Chapter 5: Running from the Past

My cousin and Marcus’s engagement was rushed, the wedding date even faster. Maple Heights loves a good wedding—our house turned upside down with seamstresses, playlist debates, and the family cat hiding under the bed. My aunt was buried in bridal magazines and color swatches.

Nobody had time to keep an eye on me, so I grew restless. My room felt like a cage. I lay awake, listening to distant highway traffic, feeling like the world was spinning on without me. Not even my favorite playlists could help—I just kept hitting repeat, searching for something familiar.

The house was drowning in red decorations—crimson ribbons on the banister, plastic hearts taped to the windows, reminders of a celebration that wasn’t mine. Even the dog sulked, refusing to wear the ridiculous bow someone tied around her neck.

So when Mom left for church, I bribed old Mr. Harris at the gate and snuck out in my brother’s clothes. I pulled on his faded Tigers cap and worn jacket, praying no one would notice. Mr. Harris just winked and pocketed my five dollars. “Be home before dinner, Nat,” he whispered.

I drove aimlessly, windows down, letting the breeze and late-spring petals wash over me. Main Street buzzed with kids at Scoops, Memorial Day bunting in the hardware store windows. I took the long way past Willow Lake, letting the cool air dry my tears.

I remembered that in the dream, so many spring days had felt just like this—love at first sight, a pounding heart, a knowing smile. I’d always thought I was the smart one, but Marcus’s fake love blindsided me. I gave him everything, and it still wasn’t enough.

I pulled over at the lakeside park, blinking against sunlight sparkling on the water. The world kept spinning, uncaring. Somewhere, a little girl shrieked, chasing her puppy.

Through the tears, I could almost hear Marcus’s voice: “Lillian, the flowers ahead are even more beautiful—let me take you over there.”

I wiped my eyes and chased after two figures that looked so much like them, sneakers crunching gravel, following as they weaved through wildflowers near the boathouse. Each step hurt, but I couldn’t stop.

But I still lost them. Alone now, I squatted by the path, buried my head, and sobbed hard. The sky was so blue it hurt. For a moment, the world faded—just the salt of my tears and the distant call of geese.

“You liar! If you didn’t like me, why didn’t you just say so!” My voice broke, swallowed by the wind.

When I’d cried myself empty, I wandered to a pond. A fisherman stood nearby, and I muttered, “No one takes care of this place anymore. The weeds choked out all the fish.”

He turned, grinning: “Didn’t think I’d see you sneaking around in your brother’s old jacket, Nat. Trouble at home?”

I looked up, recognizing Derek—the mayor’s fourth son, who died young and alone. His smile was lopsided, his old Lions cap pulled low.