MAISY

I drop the magazine on the table next to me and bounce my leg nervously as I glance up at the clock and let out another impatient sigh. It feels like I've been waiting forever, but in reality it's only been seven minutes. Seven minutes and I'm about ready to claw my way out of here. I rest my pounding head in my hands and unconsciously rub my forehead, wishing I had an aspirin on me. Glancing up at the secretary typing away on her computer, I wonder if she'd be able to tell how hungover I am if I went up and asked for one.

I look down at my ratty jeans that I picked up off the floor this morning, and ever so subtly lift the neckline of my tank top up to my nose. Ugh! Even I can smell the liquor on me! Letting go of the fabric, I raise my nose up in disgust before running my hands back through my hair in an attempt to work through the tangles. Maybe I've got a brush.

My enormous black purse has overdue bills, my cell phone, a pair of black lace panties, and three packs of gum, but no brush. I put it on the empty chair next to me and lean my elbows down on my knees in frustration. I should have never come. I promised myself I'd never step back in this god-awful town, yet here I was. I should have just handled everything over the phone. I think I could've done that. There was probably a way, if I'd only asked.

But there was the house to consider; I couldn't just let some anonymous stranger pack up my mother's things. I couldn't let it all go, not without taking the time to sort through everything. My conscience ended up getting the better of me and I got in my car late last night and drove all the way here. I only stopped for gas. I was too afraid that if I pulled over any more than that I'd end up changing my mind and turning back around.

So instead I just concentrated on the road and thought about my mother. She was the reason I was here, because ten years ago I never got the chance to say goodbye. I knew that everyone would assume I came for my father, that he was the reason I was back in town, but I didn't care what they thought. It was my mother I was here for. Just her.

When I got the call yesterday from my father's lawyer's secretary I was just about to head off for my shift. I was stunned to hear that my father had died-- not devastated, just stunned. In my memories he was always such a powerful man, a force to be reckoned with. I couldn't imagine anything defeating him, even death. But I was even more surprised that the lawyers knew where to find me. Did my father know where I was this whole time? My mind starts spinning again and with my hangover coupled with my lack of sleep, I can't seem to rein it in.

I stayed at my old house last night. It was like walking back in time. I pulled my car up to the curb and stared at the white home with the wrap around porch. I remembered how it felt like a prison to me back then. Now it just looked sad, worn down, and most of all, empty. I had no idea why he kept it all these years.

As I opened my door and stepped out into the warm night, the smells and sounds of the neighborhood instantly sent me careening back in time. I pushed the gate open and thought about the last time I stood there. I thought about Logan Stanfield, something I tried to avoid, and wondered if he ever got out of this town. He deserved more than this place.

I tipped over the potted fern and found the spare key, still hiding underneath it after all these years. Slowly I stood up and faced the front door, hesitating there in front of it. A part of me was afraid of what I'd find inside. It was the same feeling I always got when I used to walk into my house-- the tightening of my gut, the anxious nerves that flooded me. It was all coming back and I wasn't sure if I could handle it.

I had spent a long time running and now I was willingly walking back inside.

The house was almost exactly the same. It was creepy really because it looked like mom and I still lived there, but it had almost been ten years. Mom's make-up and creams were still laid out on her vanity and my room was left untouched, like he was waiting for me to come back. Nothing had changed and that unnerved me. I hated the idea of him hanging on to our memories long after we were gone. My father didn't deserve them.

I spent most of the night tossing and turning in my old bed. I finally got up around 2 AM and raided my dad's liquor cabinet because sleep was eluding me. The house was filled with ghosts and everywhere I looked contained some painful reminder of why I had left.

I don't remember much after that, not until the call this morning telling me that I was late for my meeting with the lawyers. I grabbed my clothes off the floor and dashed out of the house. I saw our neighbor; Mrs. Hendricks's, staring out her window as I got into my beat-up Chevy, and I knew that news of my return would be all over town before lunch. I just hoped I wouldn't have to stick around long enough to deal with any of the questions that were bound to follow.

Rubbing my palms over my face, I let out a small groan. This is taking too long and I've still got a ton of work to do over at the house. If I want to get out of here by the end of the week, I need to get started.

"Ms. Jacobs." I look up at an impeccably dressed woman standing before me and nod. She smiles down at me, smoothing her hands over her tight, black pencil skirt. "If you'd just follow me." She turns and leads me through the doors and down a long corridor.

The building is new; it didn't exist in the sleepy beachside town when I lived here. In fact, a lot around here has changed. It's a weird sensation, knowing where you are but not recognizing anything around you. In my mind everything had frozen on that warm spring night when I left town. On those rare occasions I allow myself to think of home I always imagined everything still would look the same, but the place had transformed.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," the woman says, glancing back over her shoulder. "You were late so we had to do some reshuffling of the schedule."

I can only imagine the impression I'm making. And just like that, the old Maisy is fighting her way through, the one who cared about what other people-- people like this-- thought.

"Sorry," I find myself apologizing to her, and the second I do I hate myself for it.

Nodding tightly, she doesn't say anything as she stops in front of a large door. The whole office is impressive, modern and imposing. Based on appearances alone, this looks like the kind of firm my father would choose. The woman knocks once and then opens the door.

Four gentlemen in suits are sitting around a large conference table in the center of the room and they all stand when they see me. I search their faces, feeling suddenly intimidated, and that's when the air gets sucked right out of me. Everything around me goes slipping away and I get hurled right back into the past.