Finding Ever After: four fairytale-ish novellas

by Pepper Basham

  Emma took them and filled the glasses with ice, one by one. They fell into the familiar old pattern as if time had stood still rather than passing. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

  Turns out, I’m the one who was surprised.

  “Well, you certainly did that,” Grandma Dorothea said. She stirred the pot of green beans on the stove, then tossed in a handful of ham and caramelized pecans as Mama busied herself prying biscuits up from a pan with her spatula.

  Emma adjusted the waistline of her dress and stuck another glass against the automatic ice dispenser. “Maybe I should’ve called.”

  Mama stopped mid-step and looked at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Honey, you could’ve come in here in the middle of the night and I would’ve thrown a party in my curlers and nightgown.”

  Emma forced a smile. But Grandma Dorothea's reaction nagged at her. She hadn’t realized she’d upset her grandmother so deeply by leaving.

  “You know your mother always makes enough food to feed an army.” Daddy slid on an oven mitt and pulled the pan of chicken from the oven.

  Emma opened the silverware drawer and searched for the big spoons. The glint on the pieces indicated a scratch, but Mama wouldn’t tolerate any unpolished silverware in her kitchen. Strange. Emma turned the big spoons upside down to inspect them when the realization dawned. “Mama, you monogrammed our silverware?”

  “Your Aunt Caroline did hers. Apparently we had no choice,” Daddy murmured.

  Emma tightened her lips to hold back her laugh. Mama’s love of monograms had struck again. Once, in fifth grade, she came home to find monogrammed pillow shams on her bed. When she protested, Mama had insisted those things cost a pretty penny, Emma Jane, and someday she’d appreciate them. But Mama expected her to treat those things like silk, and her dislike only grew. To this day, embroidery made Emma break out in a cold sweat. She couldn’t even step foot into Anthropologie.

  Sawyer reached into the fridge for a pitcher of tea and began pouring it into the glasses. “Sweet tea good for everyone?”

  “Water for me.” Emma reached for her glass and held it up to the dispenser.

  He watched her a long moment, holding the pitcher in one hand and a glass in the other. “You always loved tea.”

  Emma took a sip from her glass. “Yeah. Well, now I like water.”

  Sawyer hesitated as if he half-expected her to change her mind.

  But before he could reply, the covered porch behind the kitchen caught Emma’s attention. She stepped past Sawyer to get a better look and frowned. “Why is there a blanket and pillow on the hammock?” Emma pointed as suspicion quickened her heart. “And a suitcase?”

  Mama held the bowl of green beans with both hands and carried it to the table. “Oh, those are Sawyer’s.”

  She said this as if it were the most natural thing. As if she were saying there’s a sale at Belk and not your former fiancé is living on our back porch.

  Were these people out of their ever-living minds?

  And then the full weight of realization dawned on her. Sawyer had gladly acquiesced on the front porch because he knew what she did not. He was living on the back one.

  He was already helping with her parents’ farmhouse. And he didn’t need her permission because her mother—her own traitor mother—had not only opened the proverbial door, but apparently also the hammock.

  Emma turned toward Sawyer even as her mind began to register all that must’ve happened in the months since she’d last been home.

  He wanted her family’s pecan trees. That part didn’t surprise her, because he always had. What did surprise her was that this time, her family had welcomed him with open arms. Didn’t they see what he was after? That he was manipulating them to get a good deal on the price of the farm?

  Sawyer must’ve felt her gaze because he turned to her with a half grin. Emma glared at him. The audacity he had.

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

  Well, let’s just say there wouldn’t be a second time.

  4

  You can lead a horse to water…

  Sawyer looked out the windows of the back porch. When Emma’s parents first began the process of moving, her mother was worried sick about leaving the farmhouse empty overnight. So Sawyer had offered to stay. She’d tried to pay him a house-sitting fee, but he’d told her that being neighbors with their family over the years had been more than enough payment. What he really meant, of course, was being neighbors with Emma.

  The moon—its shape a thin, silvery smile—sent a glow over the wood floor of the room as Sawyer cozied into the hammock where he’d been sleeping. He’d heard on the news that tonight would be a lunar eclipse. Should be starting any minute.

  Mrs. Bailey had arranged a daybed out there for him, but he hadn’t the heart to tell her his legs wouldn’t fit on the thing. He preferred the hammock, anyway. Reminded him of the nights he’d spent camping as a boy with his father.

  Sawyer followed the glow of the moon out through the window and up into the night sky. The circular outline was faint, and the space in between, hollow.

  Of course, anyone with half a mind knew it wasn’t actually hollow, but it sure looked that way, didn’t it? And Sawyer knew the feeling.

  Because ever since Emma stepped foot back on her family’s property, he had been feeling the same way. A sliver, for a circle.

  The woman knew him better than he knew himself. After she left, his life had changed. For Sawyer, there was no waxing and waning. Only a glow growing ever more faint with each passing day that Emma Jane stayed away.

  When she glared at him in the kitchen tonight, he knew exactly what she was thinking. And she was right—he wanted the farm. He’d dreamed of owning the pecan orchard since they were in high school.

