Souvenirs of Starling Falls

by Holly Tierney-Bedord

  That night Tom slept on one of the couches and I slept in our bedroom. I woke up early the next morning and he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. His voice was shaky. Had he been crying? Actual tears? Tom sometimes got sputtery and pouty, but he very rarely cried.

  I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say, “It’s okay,” because it wasn’t. “I think we need to get out of here for a little while,” I said instead.

  He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently, looking relieved that I was talking to him. “Sure, we could do that,” he said.

  “We could go camping and bring the dogs,” I suggested. “Then we won’t have to plan anything or board them.”

  “Yeah, that sounds nice. You don’t think it’s too cold out?” he asked.

  “It never used to be. We used to camp in any kind of weather. Let’s be fun and spontaneous again.”

  “Ha,” he said.

  “You can still write as much as you need to while we’re away,” I added, in case he thought I was being disrespectful to his writerly dreams by even suggesting we take a vacation. “Why don’t we leave tomorrow?”

  “Let’s do it,” he said, nodding. “Can I lie down by you?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around me. He buried his face in my neck. After a few minutes he detangled himself from me a bit and asked, “Maybe we should leave the day after tomorrow instead? We made those plans to have dinner with Barnaby and Priscilla.” He must have felt me stiffen at that because he said, “Never mind. They’ll understand. I’ll let them know. Where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere. Anywhere but here,” I said softly. It was early. We could work out the details later.

  “Someplace new or someplace we’ve been before?” he asked.

  “You choose,” I said. “Anywhere you’d like.” Anything to get us away from this huge, daunting, never-ending project.

  “I’ll do some research today.” He kissed my shoulder and we dozed off like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

  When I woke up hours later, Tom was outside, packing the car with our camping gear. Standing out there with the sunshine on his face, he looked more like the guy I used to know and love than he had in months.

  “So! We’re taking off today?” I asked.

  He nodded. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. I’ll cancel Hopscotch’s appointment.”

  “Are you okay with this?”

  “Totally. I’m excited. Did you pick a direction for us?” I asked him.

  “I’ve got a few ideas,” he said.

  “Tom, listen…” I lowered my voice. It was a still, crisp, late-September day. The kind of day when voices carried. I looked over toward the McGhees’ house and saw a second-floor curtain swiftly fall into place.

  “Hmmm?” He was rummaging through a duffle bag in the backseat, looking for something.

  “What happened last night… Nothing like that can ever happen again.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I lost it.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I’m just stressed out.”

  “You really scared me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want to feel like that again. I don’t want us to be that kind of couple.”

  “I know. Me either.” He stopped looking through the bag and gave me a hug.

  “Let’s have fun on this trip,” I said. “Let’s really make the most of it.”

  “We will,” he said.

  “Which way are we headed?”

  “Let’s just start driving, like we used to. Before,” he said.

  “Okay. Let’s,” I said.

  And we did. We drove to Yellowstone and on to Glacier National Park. For ten perfect days, we were us. We had a magical time. A perfect road trip. Open windows and all the songs we loved to sing along to playing for hours on end. It felt like we were the couple we used to be back in Seattle. Back when we had crazy adventures that became funny stories we told our jealous friends. Back when Hawthorne Avenue, Starling Falls was just some place we’d never heard of.

  Chapter 8

  In those ten days we were gone, we missed quite a lot of Starling Falls news. There had been a grease fire at the Tall Oaks Diner—no one was harmed; they’d rebuild—and one of the teachers at the grade school had been severely injured in a car accident and was now in a coma. Another gift shop had opened on Main Street, but the gallery on Seventh was closing. Rumors had begun to swirl that we might be getting a new restaurant in town, though no one could agree if it was going to be pizza or Mexican food.

  Big news upon big news upon big news in little Starling Falls. Of course, when you’re away, you realize how little you care. But when you return, within twenty-four hours, it all becomes bitterly important again.

  The biggest news of all, at least for those of us on Hawthorne Avenue, was that the house across from ours had sold. In that short amount of time, our new neighbors Laurel and Ben Bradford had managed to settle themselves in with efficiency and grace. Pots of mums adorned their porch steps and every window in their house was decked out in wooden blinds. Hay bales, pumpkins, and guards were piled around the Little Free Library they’d installed in their front yard.

