Page 6

The smell of fresh coffee and frying potatoes greeted Natalie as she stepped into the main lodge the next morning.

Sunlight beamed through the lace curtains above the kitchen sink, casting soft patterns across the pine floorboards.

The lodge felt warm and lived-in, as though it had absorbed years of conversation, of morning silences, of hands wrapped around mugs while frost still touched the windows.

The morning light slanted through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes suspended in the air like lazy fireflies.

On one windowsill sat a row of succulents in mismatched ceramic pots.

A faded calendar hung beside the pantry door, a dry-erase board pinned beside it with notes from volunteers written in different colors.

Every surface carried homely signs of wear, a fraying dish towel, a hand-carved spoon darkened with use, the subtle creak of wood as the house settled into the day.

Olivia was at the stove, a faded green apron tied around her waist, flipping golden potatoes in a cast iron pan.

The kettle whistled gently on the back burner, and the low murmur of NPR filled the background like an old friend.

She looked more tired in the daylight, a few more lines around her eyes, a tightness to her shoulders that hadn’t been there last night.

Natalie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, a yawn catching in her throat. "Smells amazing."

Olivia turned, smiling softly. "Morning. Sit. You need a proper breakfast if you’re going to be of any use around here."

Natalie laughed, slipping into the same seat she’d taken the night before. The table had already been set with thick ceramic plates, mismatched mugs, a jar of homemade preserves. Everything here had the comfortable look of things chosen with care and used with love.

Before Natalie could reply, the screen door creaked open, and Davey stepped inside.

She noticed the shift the moment it happened, an almost imperceptible rigidity in Olivia’s posture, the way her shoulders squared, the pan lifted just slightly higher over the heat.

Davey was taller than she remembered, broader in the shoulders, with a beard that made him look older than his twenty-one years.

His brown hair was tousled from sleep, and he wore a flannel shirt unbuttoned over a T-shirt that read SANCTUARY STAFF.

His eyes, a softer version of Olivia’s, flicked toward Natalie, then away just as quickly.

"Hey," he said, a little shyly.

"Morning," she replied, offering a small smile.

He moved across the room with a quiet, slightly guarded energy. Natalie could see the ghost of the teenager she had once known in the way he half-hunched his shoulders, how his hands stayed buried in his pockets until Olivia handed him a plate.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

The silence that followed was subtle but stretching, like a thread pulled too taut.

Natalie picked up her fork, glancing at Olivia, who busied herself with the coffee press, her hands at work. She poured herself a mug but didn’t ask Davey if he wanted one. He didn’t ask either.

The air in the kitchen was warm, but the atmosphere had cooled. Even the cheerful bubbling of the potatoes seemed suddenly too loud.

"You look... different," Natalie said, hoping to ease the tension.

He shrugged. "It’s the beard. Makes me look less like a disaster."

Natalie smiled, but Olivia made a sound in her throat, not quite a laugh, not quite disapproval. She said nothing, but the way she picked up a dish towel and started drying already-clean mugs spoke volumes.

Natalie saw it then. Not just the tension of a mother worried about her son, but something more complicated. Resentment, maybe. Frustration. A quiet hurt that had never been fully voiced.

"I didn’t know you were back," Natalie said, directing her words more to Davey now.

He nodded, keeping his gaze on his plate. "Yeah. Been a few months now. Just helping around here. Trying to figure things out."

His voice had an edge to it. Not hostility, but a defense mechanism maybe. Natalie recognized it instantly.

Olivia set a bowl of scrambled eggs in the center of the table with a little more force than necessary. "Davey’s taking some time off school."

"Is that so?" Natalie said gently, though she felt the shift in the air immediately.

Davey looked away. Olivia’s jaw tensed.

"It wasn’t going too well," Olivia added, her fork clinking a little too hard against her plate.

Natalie said nothing. She had no desire to prod open old wounds, especially not at the breakfast table. But something in Olivia’s tone didn’t sound like the whole truth.

Davey stabbed at his eggs. "I got kicked out, Mom. Let’s not sugarcoat it."

