Crain's Landing (2 page)

I didn’t always feel that way. I was in love once, with Peyton’s father, Holden. I thought he’d hung the moon. He could do no wrong and I just knew I would spend the rest of my life with him. We started dating our junior year of high school. Our fathers worked for the city where we grew up. Holden’s dad was on the city planning committee and my father worked for the mayor. Our families were always around each other. He even proposed after our graduation from college. We moved in together and life was good, until I told him I was pregnant.

At first, he seemed excited and would talk to my stomach. Then shortly after we returned from a holiday trip home, when I was about five months along, he came in one night and said he didn’t love me anymore. He moved out and went back to Hikers Cove. I was left to have our baby alone and raise her by myself. Holden made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the “bastard” child I carried. His parents stopped talking to mine and that was when things got bad.

It was during the first few months after Peyton was born that I ran low on money. My scholarship paid for my tuition and housing, but with having a baby, I had to move out of the dorms. Having an apartment of my own was great—no loud stereos or running in the halls, no parties that went on all hours of the day and night. But as great as it was, it had its pitfalls; I was responsible for everything. My electric bill was due and I needed to buy groceries. With only fifteen dollars in loose change, neither one was going to be taken care of. I took the engagement ring Holden had given me to a pawnshop, only to find out it wasn’t real.

The pawnshop owner was a woman who took pity on me and gave me one hundred dollars for a cheap piece of tin and cut glass. She told me she had been in my shoes once— tossed out by her live-in boyfriend with only the clothes on her back. Their relationship had caused her to distance herself from her parents and she found herself all alone. She stumbled upon a selfless stranger who bought her some food and paid for a hotel room, with no ulterior motives, but returned the next morning with breakfast in hand. Her face changed from the firm business owner to an unmistakably content one as she explained they had just celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary.

I had called my mom back in Oregon to complain about Holden, confiding in her the humiliation I felt. She became so angry, yelling at me I had trapped Holden and she refused to have anything to do with me, or Peyton, ever again. My father called me later to tell me that Holden and my mother had apparently been having an affair. They had been together for a while. Now I understood why he didn’t love me anymore: he had my mother to take care of him. At least she couldn’t get pregnant and have him leave her too.

A month later, my father filed for divorce and moved from Oregon to a small town in South Carolina. He wanted a quiet place to live and tinker around as he saw fit. He also wanted to be as far away from my mother and Holden as possible. He found a little house on the edge of a small southern town; it had all of the features he was looking for—two bedrooms, a large porch with a shed in the back. When he went to the bank to inquire about the house, he was bombarded with questions by the townsfolk. The ladies that worked in the bank thought he would be perfect for this person or that person, but my dad was like me, he had no interest in being in a relationship with anyone. He purchased the house and fell in love with the people; he told me it was hard not to. He was encouraged to run for Mayor and said since he knew how to do the job, he figured, why not? No one ran against him and he had held the position ever since.

So in two days, I’d pack up what little belongings we had, stowing away the memories of bringing her home from the hospital, her first cold and her first word. I would close the door to the life I once had in New York and begin a new chapter in my and Peyton’s world. I was excited to be closer to my father, yet far enough away I could still enjoy my privacy. I was about to take that giant leap from student to adult and embark on a very
long
journey with my father and daughter, from New York to the tiny town of Crain's Landing, South Carolina.

CLEANING OUT MY APARTMENT DIDN’T
take long since we didn’t own much. That would certainly change once we settled in our new home. The new tenant who was taking over was a broke college student and had bought all my old furniture for cheap. The house I had rented in South Carolina came fully furnished, so it was a win-win situation all around.

Once we had all our suitcases and Peyton’s toys packed into my SUV, we headed south for our new adventure. As the city turned to farmland and rolling country hills, I said a final goodbye to the life I had known for the past few years. I had grown so much since the first day I laid eyes on New York. Gone was the naive girl who knew nothing about the world and the people around me. I hoped I had become smarter about things, about how people work. College had taught me many life lessons. Now, it was time I took all the skills I had acquired and put them to good use.

Cities faded one into the other, sign after sign each more colorful than the last—all trying so hard to snatch your attention, to steer you in the direction of whatever they were selling. One billboard in particular caught my eye. A car dealership promised free oil changes for the life of your car and hand car washes if you purchased one of their used models. A beefy man with a white Stetson inked and swore he was more honest than Abe Lincoln. I guffawed at the wording chosen for him. A recent documentary I’d watched determined most great men in our history had some pretty fierce skeletons in their closets. So how honest was ol’ Abe?

As we passed the actual dealership, it certainly didn't disappoint. The large American flags waved proudly in the harsh, high winds. The banners that lined the side street full of color, promised the best deal in town. Even the car insignia that circled above the building entrance looked as if it were coated in glitter. Yet another way to capture the eye and take your thoughts away from the real issues. An old carnie trick—make you look in the direction one hand was doing some amazing trick, while they reached into your pocket with the one you had forgotten about. I highly doubted there was an honest man in the building.