  “They must be in their forties or fifties,” Tom guessed.

  It turned out, though, that they were both twenty-seven.

  It went without saying, the McGhees were delighted.

  So, that was the big change that could be seen. But there was another change, as well. A change in our house. Hard to describe. An energy change, I guess you could call it.

  I understood for the first time that we wouldn’t be staying in Starling Falls for the rest of our lives. I realized by our very first night back that if we knew what was good for us, we’d need to find a way to get out.

  The end of book 1: Souvenirs of Starling Falls (Courtney Shaw’s Story)

  Available in late 2019:

  Book 2 (Title forthcoming ~ Emmaline Strassmore’s Story)

  Available in early 2020:

  Book 3 (Title forthcoming ~ Priscilla McGhee’s Story)

  Please enjoy this free sample of The Queen of Sweet Hollow, coming in 2020:

  Chapter 1

  Sweet Hollow, Louisiana

  Friday, May 18, 1962

  Walt Hale

  It was only because Johnny had the flu and wanted to be home with his mother that Walt Hale, instead of his wife Louisa, was picking up their daughter Maggie from school that evening. He felt like an imposter, pulling up to the building, unsure which door to expect her to come out of. Other parents’ cars were lining up on South Street, on the well-lit side of the building, so he followed their lead and parked behind a black Oldsmobile. A moment later, the door of the school opened and fourth and fifth graders began piling out.

  This had been a big night for them. An end-of-the-school-year party lasting until nine o’clock in the evening. Maggie had been talking about the party for weeks. There was even going to be a magician from Monroe there. Who knew? Maybe they’d see a rabbit get pulled out of a hat. A soiree such as this, going into the evening, no parents allowed, was a milestone. The predecessor to school dances and football games.

  He saw her coming now, beaming. Apparently, the evening had been everything she’d hoped. There was another girl walking with her. Blonde and a little taller than his own daughter.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Maggie said, coming up to his open window. “Can we give Doraina a ride home?”

  Many parents wouldn’t have liked being put on the spot like this, but Walt didn’t mind. Sweet Hollow wasn’t a big town and he had nothing better to do than drive around with his windows down, taking in the spring night. “I can do that,” he said.

  “That’s mighty thoughtful of you, sir,” Doraina said primly.

  Impressive, thought Walt. He saw his daughter take notice, as well, and he suspecte
d he’d be hearing her repeat that little phrase in the near future.

  “I told you he’d say yes,” Maggie said to the girl as they both slid into the back seat.

  “Doraina?” Walt said, meeting the girl’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Where do you live?”

  “Well, I’m Doraina Montgomery,” she said, pressing her small hand to her chest, looking injured. She waited the length of one deep breath before adding. “On the hill. The Hill. Just up from where Clark and Main Street cross.”

  “Oh. Gotcha,” said Walt. His face revealed nothing.

  “Doraina, it’s not a hundred percent sure yet,” Maggie began, a twinge of urgency in her voice, “but I think I’m going to have a birthday party next month. It’s probably going to happen, right, Daddy?”

  “Talk to your mother.”

  “And if I do,” Maggie continued, “I’d want you there, Doraina. Naturally.”

  “Thank you. I’d love to be included,” Doraina said. The two girls had gone to the Sweet Hollow grade school together every year since first grade (Before the late 1960s, Sweet Hollow didn’t have a kindergarten), but they’d never been in the same homeroom before this year. As a result, they were just becoming friends and somehow, even in a town as small as Sweet Hollow, had never spent much time together one on one.

  “I’m positive it’ll happen.” Maggie decided. “I’ll talk to my mama and know for sure by Monday.”

  “You know, I’m just about to turn ten, too,” Doraina said in a confiding tone. “I’ve heard it does feel quite a bit different,” she added, nodding with a dreamy, philosophical look on her face. “Ten instead of nine? You can’t go back.”

  “You can’t, can you?” Maggie whispered, impressed.

