Rowan Revived

by Colbert, Taylor Danae

  “We’re okay, Mrs. Hinders,” I say, shuffling Caleb and Millie along.

  “Are you leaving for good?” she asks quietly, and I detect a hint of hope in her voice. You don’t live next door to tables flipping and not know what’s going on. I look up at her.

  “I think so,” I say softly. She nods her head, then waves me over. I motion for Millie and Caleb to keep walking, and I turn back to Mrs. Hinders.

  “You’re a guardian angel for those two,” she whispers, her voice trembling. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a change purse.

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Hinders, we can’t—” I say, but she holds her hand up.

  She pulls out a wad of bills, and tucks them into my hand. Damn. There’s a lot of money here. Mrs. Hinders don’t play.

  “Now, get somewhere far,” she says, wrapping me in a long hug. “And take care of them.” I nod, then scurry off.

  We’re already exhausted by the time we reach my apartment, but I know we have to keep moving. Once we get inside, Millie takes a much-needed shower, and I help Caleb change into some pajamas. I don’t know where we will end up tonight, but I know he won’t be awake to find out.

  I pack a bunch of my own stuff into the only suitcase I own, and I realize how much I’ll have to leave behind.

  And yet, none of it seems to matter.

  I grab my phone off the nightstand and text my manager.

  Hi, Don. I’m sorry to do this, but I won’t be in tomorrow for my shift. Actually, I won’t be in for a while.

  What? He writes back. I feel a twinge of guilt. He’s not the most understanding man, but Don gave me a waitressing job six years ago, and he’s been loyal. He gives me the best shifts, the best sections in the restaurant, and usually gives me one weekend night off a week. This is going to crush him.

  I write Beth a note, leave a check on the table to cover the next month’s rent—thank God our lease is almost up.

  And then I panic. I have no idea how I’m going to survive. How we’re going to survive. I know for a fact Millie has nothing saved. Tiger made all the money—though we’re not exactly sure what he did. She was totally dependent on him. I swallow. Not anymore. We will make this work. We have to. For Caleb.

  “Okay, gang,” I say, “let’s hit the road.”

  As we walk to the door, Millie touches my hand.

  “Lena, are you sure you want to leave all this behind?” she asks. I look around. My apartment isn’t much to look at. I mean, I’m proud of it. I’m proud of the little life I’ve built here, surviving without help, at the ripe age of twenty-four. But now, it’s time to live for my family. They need me. And we’re going to make this work. I smile and nod.

  “It’s just an apartment,” I say. “Who knows. Maybe we will be back someday.”

  As we make our way down to where my car is parked on the street. I look around. Millie and I have lived in Boston our entire lives. And yet, as we’re about to pull away, I don’t feel anything holding me back. Nothing except for bad memories, no room to move, no room to breathe. We stayed because it was what we knew. We stayed because it was familiar. But now, none of that is enough reason to stay.

  Caleb settles into the backseat, his blue knit blanket tucked around him, his eyes already heavy. I look at my sister, and she takes my hand, giving it a little squeeze.

  “Let’s do this,” I say, putting the car in drive, and driving away from the only home I’ve ever known.

  2

  Lena

  We’ve been driving for about nine hours now, and Caleb and Millie have both been sleeping for almost the entire ride. I stopped once to pee and get some hot fries, but I can feel myself fading. We’re headed south, and I still have no idea where we are going. We’ve gone down much of the east coast, and last I checked, we were somewhere in Maryland. I drive for a few more minutes, and then pull off in front of a strip mall that’s right off the highway. I put the car in park, take a deep breath, and lean my seat back.

  I’m not quite sure how much time has passed, but I wake to something poking my cheek.

  “Aunt Lee, why are we sleeping in the car?” Caleb asks me, continuously poking me with his toy dinosaur. I blink a few times, pull my seat back up, and resituate myself. The sun is shining through the windows now, and the clock in my car says it’s seven in the morning. Millie is still sound asleep in the passenger seat, and I know she needs it. The purple on her forehead has now turned into a deep bluish-black, and I know she’s going to be hurting when she wakes up. The convenience store in the strip mall is open. I smile at Caleb through the rearview mirror.

