered a dozen cupcakes to Gabby. They were ordered by her philandering husband.
“It’s not your fault that her husband was cheating,” I told her.
“With her sister.”
“Still, where he dips his nib isn’t your fault. Or mine for that matter.”
“No, it’s not, but if it wasn’t for his message on my signature Bananas Foster cupcakes, she wouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
I snorted. “Maybe not, but it is what it is. I can’t keep losing sleep over it. Besides, I’m here now, and maybe she’ll find someone new to torture.”
“You’re so positive! This trip is working already.”
I tried to focus on that sentiment. “It’ll be good for me to help my dad with Gigi. She’s getting older, and although he won’t admit it, I know he could use the help. And let’s be honest, I’ve been a pretty lousy granddaughter when it comes to visiting her.”
As in not coming back to visit in—checked watch—twenty-one years …
“Yeah, but they loved coming to visit you in between all of your dad’s incredible service trips. It’s not like you haven’t seen them often,” she insisted, knowing how much I loved having both my dad and Gigi come to visit me in New York. “Remember how much fun Gigi has here?”
I nodded into the darkness. The rumble of an engine drew my attention. “I think the Uber is here.”
Sure enough, a large diesel-engine truck pulled into the lot, headlights streaming across the cracked pavement. The driver was shrouded in the darkness of the vehicle. He didn’t look like he was going to come out and help me with my bags. What a gentleman.
“Don’t hang up. Keep me in your pocket until you’re delivered to your dad’s doorstep!” Parker insisted.
“It’s like I’m a pizza.” I laughed. I stood, slipping the phone into my shorts pocket.
Pulling up the first suitcase, I tipped my chin up toward the truck bed. “Can I put everything back there?” I shouted through the partially open window.
As I asked, he picked up his cell phone. The brightness of the screen highlighted his face. Thankfully, he didn’t look like a serial killer.
Neither did Ted Bundy.
Waving me back, he started yelling into his cell.
“Great, this will be a fine addition to the trip from hell,” I mumbled. Then the first raindrop plopped onto my forehead.
I hurried as best I could with flip-flops on, running back and forth to lug the suitcases. I did a pretty good job, considering some didn’t have working wheels. The truck bed was thankfully empty, and had one of those covers over the top in case of rain.
Just my luck, by the time I slid the last suitcase inside, the skies opened up in a light summer rain. At least my things didn’t get soaked.
* * *
THE RIDE WAS painfully quiet. The driver didn’t mutter a single word to me except for “Sit on the plastic bag in the back,” when he saw that I was wet. Parker was still listening quietly in my pocket. This was the perfect setup for a murderous tale. After all, I was in the middle of nowheresville, in a truck that barely functioned, with a man I didn’t know. I pulled out my phone and was texting Parker from the small back seat he’d wedged me into, the plastic sheet crinkling under my butt.
ME: If I die, I’m going to be so pissed.
PARKS AND REC: You won’t be anything but dead. I, on the other hand, will be super pissed. Don’t haunt me either. That’ll just piss me off more.
ME: This is absurd.
Thankfully, a WELCOME TO HOPE LAKE sign welcomed us about a half hour later. It was slightly faded and weather-chipped around the edges. It hung crookedly on a tall wooden pillar at the edge of town. Like the town it would soon welcome me to, it had seen better days.
Stop being so negative, Charlotte.
I tamped down the snarky response but only for a second. A streetlamp above the sign flickered to life, highlighting something I’d missed on the first pass. What was more depressing than the beat-up sign was the small oval plaque attached to its bottom.
POP: 9,723
Nine thousand seven hundred and twenty-three. Total.
My street in Brooklyn had more people than that.
As we drove into town, the sun was trying to color the sky pink after the rainfall. Even though I was exhausted, miserable, and soaking wet, I could admit that it was a stunning landscape: something I wasn’t used to seeing over the concrete jungle around my apartment. The tree-lined horizon was a sight to behold as we took the last hill over another pair of unused tracks that led into the Carey Mountains.
The beautiful scenery wasn’t the only thing that I was examining. Google Maps was providing me with a clear path to follow …
To make sure he was actually taking me back to Hope Lake. He is.
To see if anything at all looked familiar. It doesn’t.
How could that be? How much could change in a place in two decades? Probably not much, I wagered.
ME: I have to admit something weird.
PARKS AND REC: Oh boy. Do I need wine? It’s a little early—even for me.
ME: No, ass. I was just going to say that this place doesn’t look familiar. Like, at all.
PARKS AND REC: Nothing? Not even your dad’s place?
ME: Just got into town. Haven’t gotten there yet.
“Are you sure this is Hope Lake?” I looked skeptically out the dirty window. “I mean, there isn’t another one, right?” We had just ventured into what appeared to be a newer residential area, with rows of beautifully maintained townhomes. Another sign appeared just after that development that said we were heading toward the historical section of town. When did that happen?
The driver snorted. “This is it. The one and only Hope Lake. Listen, the request just said to bring you here, there wasn’t a real address plugged in. Unless One-Two-Three Anywhere Street, Hope Lake, actually exists.”
Oh, Parker. “It’s Dr. Bishop’s place on Main Street,” I explained. “One-Forty-Five, please.”
Nodding, he made a sharp U-turn next to an entrance to the school campus. It looked like that hadn’t changed much. At least not from what I remembered. I was at the elementary school for only a couple of years before we moved.
As the sun cut through the trees, I found myself leaning against the window, amazed at the town’s welcoming appearance. “Are you sure this is Hope Lake?” I asked again, disbelievingly.
“Lady, are you high?”
I scoffed. “No, I’m just trying to figure out why nothing looks familiar. Or dilapidated.”
“When was the last time you were here?”
“A long time ago,” I said flatly. My eyes were seeing the well-kept buildings, the newly planted flowers, and the maintained yards. New sidewalks lined the streets, and businesses looked ready to open instead of being shuttered. No matter how much I stared, my brain wasn’t processing it. Whether it was from lack of sleep or just disbelief, I wasn’t sure, but I’d be finding out soon enough.