  “I never had a party last year,” Doraina continued. “My birthday’s July thirty-first, and last year at the end of July my great-aunt was sick. We had to go to Shreveport that day and spend it with her.” Her dreamy look dried up and was replaced with a pretty little sneer as she added, “I was ticked off!”

  Maggie glanced up at her father’s reflection in the rearview mirror. Ticked off. That was practically a swear. She would have never said something like that in front of him. He just kept driving along like nothing had happened.

  “But then,” Doraina continued, “I figured, ‘Doraina, maybe you’re too old to bother having parties.’ That’s what I figured.”

  “I don’t think nine is too old to have a birthday party,” said Maggie.

  “Well,” said Doraina. “Ten might be. Ten is just about an adult.”

  “Ohhh,” Maggie said, her face falling. If Doraina had been too old for parties when she was nine, then having one at age ten must border on ridiculous.

  “But,” Doraina added, patting Maggie’s shoulder, “if you’re having one, I’ll be there.”

  “If I do have one,” Maggie told her new friend, in a bored tone Walt had never heard her use before, “it’ll probably be the last one I have for a while. Because parties aren’t that important to me anymore. And you’re right, they’re a little babyish.”

  “Hmmm. Who knows? Maybe I will have a party this year,” Doraina decided.

  Maggie sighed. Walt could see she was having a little trouble keeping up with her sophisticated new friend. He caught his daughter’s eyes in the mirror and winked at her. If she wanted a damn party, he would see to it that she had one.

  “That’s my house up there,” Doraina said, pointing to one of the mansions on the hill. “My dad’s the banker. You probably already knew that.”

  “One of these mansions is your house?” Maggie gasped as the car chugged up the steep street.

  “The white one with the wrought iron fence,” Doraina said. “That one. The one with the fence with the spears on the top.”

  “I didn’t even realize these were houses,” Maggie admitted.

  “What did you think they were?”

  “Nursing homes. Funeral parlors. I don’t know. Something just for grownups, or just some old buildings the town owned.”

  “They’re all houses.” Doraina said.

  “I wish you owned a bank,” Maggie told her father.

  Walt just nodded.

  “I’ll tell you a secret about the bank,” Doraina said to Maggie. “You know the vault? Sometimes they just shut the door and don’t lock it, because it’s hard for those ladies who work there to pull it open once you get it stuck in place. Don’t tell anybody. My dad says banks aren’t as secure as you’d think, but it’s not a problem, because ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent of the time, no one’s checking.”

  “Oh my goodness,” said Maggie, focused entirely on the mansion, now that her father had parked in front of it, ignoring Doraina’s story.

  “It’s not as nice inside as it looks on the outside,” Doraina said, shrugging. “In fact, we have lots of rooms that are all dusty and full of things we never even use. Like extra fancy beds no one wants to sleep on and a whole big dining room table and cupboard, but we keep those in the attic. We have more than we know what to do with. It’s like living in a big museum. Well, thank you Mr. Hale for driving me home. See you in school on Monday, Maggie. Our last week of school! And if you have a birthday party, don’t forget to invite me. I’ll bring you the very best present of anyone.”

  She hopped out of the car and walked up to her home. It was the grandest mansion of them all. Stone lions guarded either side of the front walk. Spanish moss-draped trees filled the huge front yard. As she opened the iron gate, she turned and waved goodbye.

  “I haven’t decided whether or not I like her yet,” said Maggie. “What did you think of her, Daddy?”

  “Seems like a character.”

  “Thanks for driving her home. That was mighty thoughtful of you. I think I like her. I think she’s going to be my new friend, in fact. I can’t believe how rich she is. Did you think she was nice, Daddy?”

  Walt just nodded, unable to take his eyes off the white brick Georgian style mansion. If you counted the dormers in the attic, it was four stories tall. The fountain out front was like a swimming pool with cherubs in the center. It was bigger than the Hales’ living room. He wasn’t even listening.

  End of free sample.

  The Queen of Sweet Hollow, additional books about life in Starling Falls, and other titles are coming soon. Follow Holly on Amazon, Bookbub, or Goodreads to be alerted when her new books come out.