  “Want some breakfast?” I ask. He smiles and jumps out of the car.

  We go inside, and I give him a ten-dollar budget. It may as well have been a million. He chooses a red Gatorade, a glazed donut, some chips for later, and a small bouncy ball from the front counter. I grab some protein bars and coffee for Millie and me, and a small bottle of ibuprofen. She’s going to need it.

  “Okay, buddy. Let’s head to the car. We’re going to eat on the drive,” I tell him, taking his hand.

  “Where we going, Aunt Lee?” he asks, for the third time since we decided to leave. And yet, I still don’t have an answer for him. I pull back onto the highway.

  “Buddy, get ready to look out the window in a few seconds,” I tell him, as I see signs for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge ahead.

  “Why?”

  “Because in a few seconds, we’re going to be as high as the clouds.” I can hear him shuffling in his seat to look out the window. And as we cross the bridge, climbing a little bit higher, I hear him gasp, his big eyes wide as he practically presses his nose to the window. I smile.

  “WHOAAA!” he cries, and Millie jumps.

  “How long have I been sleeping?” she asks. Then, she’s very aware of her surroundings. “Jesus Christ!”

  Oops. My sister might be afraid of heights. She sinks back into her seat, shielding her eyes from the view.

  “Mommy, look! We’re as high as the birds!” Caleb cries.

  I laugh and hand her the coffee.

  “Drink this, and take those,” I say, pointing to the medicine. She does what I tell her, squinting her eyes so that they are just barely open.

  “Where are we going?” she asks me. I sigh.

  We’re finally to the other side of the bridge, and I see a highway sign. There’s about a hundred miles to some place called Ocean City. I can’t bear the thought of driving another hundred miles. We pass a few other signs, until one catches my eye.

  It’s not a normal highway sign—it’s sort of a shit-brown color, with faded, cracked white letters. But I can just make it out: ROWAN INN, 35 MILES.

  I smile.

  “There,” I say, happy to have an answer.

  “The Rowan Inn?” Millie asks. “What’s that?” I shrug and smile.

  “I don’t know. But it’s not Boston,” I say. She smiles and grabs her phone.

  “Wow, this place looks really nice,” she says, showing me a few photos. “‘A secret gem on Maryland’s eastern shore, the Rowan Inn is a beautiful bed and breakfast tucked away on the shores of the Chesapeake,’” she reads from the website. “‘Owned and operated by Jack and Scarlett Rowan since 1975, the Rowan Inn has won awards for its standards in hospitality for over a decade straight. Enjoy bay views from our beautiful guest rooms, have breakfast in our gourmet kitchen, and savor lunch or dinner at our four-star restaurant right here on the property.’”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “‘Fish off the pier, or take one of our kayaks out for a day on the bay,’” she goes on. “Jeez, Lena, can we afford this?” I swallow. I emptied my bank account, and I have the money from Mrs. Hinders. But I have no idea how long we will be without income.

  “Fishin’!” Caleb says. “I wanna go fishin’!” I smile and look back to Millie.

  “We will make it work,” I tell her, patting her knee. We will make it all work, for as long as we have to. She smiles and leans back in her chair
. And for the first time in a while, I watch my sister take in a long breath, and let it out nice and slow.

  Yeah, we will make this work.

  But, as quickly as the moment of peace hits her, it disappears with a single vibration of her phone.

  She looks down, eyes wide.

  Tiger. Seems about time, he probably just awoke from a drunken sleep.

  “What does it say?” I ask. She swallows.

  “He wants to know where we are,” she whispers. I peek in the rearview mirror. Caleb’s in the backseat, still playing with his toys.

  “Don’t answer,” I say. She rolls her eyes.

  “Obviously,” she says. “But he’s going to keep trying.”

  “And we’re going to keep ignoring it. In fact, we’re going to drop our phones the first chance we get. Get new numbers, everything,” I say.

  She nods. After a few minutes, the phone starts going haywire. Calls, texts. Each time, she swallows and clicks it off. My heart breaks for her, because I can see the torment inside of her.

  She knows what she has to do, but she also knows that the man she thinks she loves is back in Boston, panicking over where his woman and child are. He’s alone, and I know there’s a piece of her that feels for him. That wants to be there for him.

