Luna

As I entered the town proper, I drove toward the backdrop of a large forest filled with ancient trees and lush shrubbery. It felt almost like a fairytale.

Moonglen was the kind of town where your boss was also your real estate agent or grocer. Maybe there was a cute bookstore owner or a friendly barista.

Large cities had advantages like convenience and anonymity, but I wanted to try something different. I could make a friend here and stay for a while.

The place was quiet—almost too calm. I had dreamed of this kind of peace, but part of me still braced for it to be temporary; it always was.

As my directions instructed, I turned left and passed a row of homes until I was directed to stop outside what essentially looked like a cabin. A navy blue sedan was parked outside, and an older woman was sitting in it.

After parking, I hopped out, and she did too. She was tall and elegant, with dark auburn hair styled in a sleek bun.

“Luna?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I’m Maureen. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” I moved forward and shook her hand. She started walking, and I followed her.

“There’s one key for both doors. You don’t need any specific instructions, as everything is simple to operate and in good order.” She unlocked the door, pushed it open, and remained on the small front porch.

“Great. Thanks,” I said.

“You’ll be able to start work tomorrow?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you at 9 a.m.”

Maureen had hired me for a six-month temporary administrative assistant assignment because her last one had gone on maternity leave.

She seemed a bit put out by it, as if spending time with a new baby was a personal affront.

It was clear she was used to getting her way.

I figured we would get along just fine; I knew how to keep my head down, cause no ripples, and fade into the background.

By 3:30, I had the keys and had met my boss. It was efficient—just how I liked it.

The cabin was more homey than my old apartment, and I loved it— the slanted roof and warm wooden fixtures.

Everything was in one room except for the bathroom, which doubled as the laundry room.

The kitchenette was simple yet functional, featuring a small, aged wooden table with two chairs beside it.

The bed, a luxurious queen, was to the left of the front door, with a new linen set sitting on the edge.

To the right of the bed and table was a well-worn sofa that still did its job, facing a medium-sized television.

It was perfect. The places I had lived before never had such a cozy space or a backyard.

Looking out at the verdant forest sloping down from the yard, I could imagine weekend hikes and book clubs. The trees rustled in the wind—or maybe it was something else. I shook off the thought; it was just nerves.

The floorboards creaked in a friendly way as I walked through the cabin. The scent of lemon cleaner lingered in the air, mingling with the piney aroma from the forest beyond.

I had already unpacked my few possessions. The supplies from the big-box supermarket just outside town were organized in the fridge and on the shelves. I kept things minimal and easy to pack. I wasn’t sure why I brought a decent set of books along when I had a Kindle, but they comforted me.

My cell rang. It was Jessica. I put the call on speaker.

“Hi, Jess,” I said.

“Luna! Have you arrived?” Her voice crackled over the line; she was in some distant country providing medical services with Doctors Without Borders.

“Yep, all settled in the cutest cabin.”

“Is the landlord okay?”

“My boss, actually.”

“Efficient,” she noted.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Great minds think alike.”

“Everything good there?” I asked.

“Yeah, just busy and undersupplied. Oh, I’ve got to go. Have fun and be safe!”

With that, the whirlwind that was my best friend hung up.

She had taken me under her wing during my last stint in a foster home run by her parents.

She had seen many kids come and go, but she really adopted me.

We were the same age, shared similar interests, and were at the right point in our lives to explore our boundaries.

Jess had once dared me to skip class so we could take the bus to the beach.

It was the first time I remembered choosing joy over fear.

I made a hot chocolate and sat on the back steps, watching the sun set over the trees. I could hear the distant sounds of children playing and birds fluttering through the branches, and it all felt so restful.

I had been running my whole life—from foster home to foster home, from temp job to temp job. University was the longest I had ever stayed in one place. Maybe this time, everything would work out.