Not that I would need a new car any time soon. My Nana Reid had died when I was ten and in her will she’d left ten thousand dollars to each of her grandchildren. My father was a smart man and had invested mine for me. Last month, I was finally granted access to that money. My first purchase was the brand new car we were currently riding in. The second, the rent on the house where we would be living. The rest, I put away for Peyton’s college education. The interest would mount up nicely and she’d be able to concentrate on studying, instead of worrying about money.

Peyton was secured in the center of the back seat, her toys surrounding her and the DVD playing her favorite movies. My dad thought we could take our time, make a vacation out of the trip. Maybe even make some new memories along the way. He knew it would be cool for us to see the little towns in between New York and South Carolina. I took the time, while he was driving, to come up with ways to increase the number of activities the people of Crain's Landing could utilize the library. All while optimizing its operating costs, boosting patronage and, let’s be honest, securing a financial future for Peyton and myself.

When my father first contacted me about the position being open, I doubted I would get it. With no real experience and only a few references, I felt my chances were slim to none. I sent in my resume, and when I received a phone call a few days later. I was floored when I was offered the position with no real interview. My excitement was dashed a little when Mrs. Nelson informed me there would be conditions to my employment. The city had been monitoring the number of people that visited the library annually and, sadly, the number had decreased each year. With the technology of today, it was no real surprise. Why go to the library when you could log on to your computer at home while still in your pajamas? People could go onto one of the major bookstores’ web pages and download a copy of a new book for little cost, again, never leaving their homes. I had a huge task ahead of me. First though, I needed to take a look at what they had to offer as far as books and periodicals.

Dad told me the library was located on the main street in town and that it was a fairly new building; beyond that, he wasn’t certain. While he was an educated and well-read man, he would rather be playing a round of golf than reading the latest new adult series or anything other than the occasional newspaper or spy novel.

So, my first task would be to take a tour. I had planned to do that without introducing myself—a cold call, as it was known. I wanted to see how they ran the place without expecting me to be there, kind of like visiting someone before they could do the quick cleanup people did when they knew someone was coming. I wanted to see if the current employees there were knowledgeable and helpful. I wondered whether the layout was accessible to all ages, including the handicapped. How the staff interacted with the patrons, how effective was their current system, and what programs were offered.

The first day of our trip went well. After we left “honest” Abe to sell his Lincolns, we crossed into Pennsylvania. We saw only miles and miles of fields and pastures, as well as the occasional horse drawn carriage. Dad reminded me we had entered Amish country. A large population of them owned property and ran small shops along the roadside. I envied their simple life—working the land by hand, surrounding themselves with the fruits of their labors. Well, maybe not their lack of electricity or use of modern technology.

Peyton slept off and on, but when we would stop to look at different attractions, she would point and giggle, causing both of us to look in that particular direction. My father insisted on carrying her everywhere. It was nice to have a second set of hands for a change, a second pair of eyes to keep watch over her. We stopped at a farmer’s market late in the afternoon where a mini festival was going on in the town, so we took a short walk with Peyton. She found a puppy-petting booth and squealed with delight when the owner set her in the middle of the puppies. They all surrounded her and began to lick her all over her face. Dad pulled out a camera, taking picture after picture, her cheeks stretched to their limits with her smiles, her giggles once again spreading like wild fire.

“Don't worry, darlin’, I’ll send you copies.” That was one of the oddities I had discovered, my father had immersed himself in the culture of the South and his dialect showed it. Once upon a time, his ‘o’s were very pronounced, now he lacked the letter ‘r’ in his vocabulary. It was cute and he didn't fuss much when I mocked him, yet reminded me that I would be the Yankee soon, and folks in Crain’s Landing would certainly let me know ‘bout it.

“What the hell have you gotten me into?” I inquired.

His only response was a Cheshire cat smile and then silence.

When we pulled into a hotel not far off the interstate for the night, my father went to the little grocery store located across the street and came out with a six-pack for us to share and a stuffed, floppy-eared puppy for Peyton. Her eyes lit up when he pulled it out of the bag and handed it to her. She cuddled it into her tiny, chubby hands and hugged it, placing kisses on its face. She drifted off to sleep with the dog still wrapped in her arms. Dad and I sat out on the tiny balcony with the door open so we could hear Peyton if she woke. With my feet propped up against the railing and a cold beer in my hand, I closed my eyes. For the first time since I had given birth to Peyton, I relaxed and let out the air I had trapped inside my chest. Being a single mom didn't afford me the luxury of turning into myself and ignoring the world around me, if only for a second. I cleared every thought from my head and focused on drinking that beer, relishing the cold liquid as it flowed down my throat. The warm and fuzzy feeling would soon fill my body, putting an end to the tight muscles that had taken over my shoulders and neck. My father didn’t say a word as I enjoyed every drop. When he handed me the second one, he softly began to speak.