  I have to be stronger than that piece. I reach my hand over, and gently take the phone from her hand. I wait for her to snatch it back, but she doesn’t. I hold down the power button, and let it shut off. Then, I do the same to my own.

  Not today, Tiger.

  Soon, we come up on another sign for the inn. Five miles away. Five miles from a little bit of freedom. Five miles from a comfy bed, some beautiful bay views, and a happy little nephew. Five miles from a rested, healing sister. Five little miles.

  I take exit seven like the last highway sign said, and we pull off onto a flat, straight road. We’re surrounded by cornfields on either side. We come to a stop sign. There’s a wooden sign ahead of us that reads, ROWAN INN, with an arrow to the right.

  “Guess we’re going right,” Millie says. But just as I’m about to turn, I hear a blaring horn coming from the left. A bright red pickup truck flies past us, honking away at me as I enter the intersection.

  “Hey, motherfucker!” I yell out the window, “Ever heard of a fucking stop sign?”

  I turn back to my sister and Caleb, who are both staring at me wide-eyed. Luckily, we’ve been training Caleb since birth not to repeat curse words. Unfortunately, there’s just no such thing as censoring a Winter sister’s mouth.

  “Jesus, what an asshole,” Millie says.

  We drive a little ways, and we realize that we’re the only ones on the road.

  We come to a short cement bridge, and Caleb is infatuated by the water.

  “Look, Mommy! Look at the water! Are there fishes in there?” he asks.

  “Yeah, baby, I’m sure there are,” she says. Then I can feel her looking in my direction. “Is it just me, or is this the longest five miles ever?” I nod. With every inch we crawl further onto the marshy peninsula, I should probably be a little freaked out. This could be the perfect setting for a murder movie. But I’m not. Because every inch is another inch further, and safer, from Tiger.

  At the end of the bridge, the road turns to dirt. We follow along for about another mile, before we come to one more wooden sign. It’s hanging by a rusted metal chain that’s broken on one side, but when we turn our heads, we can read “Welcome to the Rowan Inn.” The paint is chipping off the sign, and there’s ivy overgrown up the post. I pause before I turn. Suddenly, I don’t have such a good feeling about this. I take a breath. This kid is getting his damn fish. I turn down the gravel driveway that’s clouded by overgrown trees and shrubs. But when we finally reach a clearing, I see it for the first time.

  The Rowan Inn.

  It doesn’t quite look like it looked on the website.

  It’s a huge colonial style house, white with green shutters—although, most of them appear to be hanging on by a thread. It has a massive porch, but the steps are warped and caving in. There’s a large gravel parking lot to the side, but it’s empty. A red barn stands off to the other side of the house, with a sign above the doors that says, “Restaurant,” but the doors are closed.

  But despite the disappointing first impression, the inn takes my breath away. It’s still beautiful. It’s still not Boston. It’s still far, far away from Tiger Bentley.

  I can tell Millie is less than confident that we’ve found our retreat. The inn looks old, rundown, and pretty damn vacant. But Caleb can hear the gentle waves hitting the shore on the other side of the house. He’s kicking his little feet with excitement.

  “We’re here! Can we go fishin’ now?” he asks. I look at Millie and smile.

  We need this place to work. We will make it work.

  We hop out of the car, and it feels so damn good to stretch my legs. I can’t wait to pee, change, and sleep. After we fish, of course.

  We walk up the front porch steps—carefully—and I try to turn the knob. Only, it doesn’t turn. Because it’s locked.

  Shit.

  I turn to Millie and Caleb. Millie’s eyes are filled with uncertainty, and Caleb’s are filled with nothing but excitement. We’re staying at this goddamn inn.

  “I wonder if we have to go in on the the other side,” I say. I make my way back down the front porch steps, just as a rumble comes from the top of the long driveway.

  Just then, a bright red pickup truck—the same one that sent me into a cursing frenzy just moments before—comes to a screeching halt, sending dirt and dust swirling into the sky. As the dust clears, I lay eyes on him.

