Page 29

A wave of emotions slam into me. Excitement mixed with sadness.

To be where I grew up, where I had experienced all my happy memories, is bittersweet.

I miss my dad. I even missed my mom. Well, the version of who she was with my dad.

But most of all, I miss freedom. Waking up every day without rules, how to dress, how to act, how to please.

Lana places her soft hand on my arm. “Ready?”

Nodding, I smile.

Everyone follows me toward the back of the trailer park. Ours being the one with yellow shutters.

“What color do you want to paint these, baby doll?” my dad asks, rubbing his deep brown beard.

“Yellow, daddy.”

“Yellow?” He laughs. “You sure?”

I nod with confidence. “Yes. Yellow is a happy color.”

“Then yellow it is.”

I still remember how it felt when my dad leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

We walk in silence with only the sound of our shoes hitting the pathway. Logan beside me, Crew and Lana following close behind.

It’s more run down than before. As expected, it has been a long time and I’m sure the upkeep for everyone is unaffordable.

I stop when the yellow shutters come into view, gaining a rush of nostalgia. The yellow paint, once bright, is peeling but I picture it as brand new. The red and spotted toad house left in our small flower bed still lies there, faded to a dull blush color, but in the same spot.

God. How I loved this place.

“Can I help you?”

We all spin to meet the person behind the voice, Logan still standing beside me. Crew and Lana in front.

In recognition, I move forward, shuffling between my best friend and Crew. “Mr. Thompson.” I can’t believe it’s really him. He’s older of course, but I couldn’t forget his kind face anywhere.

“Do I know you?” His brows scrunch inward with his hands resting on his bony hips, probably approaching somewhere around eighty years old now.

When I was a kid, he used to let me run around his yard with his dog.

“I’m not sure if you remember me but I lived here with my dad. My name is Sora.” I point to my old trailer.

He takes a minute, but once recognition sets in, he flashes a wide smile. “Well, all be damned. My have you grown.” He wraps me in his small, frail arms that are like home—closest to home I am going to get. “Your daddy would be so proud.”

My smile vanishes. Would he? If he knew what I’ve done. Who I’ve been all these years. But if he was still here, I would never have been Jason’s wife.

“It’s great to see you, Mr. Thompson.”

“What brings you back to this part of town?”

“I… I came back for something.”

“Ah, all right. Just be quick. Eloise doesn’t like trespassers on her property.” He glances at his watch. “But lucky for you, it’s her nap time.”

A grin spreads across my face.

“Well. I’ll leave you to it then.” He nods over at the man standing directly behind me. Logan moved closer during our conversion. “Take good care of this one. She’s special.” He must think we’re together but before I can correct him, he turns to leave.

“She is,” Logan answers, practically sending my heart leaping out of my chest.

Mr. Thompson throws a thumbs up as he continues to walk away.

“Okay then. You kids ready?” Crew breaks the silence, while I still avoid looking at Logan. “So, what exactly did we come for?”

I tuck the situation away for now, walking up to that old toad house. Thank God this lady decided to keep the thing.

Starting from there, I count my steps.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

I pause, then pivot to the right and count another six times before stopping on the mark. Why did I not think of bringing a shovel?

Fuck on a bagel.

With hope there’s one just lying around somewhere, my breath catches when I see just what I am looking for propped against our old shed where my bike was kept.

Thank you, daddy.

I snatch it, then violently push it through the ground. The very solid, hard ground.

“Now’s the time you should probably tell us if you buried a body back here,” Crew jokes.

Lana sends a punch to his arm. “If Sora buried a body here, I would know.”

“Let me.” Logan places his hand over mine before taking the shovel and stabbing the ground himself, making it appear a hell of a lot easier. He doesn’t ask what’s under the dirt, he just digs for me.

His work boot presses against the steel, pulling up the earth. He continues to do this for the next five minutes as I watch his arm muscles flex.

When the sound of the shovel hitting something metal strikes, I know he found it.

I was right.

I kneel taking the small box from the dirt and dust it off.

“Holy shit. I haven’t seen that in years.” Lana kneels beside me, her hair falling over her shoulders.

“My dad threw it out after my mom asked for the divorce. He didn’t want them anymore, but I couldn’t let him do it. So, I took it out from the trash and buried it.” The hurt comes flooding back like a hurricane.

“He’d be glad you saved them.” My best friend pulls me into a side hug as I continue to stare at the box in my hand.

“What’s inside?” The vibration of Logan’s voice rumbles against me.

I look up, locking my gaze with him. “It’s my dad's recipes.” We hold our stare, me breaking first to open the box.