The words dropped like stones. Natalie blinked, her eyes flicking to Olivia. Her friend’s face remained calm, but her hands had gone still.

"You don’t have to say it like that," Olivia said quietly.

"How should I say it? That I needed a break? That I just needed to 'find myself'?"

"You don’t need to perform for anyone here," Olivia said, her voice still low but firm.

"I’m not performing," Davey snapped. "I just don’t want to pretend this is some spiritual retreat. I got kicked out. That’s what happened."

The room fell silent again. Natalie shifted in her chair.

She could feel the anger in both, raw and unspoken.

She knew better than to interfere. But she couldn’t stop herself from noticing how both mother and son seemed caught in their own storm, unable to reach the other.

She reached for her coffee. The mug was warm, grounding.

Outside, a crow cawed from a high branch. Inside, the silence held.

"I didn’t mean to pry," Natalie offered quietly.

Davey looked at her, something softer in his eyes now. "You didn’t. I just... I don’t really talk about it."

Olivia pushed back her chair and stood. "I’m going to check on the fawn. Natalie, if you’re up for it, I could use help feeding the birds in a bit."

Natalie nodded. "Of course."

When Olivia stepped outside, the tension eased a little, like the tightly drawn string was released.

Davey exhaled. "She doesn’t tell people. About me."

"Definitely not to me," Natalie admitted .

"That’s her way of protecting me. Or maybe protecting herself."

He toyed with his fork.

"It wasn’t drugs, if that’s what you’re wondering. Or grades. I was doing fine. It was... a mistake."

Natalie didn’t press.

"Anyway," he said, pushing back from the table, "welcome to the sanctuary. It’s a weird little world, but it grows on you."

He disappeared out the back door, leaving Natalie alone with the cooling remains of breakfast and the echo of a conversation that felt like it had only just begun.

Outside, the morning had brightened. Blue jays called to one another from the trees, and the breeze carried the fresh scent of pine resin and grass.

Somewhere in the distance, she imagined Olivia, lost in her worries, speaking softly to an animal.

Natalie stood, collected the plates, and began to rinse them in the sink, her own thoughts turning. This place was more than she’d expected. And, like her, it was still trying to heal, wild things and humans with a common aim.

Natalie stepped out into the crisp morning air, the kitchen door clicking shut behind her.

The sky above was cloudless and expansive, stretching in soft hues of blue over the pines.

Morning mist still clung to the lower hills, curling around trunks and stones like breath held in the earth.

She could hear the low rustle of birds through the trees and the distant call of a red-winged blackbird echoing through the sanctuary.

She pulled her coat tighter around her as she headed down the narrow path toward the animal enclosures, gravel crunching under her boots.

The sun had risen fully now, warming the frost-laced grass and bringing a golden sheen to the wooden fences and rooftops of the sanctuary.

The whole place seemed to shimmer in the quiet light, like a watercolor brought to life.

The sanctuary was alive with gentle movement.

Chickadees flitted from branch to branch, and a squirrel darted up the side of a cedar, chattering noisily.

Natalie passed the aviary, where a great horned owl turned its head to follow her with slow, deliberate grace.

Farther down, a line of enclosures stood open to the woods, allowing partially rehabilitated animals to come and go under careful supervision.

Each space had been designed to mimic the natural world, fallen logs, running water, mossy rocks.

This place was no sterile refuge. It was a staging post before the return.

She spotted Olivia just past the far paddock, kneeling beside a small, fenced pen where a young fawn lay curled in the straw.

Olivia was murmuring something, her hand gently brushing over the animal's soft flank.

Even from a distance, the tenderness of the moment struck Natalie.

It was a portrait of care, of persistence.

"Hey," Natalie called softly as she approached.

Olivia looked up and offered a tired smile. Her eyes were rimmed with weariness, but not the kind born solely of lack of sleep. It was the exhaustion of constant giving, the kind that lingered even after rest.

"I meant to ask, did you sleep alright?" Olivia asked, brushing off her knees as she stood.

"Better than I expected," Natalie said. "Something about this place... it's even quieter than I remembered."