  He’s tall—really tall—and broad. His face is covered in stubble, and his sandy blond hair is shaggy and unkempt. But as he takes a few steps closer, his eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen, and for a half-a-second, my breath catches in my throat. I’m peering at him through the dust, and I can feel him doing the same to me. He’s wearing a plaid button up, and the sleeves are rolled to his elbows, unveiling some extra-toned forearms. His ratty jeans are paired with brown work boots, and he’s got a baseball hat on backwards. Despite his ensemble, he’s actually kind of breath-taking—sort of like the inn. But he also almost just killed us, so I overlook that. I unconsciously cross my arms.

  “Can I help you?” he asks. As he’s sizing me up and down, I suddenly hear barking in the distance. It grows louder and louder, and I see a giant brown dog bounding across the huge yard toward the man.

  When he reaches the man, he jumps on him, wagging his tail.

  “Okay, okay, boy, okay,” he says. “Shh, Coby, calm down.”

  “A dog!” Caleb says, taking off down the porch steps.

  “Caleb!” Millie and I both call in unison, but we’re too late.

  Caleb reaches the dog who is more than happy to return the favor. Before the three of us know it, the two are rolling around in the grass and dirt, Caleb letting out a shriek of laughter as the dog licks his face to no end.

  “Well, I guess that’s one way to get him to bathe,” Millie laughs nervously. “Come on, Cay,” she calls.

  After the man gets the dog to calm down and sit at his feet, he looks up at us again.

  “Can I help you?” he asks again.

  “No, thanks. We’re just waiting for the owners. We need a room,” I say. Before he says anything, I glare at him. “You know, you almost killed us back there.”

  He looks at me with a tilted head.

  “You were in the middle of the damn intersection,” he says, nonchalantly, as he makes his way around to the cab of his truck. He pulls out a long piece of wood, and carries it toward the front porch.

  “You had a stop sign,” I say.

  “It’s a stop sign,” he says. “Not a stop-and-wait-for-an-hour sign.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “We have a kid, asshole,” I say. My language catches him off guard, and he looks at me through a side-eye.

  “I see that. So
you should probably drive more carefully,” he says, walking back toward the truck to grab another piece of lumber.

  I hear Millie snort from behind me, and I glare at her.

  “Whatever. We will just wait around back for them to get back,” I say, ushering Caleb and Millie along.

  “That’s fine, but the owner is already here,” he calls from the cab of the truck. I freeze.

  “They are? Where?” I ask. A sly smirk tugs at his lips.

  “You’re lookin’ at him. Mr. Asshole, at your service,” he says, tipping his hat, then pulling it back on his head tightly.

  “What?” I ask. He doesn’t reply, he just walks past me with another piece of wood.

  “The website said that a couple owned it, Mr. and Mrs. Rowan?” Millie asks.

  His attitude changes a bit as he prepares to respond to Millie. He stands a little straighter, looks her in the eye a little longer. I see him studying the black-and-blue on her face, but then he looks away quickly.

  “They’re dead,” he says, walking back to the truck. “I own this shithole now.”

  I look up at house. I remember the photos on the website—clean, stunning, so well-kept. And now, here it is, in shambles, like a tarnishing piece of silver.

  “Who are you?” I ask. He turns to me, wiping a bead of sweat onto his sleeve.

  “Jesse Rowan,” he says.

  “Rowan?” I ask.

  “Rowan. Like the sign!” Caleb says. Jesse looks down at Caleb, who’s back to stroking the dog. That smile tugs at his lips again.

  “Like the sign,” he says with a smile.

  “Were they your parents?” Millie asks. Jesse nods.

  “Yep.”

  “When did they...” she asks. I look at her.

  “Last year. Car accident,” he says, so nonchalantly, you would never know he was talking about his own parents.

  “I’m so sorry,” Millie says. He nods, and walks by again. How much freakin’ wood does he need?

  But as the porch steps shift under Millie’s feet, I realize he probably needs a lot.

  No. This can’t be happening. Our perfect little sanctuary on the water cannot be owned—or, more appropriately, destroyed—by Mr. Asshole Red Truck. It can’t be. I sigh. I don’t like this guy. But right now, I need him to not be an asshole. I need him to just be Mr. Red Truck.