Page 15 of One Boiling Summer (Texas Summer #15)

ROOTS AND REMINDERS

LACEY

The guest bedroom at the Goodson house hadn’t changed much in the years I’d been away.

The walls were still soft yellow, in a warm and friendly hue.

I ran a hand along the square mirror above the dresser, its frame carved by Hudson and his dad back in high school for his woodworking project.

It’d turned out so fine, he’d put it into the county fair that summer and won first prize in its category.

Some things like this I recalled so vividly. Other things, like the sound of my dad’s voice, had faded over time.

The bed creaked in a familiar, comforting way, as I balled up on top, bringing the quilt around me like a protective shell. The patchwork of old flannel shirts and faded denim had been stitched together by Mama Goodson.

The closet still had her extra craft bins lining the bottom, and a shelf filled with fabric she swore she was going to use to make more quilts someday. Some might call it clutter. At the moment, it was the safest place in the world to me.

I sat upright at the notification sound from my phone on the nightstand. I sniffed and wiped my cheeks, the tears never ending. It was a message from Archer.

Archer: Any decision yet about coming back to NY? Brooks took off with Maisy for some island time and I’m drowning in contracts and chaos. Please say yes.

I gaped at the screen. A week ago, I might’ve said yes without hesitation. But now?

Lacey: I lost my family home tonight in a fire. Everything’s gone.

My phone rang immediately. I picked up, holding it to my ear with a shaky hand.

“Lacey?” Archer’s voice was a mix of businesslike concern and genuine worry.

“I’m here,” I croaked.

“Shit. I’m so sorry to hear this news. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, my voice cracking.

A knock came on the door. I didn’t even try to hide the tears.

“Come in,” I called.

Mama stepped in, holding a steaming mug. “Warm milk,” she offered gently. “Always helped me sleep after long nights.”

I smiled weakly at her, grateful. Into the phone, I said, “I’ll have to call you back, Archer.”

She set the mug on the nightstand and sat beside me; the mattress dipping. I set the quilt aside.

“I can’t stop crying,” I admitted. “That was my old boss in New York. He’s offered me my job back. Sounds like he really needs me.”

Mama didn’t rush to speak. Instead, she stood and moved toward the closet. From the highest shelf, she pulled down a photo album, wrapped in tissue paper.

“I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to give you this,” she said, sitting beside me again and placing the album in my lap.

I eyed it warily. “What is it?”

“When your mama started swapping out photos around her house, we got to talking. I had some of my own, and she had others. So we made copies. Spent whole afternoons reminiscing about each one. I didn’t know why, at the time, but I felt compelled to put them in an album.

Now I’m grateful I did. They can replace the ones you lost tonight. ”

I opened it to the first page where a picture of Mama and my mother, both in their twenties, stood arm in arm beside their husbands. All four of them looked sun-kissed and happy on the beach at the lake.

Mama got misty-eyed. “That was our senior year of high school. Double date to the lake. Ran out of gas on the way to taking your mother home. Your daddy had to walk a mile in cowboy boots to get gas.”

I laughed through my tears as we flipped through the pages together. There was a photo of me on a tire swing, one of me and all the Goodson boys piled onto a hay ride, another of me and my mom baking cookies. Each picture tugged at a million heartstrings within me.

“These are precious memories,” I whispered.

“They are,” Mama said softly. “And no fire can take them from you.”

As we flipped further, a strange pattern emerged. In so many of the group shots—birthday parties, school events, even simple backyard barbecues—Hudson was there.

Always in the background. Always glancing at me.

In one photo, when we were in our twenties, Carson had his arm around me at a Fourth of July picnic, both of us grinning like fools. But a few feet away, Hudson stood with a plate of ribs and a barely concealed look on his face that made my chest clench.

“He was always there,” I murmured.

Mama smiled knowingly. “Always. That boy’s been carrying a torch for you for some time.”

“I never saw it.”

“You weren’t ready to.” Mama stood and kissed the top of my head.

“It’s your life, sweetie. You can either head back to New York, or you can stay.

People would understand. Either way, you always have a place in this family.

You’re welcome to stay with me as long as you like.

And I do hope you’ll stay. There comes a time when a person needs to put down roots. ”

She left me in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. I kept flipping through, studying each photo, my eyes wet with every memory.

The final photo stopped me cold.

Hudson, in his fire academy uniform, standing tall and proud on graduation day. His grin was bright, eyes full of determination. A man who ran into fires, born with heroism in his blood. Because being a hero was just who he was.

Could I love someone like that? Someone I could lose in a heartbeat?

Was I brave enough?

My phone buzzed with a text.

Archer: When you’re ready to rebuild your house, I’d be honored to design it. My gift to you. Thank you for everything you did for me in New York.

My heart swelled. I looked back at the photo of Hudson, then down at Archer’s message.

Maybe I was ready to stay. Not just to rebuild a house, but to rebuild my life.

Right here. In Poppy Valley.

The next morning, I stirred slowly, not quite ready to face a new day, not when the fog of last night still hung heavy over me. But the scent of coffee and sweet bread wafted up the stairs, and I knew I couldn’t hide forever.

I slipped into the soft sweats and oversized t-shirt Mama had left on the dresser, complete with fuzzy socks that looked like they’d been knit with love. Padding quietly down the stairs, I half-expected the kitchen to be empty, the house quiet, but it wasn’t.

Voices drifted from the dining room, some familiar, others less so.

When I rounded the corner, I froze. Emme was standing near the table, surrounded by half a dozen women. I recognized them from around town, including one I’d overheard gossiping about me at the grocery store. My stomach dropped.

Emme saw me and stepped forward, wringing her hands but offering a tentative smile. “Lacey... we heard about the fire. And, well, we wanted to help.”

She gestured to several large shopping bags piled near the door.

“We gathered clothes—things we thought might fit. There’s more on the way.

We’ve spread the word across town. Some of my aunts’ husbands are already loading up spare furniture and household goods people are donating to you. Nothing fancy, but it’ll help for now.”

I blinked, overwhelmed. “Why would you do this for me?”

One of her aunts cleared her throat. “Look, things get said in small towns. But when it comes down to it, when one of our own has a need, we take care of them.”

My throat tightened. I blinked away tears, refusing to cry in front of them.

Emme stepped closer, her eyes kind. “Can we talk? Just us?”

I nodded, letting her lead me out onto the porch. The morning air was cool for now, although another hot day had been predicted.

“I was jealous when I saw you at the engagement party,” she admitted. “Seeing you next to Carson stirred up old insecurities. I didn’t handle it well. I kept him busy, made excuses so he couldn’t be away from me, because I didn’t want him running into you again.”

“I get it,” I said softly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance back in high school. I was young, but people change. I’d like to try again with you. As friends.”

She looked surprised, but then smiled. “I’d like that too.”

“Thanks for the clothes and thinking of me at this difficult time.”

She reached out and squeezed my hand. It might take a while, but I’d try to be a friend to her and get to know her better.

Mama stood with me on her porch, watching them go, a soft smile on her face.

“They mean well,” she said, slipping her arm around my shoulders. “Oh, this old small town… We may love our drama, but when the dust settles, we prove we still have heart.”

I nodded, emotion thickening in my chest. Exhausted, hungry, and worried, I leaned into Mama as the perfect support I needed right now.