Part 1 of ?

There’s nothing quite like sleeping on Strawberry Shortcake sheets in one’s childhood bed to make one question one’s life choices. 

Not me, of course. I knew exactly what I was doing with my life, and the Strawberry Shortcake bedding was definitely a part of that plan. 

A part of the plan…life is a map, not a maze. Know where you are going. Going to sleep, going to win, going to die.

I jerked back to full consciousness at the thought.

My mother was going to die. And the only thing I could do about it was watch.

______

I woke the next morning to a light breeze dancing across my face, dappled sunlight and the songs of a million happy birds. 

I lay there, for a moment a little girl again, excited to see what the day would bring. Then I turned my head toward the sunlight and adult me came fully awake.

“Ughnnnggrr,” I muttered, pushing myself up and groping for the glass of water on the window sill. Mornings were always a rude reminder that I was further from my twenties than my forties. This morning had the added reminder that my mother was dying and that was why I was here, in my childhood bedroom, pretending to be home on a normal, happy visit.

I ran through the day in my head as I rolled the water over my thick, heavy tongue. Hospice was coming today. Three o’clock? Then I had some work to do on a few articles that were due last week. I needed to convince dad to call a lawyer today, and start looking over the finances. Plus the entire house could use a cleaning. 

I wrinkled my nose, remembering the mouse droppings I had found in the pantry last night. 

“Oh yeah, saw that. I set a few traps, haven’t caught anything yet. You know they like to come in this time of year,” my dad had responded to my expression of disgust. 

It was one of the hazards of living in the country; I knew that. But dad was wrong about one thing. Mice liked to come in when the weather grew cold and the fields had all been harvested. Today was the first of June, which meant that any rodents in the house were long-term tenants.

My parents were not really managing for themselves anymore. 

I added “get a cat” to my mental to-do list. 

Down in the kitchen, my father handed me a chipped mug of orange juice and a microwaved breakfast sandwich. 

“I remembered this time that you don’t like oatmeal,” he grinned proudly. 

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my doctor had forbidden ham and put me on a strict regimen of unsweetened oats for breakfast. I didn’t have the heart to do that to myself. 

When you go back home, you aren’t really an adult; you regress a bit around your parents, I think. My child-self revelled in the naughtiness of eating a forbidden breakfast, and the comfort of being spoiled by my daddy.

Once we had both sat at the worn table, I cleared my throat. 

“Dad, I think we should call the lawyer today.”

“What? Honey, you shouldn’t be worrying about things like that. There’s no need for a lawyer. Mom and I wrote our will years ago.”

I sighed. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t indulge in being a child. Not today. Not this year. 

“But she needs a living will, Dad. Power of attorney, advance directives – does she want a DNR? There are a lot of decisions that will be very hard for you to make in the moment. It will help both of us – and mom – when things get tough to have these things already decided.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a lawyer yourself and not a journalist!” My father chuckled. “So, what do you plan to do today?”

This was not going well. 

Choosing my battles, I decided to move on from the lawyer – for now.

“I thought I would clean up a bit, maybe find a cat to help with the mouse problem. Then I need to finish up a few articles, but that won’t take long.”

“I saw a sign down Bonheifer for free kittens,” my dad offered, leaning back in his chair and draining the last drop of coffee from his travel mug. “Maybe you can walk over and check them out before your mother wakes up?”

I considered objecting, but a morning walk was really just what I needed. My dad and I were early birds, feeding off the freshness of the new day. Even before the cancer and the chemo my mother had been a night owl, rising several hours after we did. A glance at the stove display told me I probably had two or three hours before she woke up.

“I think I will,” I grinned, the prospect of dew-damp grass and sparkling spider webs bringing back happy girlhood memories. “Which place had the kittens again?”

My father looked up, his face a study in carefully blank innocence. 

“I think it was the Dave Miller place. You remember where that is?”

Did I remember where Dave Miller’s farm was? I would never be able to forget. I had spent more time growing up on the Miller farm than I had at home, to both of my parents’ chagrin and amusement. 

I put on my own carefully blank look of innocence.

“Oh, right! Yeah, I think I can find it.”

____

“Be good, sweetie!”

I turned and stuck my tongue out at my father, letting the screen door slam behind me. It was our own personal joke. My dad never cared much for traditional female “goodness,” and we had a pact that I could always call him to get me out of a jam and my mother would never hear a word of it. She was…proper. If I thought she knew half the stuff I did as a teen, I would have worried that I had given her cancer just based on the stress level alone. But she didn’t; in her mind I was a sweet, innocent creature who played by the rules.

The sun was just warming the earth as I started down the narrow lane that led from our farm to the Miller’s place. It was a seven block walk by road, but the lane cut straight across the back 40 of both farms.

It would be strange, showing up at the farm as an adult instead of a kid. It would be strange talking to Dave and his wife, MaryJo, instead of their children. While I was an only child, there were five Miller kids to liven up the farm when we were growing up. Of course, they would all be grown and gone by now, just like me. 

Except I wasn’t gone, and I was beginning to feel like I might not be that grown either.

A rabbit hopped across the dirt path in front of me, pausing to tilt her head and blink her big brown eyes at me.

“Hey there,” I greeted her softly, frozen in place. 

She gave her left ear a flick and with a giant leap headed off into the rows of young corn, turning to see if I followed.

“Oh, you have babies around here? Don’t worry,” I cooed, slowly scanning the ground near my feet. A loose tuft of fluff lifted in the breeze, drawing my eye to the shallow hollow just off the lane to my left. The ground around it had not been tilled or mowed.

“You’re safe, honey, and so are your babies,” I soothed, taking several steps further away from the nest. “The Millers take good care of their neighbors.”

Once past the nest I walked swiftly, not wanting to worry the mother more than necessary.