  But her clear assumption of his intentions couldn’t be more wrong. Did she really believe him capable of such manipulation? Of tricking her family?

  What he really wanted to say was I made a promise on your granddaddy’s deathbed to take care of you, and I well mean to honor it.

  But she hadn’t a mind to hear it. Not today, at least.

  The last fraction of moonlight slipped behind the shadow of the earth, and the moon took on a reddish glow—suspended from the light by his own place in the universe.

  Sawyer sighed. Such a picture of how he’d stood in the way long ago, darkening the shining hope of the future he and Emma had planned.

  He tried closing his eyes from the hammock. But sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. The mere thought of Emma in her red dress sent his heart racing. Oh, what he would’ve given to make her his wife. But the truth was there, however hard to face—his life, his dreams, and his work were not enough to keep Em interested after what he’d done. They never had been, and he suspected they never would be.

  Emma Jane was his fairy. She was a dream, a muse, his only love.

  But she was ever out of reach. He knew these things. He’d known them for years. So why couldn’t he find closure?

  Sawyer adjusted his pillow but couldn’t seem to get comfortable. He rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows, kneading the space where a headache was coming on. He needed rest before daybreak, but how could he sleep with Emma under the same roof?

  He lifted the quilt from his chest and reached for the faded T-shirt he’d left beside the hammock, then pulled it over his head and slipped his arms through the holes. He’d go to the kitchen for a glass of water. Or maybe the front porch swing.

  Yes, that was an idea. The front porch, overlooking rows and rows of pecan trees, always helped him think. Always brought a sense of peace.

  Sawyer rubbed his arms to acclimate to the chill without his blanket and shuffled through the house, still half-asleep. He opened the front door. The screen flapped shut with a screech, and Sawyer turned toward the porch swing. That’s when he saw her silhouette—ankles crossed and her hands holding a mug of something.

  His breath caught at the sight of her, oh-so-real and yet
a distant memory. The sight of her there, on that swing of all places—their swing. He knew it was a sight he couldn’t keep for long. A shooting star. A wish, here then gone. But he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out like a kid at a 3-D movie.

  “Em.” His pulse wakened as he said her name. He hoped she hadn’t noticed his voice warble and was thankful the night sky would hide the thud of his heartbeat against his T-shirt. She’d been perfectly civil toward him at dinner. And in Emma’s language, that may as well have meant daggers.

  Insults he could handle. Glaring looks too. But civil was something else entirely.

  Civil meant she was done trying to make amends. She’d be all smiles and stony walls for the next three weeks. That is, unless he did something—drastically did something.

  “Watching the moon?”

  She nodded and offered the type of smile she might give a Starbucks barista.

  He took the liberty of sitting beside her on the swing. Emma set her steaming down on the ground, away from their feet, and tucked one foot up under her knee. She wore fuzzy socks, blue flannel pants, and a sweater the color of his morning coffee. Even in the light of the stars and the darkened moon, her brown eyes shimmied with beauty. This woman had taken his breath away since the two of them were sixteen. If he had a chance—even a sliver of a chance—to make amends, he was going to take it. Before the sliver passed into a shadow.

  Sawyer rubbed his eyes with his palm. Taking a deep breath, he looked at her, and was surprised to find her watching him.

  Where to begin?

  He shifted toward her on the swing and tried not to notice the way her hair skimmed her shoulders or how close their knees were to touching. She was but inches away, yet the chasm was years in the making.

  “I’m sorry, Em.” His voice was raspy. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “I’m sorry for everything that happened that day.”

  She watched him, studied him, as if she were waiting for more of an explanation. And she deserved it, didn’t she? But he didn’t know what to say. Apologizing wasn’t exactly his forte.

  She never shifted her gaze. He’d forgotten how strong and intent she could be. “We had plans, Sawyer. You left college with no warning. You proposed, and then you left me.”

  Sawyer blinked. “I had clarity for the first time in months. When we came home for break, everyone else was planting—corn and tomatoes and watermelon. I wanted to get my hands dirty. I wanted make something of myself. I was going stir crazy in those molded plastic seats—away from the sound of crickets at night and pull of color through the sky at dawn.”

  Frustration rose as he tried to explain. Why had she never understood his reasons for returning home? Why wasn’t his dream of owning the pecan farm enough for her? Was he worth nothing without a college degree?

  “I don’t know why you’re broken up about it now.” He raked one hand through his messy hair. “You certainly seemed to take things in stride when you threw the ring at me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma’s earthen eyes flashed amber at his insult.

  Calm down, idiot. You’re trying to apologize, remember?

  Sawyer moistened his lips and shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry. All I meant was you never struck me as being brokenhearted by the whole thing.”

  “Sawyer, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” Emma tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled at the hem of her long sleeves. “I wanted you to think I was strong. Ambivalent. But the truth is, I cried on the dorm room floor every night for months. I barely made it through that semester. I started getting calls from dress shops and bakeries where I’d scheduled appointments. Every day was another reminder. The breakup crushed me.” She reached down for her mug and took a sip of her drink, then met his gaze boldly. Were her hands trembling?

