Mike grinned at me in relief. “Thank Christ. I wouldn’t mind helping you open up a camp or summer home or whatever, but I’m not going to be much use when we get there. I was going to suggest crashing at a hotel for a few hours if we had to do that.” He let go of my hand long enough to grab his coffee. “Does the caretaker know we’re coming?”

“It’s my mom.” I shook my head. I hadn’t called or sent her a text last night because I knew she’d be asleep. Today was Sunday. She would have been up at the ass-crack of dawn to get ready for church. And I didn’t want to give anyone that big of a heads up. “A few years ago, my mom put the farm I grew up in on the market. I bought it and hired her to stay there and take care of it for me.”

“And you haven’t been back since? Not for Christmas or anything?”

“Nope.”

“Must have changed a lot over the years, huh?”

I gave him a small smile, thankful he hadn’t asked why I hadn’t gone home in so long, or pointed out how weird it was. “You have no idea.”

A few minutes later, when I had him turn down a little dirt road in the middle of a forest, he gave me a weird look, but followed my directions. When the road became narrow and led to an old wooden one-lane bridge, he stopped the SUV and turned to me. “I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been home and you’re wicked tired. Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“Yes. Keep driving, you geek.” I smiled, knowing what was coming. On the other side of the brook, the road opened up into a meadow. Green fields spread in front of us, meeting the mountains. A quarter of a mile more and you’d see the roof of the farmhouse where I grew up, the building slowly coming into view as you got closer to it.

“Wow,” was all my companion muttered as we made our way up the drive and I pointed out the little things that I’d forgotten I missed.

“That’s the pond where I learned to swim.” I pointed to the swimming hole down on the right. The dock where I’d spent hours lying in the sun was still there, but the float that had always been in the middle was now lying on the shore. To the left was the enormous three-story barn where my best friends—a beautiful Quarter horse named Strawberry and a mutt named Hobo—had lived. Both were buried here on the property, over the hill behind the barn, down by the falls. I needed to visit them while I was home, it had been too long.

I had Mike park in front of the barn. My mom’s car wasn’t here, but it could be in the garage. I took a deep breath before pushing open the door and stepping out. A quick glance at the house told me that we were alone. No one pulled up this driveway without being noticed.

“What’s that noise?” Mike walked up behind me, looking all around. “It sounds like a fountain.”

I smiled. “Clifford Falls. They’re beautiful, and only a couple of minutes away on foot. I’ll take you there later.”

“Nice.” He leaned in, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting hug and moving his lips next to my ear. “Welcome home, Mols.”

He didn’t move back, and I didn’t pull away. Instead, I leaned against him, trying to gather all the strength I could and shove my nervousness aside. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and willed myself to calm down. I’d missed this place more than I wanted to admit. I was home.

But for every good memory this place held, there was an equally painful one.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Mike said, offering me a hand before pulling me toward the house. “How old?”

“My great-great grandparents built it in the early 1800’s. 1835. It’s been changed a lot since then, but the original structure is still strong.”

“Wow.” He sounded impressed as we moved up the steps and onto the wrap-around farmer’s porch. I hesitated, not sure if I was supposed to knock or go right in. The house may have belonged to me, but it never had been mine. After a second, I pushed open the door, relieved that my mom still refused to lock it. She’d always said that locks only kept the honest people out. Guess some things would never change.

“Hello? Mom?” I called out into the foyer, but I was met with silence. “She must still be gone.”

Mike arched a brow. “Did you tell her we were coming?”

“Nope. I was going for the element of surprise. I’ll call her in a bit.              Let me show you around.”

So much of it was exactly the way I remembered. The smell of the laundry room, the way the light filtered into the living room through the wall of windows, and the way the tiny kitchen at the back of the house made you feel welcome and encouraged you to sit at the table with a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.

Yet so much had changed it felt like I was seeing the house for the first time, too. It was quiet, too quiet. I was used to hearing laughter and movement, the radio blaring while my mom cooked dinner, and animals demanding attention. The lack of clutter surprised me as I moved throughout the house. Only two coats hung on the wall next to the back door, instead of twenty, all piled on top of the others. Below them, there were boots lined neatly on a matt. But my dad’s work boots were missing, as were my riding boots.

I moved slowly up the wide, wooden stairs, stopping to see each picture that lined the wall. My niece and nephews, kids I only knew from the pictures my mom sent, had replaced the ones of my sisters and me, but almost all the way at the top were some that I’d grown up staring at. Black and white shots of my grandparents, and one of my parents on their wedding day.

I showed him the bathroom on the second floor before pointing to a door. “My parents’ room.” I paused at the door across the hall, too afraid to open it, too scared not to. I didn’t know what I’d find in my old room, but when Mike reached around me and twisted the handle, I was shocked to see that it looked exactly like it had the day I threw some clothes in my backpack and ran. “Oh.”

“Whose room is this?”

I glanced around, taking in the twin-sized bed, matching white desk, and miniscule bureau where I used to keep my clothes, realizing we’d walked into a time capsule. The room was clean, the bed made, but other than that, it hadn’t been touched since 2004. “Mine.”

“Really?” Mike laughed, stepping into the room and looking around. He was a giant of a man anyway, but he looked even larger in the smallest bedroom in my house. “Who is Georgeanne?”

Shit! I glanced over the bed, realizing that the large white letters spelling out my birth name were still hanging over my bed where my mom had put them two decades ago. I cleared my throat. “Me.”

As his eyes moved around the rest of the room, mine followed, too. The dark blue walls and white trim looked more like a little boy’s room than a girl’s, but the band posters on the wall gave it away. “It just doesn’t look like you. It’s too boring.”

I smiled. “It was me when I was a teenager.” I ran my fingers over my bookshelf, surprised that even it seemed like it had remained untouched. “I thought my mom would have turned it into a guest room, or a sewing or craft room by now, but it looks just like it did.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the window frame. “Mols?”

I knew that he wanted an explanation. Pointing to the name above my bed, I explained. “Have you ever met a musician named Georgeanne?”

He smiled. “I’ve never met anyone named Georgeanne.” He pushed himself up, staring at me. “You just don’t look like a Georgeanne. Maybe you could have shortened it. Been George Ray, screwed with people’s minds. Georgia Ray is pretty catchy.”

I shook my head. “Georgeanne Sapphire Davis.”

He arched a single eyebrow before something beside me caught his eye and he moved to stare at the pictures that lined my wall. I was rooted to the spot, mind whirling as I tried to find a way to explain what he was going to see. Finally, he turned to me, looked around the room once more, and then smirked. “You’re fucking with me right now.”