Still in perfect condition, in his writing, are his desserts. I softly run a finger over the first one.

Dandelion shortbread:

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened

scant 2/3 cup sugar

1 heaped tablespoon honey

1/2 cup loosely packed dandelion petals

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1-1/4 cups of all-purpose flour

coarse sugar, for topping, optional

Wash dandelion flower heads under cold water and set on a kitchen towel to dry. Then pick the yellow petals off the green flower heads until you have a half cup of petals.

In the bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment (or in a large bowl with a hand mixer), cream together the butter, sugar, and honey until light and fluffy. Mix in the dandelions.

On low speed, add the salt and vanilla and then slowly add the flour until it is just incorporated into the dough. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.

Turn the dough onto a couple large sheets of plastic wrap and roll it into a log that is about 2-2.5 inches in diameter. Wrap the dough and place in the refrigerator for at least an hour, or overnight.

When ready to bake, line two baking sheets with parchment or silicone baking mats. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Slice the log into about 1/4-inch slices and place on the baking sheets, about 1 inch apart. Sprinkle each with a little coarse sugar, if desired.

Bake for 9-11 minutes, until the edges and bottoms are turning golden. Let cool for a couple of minutes on the baking sheets and then place the cookies on a cooling rack to fully cool.

Store cookies in an airtight container. They are more flavorful a day or two after baking.

A tear falls and I quickly dab it off the paper, trying not to smear the ink. “My father made this recipe for my mother because of how much he loved her. He always called her his dandelion. I suppose that’s why I love yellow so much.”

To anyone, a dandelion is just a weed, but to my dad, it was life. Love.

Lana lays her head on my shoulder and with her silent comfort, it soothes me. As we sit here, in this moment, I’m thrilled she’s with me. Being alone would have sucked after all. The people here tonight will forever hold a special place in my heart.

A loud bang erupts, and the front door to my old home whips open.

“What are ya’ll doing in my yard?!”

“Time to book it!” Crew shouts.

Logan offers me his hand and I gladly take it as he practically lifts me to my feet, tugging me to his chest. We stay like that for a few warm seconds before the old lady slowly hobbles down the two front steps. The same steps I’ve walked down so many times before.

Logan backs away but doesn’t let go of my hand and we take off for the truck.

“Thank you for the shovel!” I shout. “And sorry about the hole in your yard!”

With Lana and Crew already ahead of us, and the wind ripping through my hair, brushing against my face, a smile forms. It’s refreshing, like being here is the closure I need and sought.

As Logan leads me away, I close my eyes, relying on his guidance as I take in the last breeze of air, inhaling deeply and pretending to smell the dandelions.

When we make it to the truck, we can finally catch our breaths and check to see if the old lady decided to go back inside. As expected, she had already disappeared, no longer shouting profanity at us.

It happens so fast, but there’s zero stopping it. A thunderous laughter comes roaring out of me. The kind you feel deep within your stomach. The kind that takes your breath away, forming tears in your eyes. Lana joins me in a fit while Crew and Logan stare with ghostly grins on their faces.

I needed this. It is genuine fun. The carefree nature of what is today.

When I come down from the high, I wipe the tears from my eyes, still clutching my father's recipe box to me. “Thank you guys for coming with me. This was honestly the best time I’ve had in a while,” I speak the truth, finally able to close this chapter of my life.

We’re hours through the drive back to Sunlight Creek. Tired, hungry, and anxious to get back to a somewhat civilization. Leaving gross motels and crazy old ladies behind us. As much fun as this adventure was, I think we’re ready for our own beds.

As day turns to night, we brave one more night sleeping in a hotel bed. At least this place isn’t like the last spot and Logan allowed me and Lana to stay together. How generous of him.

“I’m glad you remembered where your dad’s box was.” Lana walks out of the bathroom toweling her wet hair.

“Me too. It’s the last bit of him I have left.”

We plop down on the squishy bed onto our backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“Thanks for not letting me go alone. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Lana locks her fingers with mine. “I’m always here for you, Sora. You’re the sister I’ve always wanted.” There’s pain in her voice when she says it.

“Deep down, you love your sister.”

She ignores me. “You should really take a shower. You smell like Logan.”

“What?” I flick her arm and then rise off the bed. “That is not true. And how do you know what Logan smells like?” A rush of jealousy hits me, even though nothing will ever happen between them. But the thought makes me feel weird.

“Anyone within a mile radius knows what Logan smells like,” she states with a smirk.

I smile and shake my head. He did smell good.