  The thought of her so upset made him heartsick. Sawyer rubbed his palms together. The chill of the February air was beginning to stiffen his fingers. Every part of him ached for her. To go back to simpler times in high school, on this very swing. Times when he told her he loved her, and she said the same thing. Times that still surfaced in his dreams.

  “Why would you ever think you couldn’t be honest with me? That you had to pretend to be strong?”

  Emma leaned back. “Why couldn’t I be honest with you? Sawyer, you dropped out of college and let me find out through my mother, of all things. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Which is why I’m apologizing.” The swing swayed as he shifted to face her directly. “But Em…” The words caught at the back of his throat. He didn’t know if he could say them, even after all these years. He’d never been much good at these things. But this was his shot, and he needed to get it all out in the open. “I didn’t tell you because I already knew what you’d think. You’ve always been good at school, wanted to live in Boston and be a big-time writer—the whole shebang.” Sawyer shook his head. “You deserved more than I could give you.”

  Emma stilled, the moonlight dripping a shimmery trail along her shoulders. “You had it all wrong,” she whispered. “All I wanted, all that time, was you.”

  He couldn’t help what happened next. It was as if all his good sense left him in one fell swoop, and no amount of resistance would do any good. His hands swept up into her hair, and he pulled her closer without thinking—like the path home when memory takes over and does the driving.

  Emma Jane leaned in. She tasted like Earl Grey and honey lip balm, and her breath caught a little as he continued to kiss her.

  He had stepped into the dream. This was the part just before waking every morning, the reason he closed his eyes and begged God to let him fall back asleep. Only now, it was happening.

  Sawyer’s blood pushed through his veins, and he parted his lips inches from her own even as his hands swept further into her hair. But the moment he ended the kiss was enough to break the spell. Emma blinked then covered her mouth with her hand.

  She shook her head and leapt up from her seat. “Never again, Sawyer.” But she moved too fast for the old swing, and with a creak, it split clear down the middle. Irreparable.

  An orange blur darted from behind the flower planter and leapt off the porch. Beastly. Poor cat was probably scared silly.

  Emma looked down at the broken swing. “Well, isn’t that a sign if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “No, Em—” He stood to reach out for her. But she stopped him with one wave of her hand before he could get any closer. She raised her chin, and he recognized the expression as her jaw tightened. That did not bode well for him.

  “This was a mistake, okay?” She grabbed her mug and started toward the door. Tea splashed in a trail along the porch. “A huge mistake. After the next three weeks, I will never see you again. While I appreciate the apology, it’s too little too late.” She reached for the screen door and looked over her shoulder at him. “If you really cared, you wouldn’t have waited four years to apologize. You would’ve fought for me back then. Let’s just do our best to be polite for the next few weeks since my mother insists on your presence.”

  And like that, she was gone.

  Though her parting words stung, Sawyer grinned. Because he’d broken through her civil tone at dinner. Because a crescent of moonlight had reemerged. But mostly, because the passion in her kiss felt exactly the same as the day she said she’d marry him.

  5

  Emma Jane rolled over under the familiar fabric of the quilt and groaned. The daylight streaming through the sheer curtains of her old bedroom had come too soon. She willed herself to push back the blanket and covered her yawn with her hand. The subtle tick-tock of the clock on the wall grew achingly louder.

  At least she wouldn’t have to see Sawyer this morning. He always worked at Hammonds Hollow on Mondays, selling inventory with his father. Or at least, he used to. Emma wasn’t sure what he did on Mondays anymore.

  She slipped a terry robe over her dogs-wearing-Christmas-scarves pajama ensemble, pulled her hair into a mess
y bun, and took the flight of stairs down from her room into the kitchen.

  “Smells delicious.” Emma rounded the corner, expecting to see her mother pulling out a pan of cinnamon rolls.

  But the pan of cinnamon rolls was the only correct thing about the picture she’d imagined. She came to a halt mid-step.

  “What are you doing in my mother’s kitchen at seven o’clock in the morning?” Wearing chinos and looking like Prince Harry, for goodness sakes.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you?” Sawyer slid off the oven mitt and spread frosting over the length of the pan. He would be the world’s perfect man right now if only he really were Prince Harry.

  She expected her blank stare was sufficient response.

  “Your mother takes your grandmother to physical therapy every Monday, and then they drive over to Foley for Starbucks.”

  “Grandma Dorothea needs physical therapy?”

  “Yeah, since her wrist injury.”

  Emma blinked. Why didn’t she know Grandma Dorothea had a wrist injury?

  He set the icing knife down against the pan and stepped closer—one step too many. “I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?”

  Emma tightened the belt of her terry robe. “Not at all.”

  Sawyer’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Still holding a candle for me, princess?”

  “Breaking things off with you was the best thing I ever did.” But her tone lacked conviction, and even she heard it. He always could call her bluff. She used to love that about him. Not anymore.

  Sawyer looked into her eyes a moment longer than he should’ve. He smiled that ridiculously charming grin of his, and for a moment, she felt the full weight of all his promises.

  Broken promises, that is. Promises she once trusted.

  But the farmland turned out to be what Sawyer’s one true love. Why else would farming have taken priority? Over college, over their plans, over their future?