Olivia tilted her head slightly. "It has its own rhythm. Once you get into it, it’s hard to imagine living any other way."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as the fawn flicked its ears and rested its chin on the straw.

"How’s she doing?" Natalie asked.

"She’ll make it," Olivia said. "Broken leg. Caught in a barbed-wire fence. But she’s eating again. Starting to trust."

Natalie nodded, folding her arms as a breeze passed through. "She reminds me of someone. "

Olivia gave a dry chuckle. "You and me both."

Natalie didn’t press. The tension at breakfast had left echoes.

They walked slowly toward the bird enclosures, the scent of hay and pine drifting through the air.

Around them, volunteers moved about their routines.

A young woman in her early twenties was cleaning water dishes near the fox den.

Another man, older and wiry, adjusted the wiring along one of the fences.

"You run all of this?" Natalie asked.

Olivia gave a half-nod. "Me and a rotating cast of saints and sleep-deprived drifters. We survive on passion and stubbornness."

Natalie smiled but didn’t laugh. She understood that kind of survival. Lately, she was surviving on memory and momentum.

Olivia led her to the aviary, where a pair of owls blinked at them from their perch. The structure was large and circular, with mesh walls high above to allow flight. The inside was shaded and cool, lined with evergreen branches and thick trunks for perching.

"We built this last year with a grant from a local conservation group," Olivia said. "It was a huge victory."

"It’s beautiful," Natalie said. She reached a hand toward the mesh, careful not to disturb the owls. "It feels like it belongs here."

Olivia gave a small smile. "That was the idea."

They fell into a companionable silence again, the kind that only comes from years of friendship and shared history.

Natalie was grateful for it. She felt raw beneath her layers, fragile in ways she hadn’t yet put into words.

Her hands still trembled sometimes when she thought of Boston, of Giles, of the days in that house where nothing felt like home.

She had come here to breathe again, and even now, standing in the crisp mountain air, she wasn’t sure she could, so clung to hope.

"This place... it feels like a second chance," Natalie said softly. "Like I might find a way back to myself."

Olivia turned to look at her. Her expression was kind but edged with something weary.

"It is. But it’s not always easy. You saw that this morning."

Natalie nodded. The memory of Davey’s bitterness and Olivia’s quiet pain hung like smoke over their breakfast mea;.

"He’s angry," Natalie said.

"He’s lost," Olivia corrected gently. "And I can’t seem to reach him."

They began walking again, following a narrow trail that led along the edge of the sanctuary. Wild grasses lined the path, and the ground was soft beneath their feet. A hawk circled above them, its shadow rippling across the open space.

"The town hasn’t made it easy either," Olivia continued after a pause. "There’s been pushback. Locals say we’re encouraging predators, that the wolves we rehabilitate are a danger to livestock. They accuse us of wasting tax dollars, even though we rely on private funding."

"That sounds... deflating."

"It is," Olivia admitted. "But it matters. The work we do here matters. And if I give it up, I lose more than just the land. I lose what this place means. For the animals. For people like you. And Davey."

Natalie felt a pang in her chest. She reached out, lightly touched Olivia’s arm.

"You haven’t lost him."

"Sometimes," Olivia said quietly, "I think I’ve been waiting to lose him, almost knowing this phase was coming or maybe all parents feel like that, who knows."

They walked in silence again, the path narrowing as they reached a small overlook. Below them, the valley stretched wide and wild, dotted with patches of forest and clearings where deer might graze. The sanctuary sat like a hidden gem in the hills, its cabins and enclosures blending into the land.

Natalie drew in a breath of the sharp, clean air. She could feel the mountain settling into her lungs, chasing out the staleness of city streets and hospital corridors. Her heart still hurt, bruised and wary, but here in this place, she could almost believe it might one day feel whole again.

"Thanks for letting me come," she said softly.

Olivia turned, her expression open and filled with a quiet affection. "You’re not here as a guest, Nat. You belong here, I’ve often hoped you come."

Natalie smiled. The wind whispered through the trees, and they stood side by side, two women bound by friendship and hardship, facing a world that was still uncertain but filled, at last, with the promise of something more.