I took a deep breath of the morning air, heavily scented with earth and sweet alfalfa. 

This was going to be a pretty good day, all reality aside.

____

The Millers’ house was dark and silent, and no one answered my knocks. Hoping to find someone out doing chores, I headed for the barns. 

When I was growing up, the Millers ran a dairy farm. But before I reached the barnyard I could smell the change in livestock. Pigs? Easier to deal with on a daily basis, I supposed. It made sense for an older couple.

I paused at the first gate, considering how much bigger farm animals always were in real life compared to storybooks. These pigs could have been ridden into battle, if they could have been bothered to stand up and move. 

“You guys have got to be like, the size of baby elephants, at least,” I said to the nearest pig, conversationally. It raised its beady eyes to me and flicked its tail at a fly, then flopped its head down.

“I always think they look more like hippos, but ok,”

I jumped at the unexpected answer.

“Hey, oh, hi! I, um – I didn’t see you there,” I stammered. 

The man stood at the corner of the barnyard wall, a watering can in one hand and a basket of eggs in the other.

“Well, that’s because I wasn’t here until I heard a crazy lady talking to the pigs and poked my head around the corner to see what magic portal had opened in my barnyard.”

“Your barnyard?”

My mind was spinning. Had the Millers sold the farm? Who was this man? Would he be angry that I was talking to his…pigs?

“Well, I like to think it is, although the pigs disagree. But imagine my surprise when I saw the magic portal had, in fact, brought Ellie Jones right to my doorstep!”

Ok, this was out of hand. I wasn’t the greatest in social situations to start with, but this stranger definitely had the advantage of me.

Did I know him?

I looked him over again from head to toe. Dark, wavy hair fell past his shoulders, framing a rugged face with a midnight shadow of a beard and piercing green eyes.

As I met his eyes, the world tilted, jiggled and fell back into place making much more sense. I knew who this was.

Unfortunately, without any internal preparation, I was about to look like a complete fool. 

The blush came just as quickly as it had when I was fifteen.

“Aaron Miller,” I said, forcing my voice to lilt up as if I didn’t care. 

“The same,” he smiled.

My breath caught somewhere deep inside me. Fortunately, he was too deep in a mock bow to notice the hitch.

This was how it had always been. Aaron was too old to be one of my playmates, but he had always been around. And he had always taken my breath away, without seeming to notice. 

“No one has called me Ellie since I started high school,” I said, kicking myself as the words came out of my mouth. Like I said, not good in social situations. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, coming toward me much too quickly for my brain to process. “What do people call you now?”

“Well, my dad calls me Lizzy – that’s always been his pet name for me. To my mother I am a very proper Elizabeth. My friends call me Liz.”

“What should I call you?” he asked, close enough now to look down at me. “Since I am neither your father nor mother, and don’t know if an old childhood acquaintance counts as a ‘friend’?”

I reached for the basket of eggs, tucking it under my arm. 

“You just keep calling me Ellie,” I said boldly, shaping my mouth into what I hoped was a friendly-but-not-too-friendly smile. “I find that I actually don’t mind it.”

Aaron fell into step beside me, heading toward the house. 

“So, Ellie, what brings you to our sunny farm today?”

My mood deflated faster than a balloon in a cactus garden. 

“I’m home for a while, to help my parents. I don’t know -”

“I heard about your mom,” he interjected, his voice softer. “I am so sorry.”

“Thanks,” I grinned wryly. “It’s so good to be back that I keep forgetting why I’m here. Then reality reminds me that I’m an adult with things to do and responsibilities.”

“Which then reminds you why the magic portal brought you to my doorstep?” Aaron prodded as we reached the kitchen door. He set down the watering can and opened the door, motioning me inside.

“Cat!” I exclaimed. “That’s what I walked over for – my folks have mice, and Dad thought you all might have free kittens.”

“Well…” he drawled, the corner of his mouth twitching, “they were free until you let me know how much you want one…”

Just like that I was a teenager again, and my crush was treating me like his kid sister. Two could play at that game. 

I gave him a playful punch, laughing at the way he fumbled the eggs he was carefully setting into cartons, four at a time.

“Hey, you break the eggs, you clean them up!” he warned, but I could hear the laugh bubbling under the surface. 

I always could make him laugh. 

“I didn’t touch the eggs,” I retorted, “so how could I break them? And anyhow, I don’t want one of your flea-bitten kittens, even if they were free.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” he closed the last carton of eggs and turned to me, the full effect of his sparkling eyes suddenly constricting my chest. “You don’t get to call my kittens anything until you’ve seen them!”

I followed him back into the sunshine, a familiar ache in my heart. 

Aaron was the sexiest man alive, and I was friendzoned so hard. And that was his right, of course! He didn’t owe me anything. 

And twenty years had done nothing to rid me of a gigantic schoolgirl crush. 

The kittens were neither flea-bitten nor pricey. Aaron recommended a soft gray female – the smartest of the litter, he assured me – and walked me through bargaining him down to a fair price. In the end I left with a good mouser (I could see it in her ears) and a promise to come back when his parents were home.

“So,” I ventured, as we reached my end of the dirt lane, which he had insisted on walking me down, “you live – with your parents?”

“You’re one to talk!” he scoffed. “But no, if you must know; I live in the second house. The one we rented out way back when.”

Ah, yes. I remembered the second house. We had convinced ourselves (not Aaron; he was too old for such silly fancies) that the renter was a witch, and had made up entire stories about her sordid deeds. 

“Cool,” I said. “I’m sleeping on my old Strawberry Shortcake sheets.”

Why was I like this? Just why? 

“Well, I’ll see you around, Ells,” Aaron winked, unfazed by my random comment. He turned and strode back toward his farm. 

Ells. Now that was new.