The Lambert house was white with black shutters and shingles. In the warmer months, yellow and red flowers bloomed in rock-edged beds while more were set out in pots. Beth had grown up helping her mom with her flowers and gardens in the spring and summer, a task she used to grumble about, but one she appreciated more as she got older. Being kept busy was a good thing, and having tasks and chores taught values not otherwise known. Of course, being responsible and practical never could dampen Beth's imagination.
She always wanted to tell stories; do things that could be retold as great stories.
Beth's eyes found the leafless tree she used to climb with Ozzy and then jump from, much to her mom's consternation. Beth was a princess, trying to save her prince. Or an explorer searching for lost treasure. Jane looking for Tarzan. She never realized it then, but she was usually saving Ozzy, even as they played.
Her mom would chase them around the yard until they ran off and found something else to do, telling Beth she didn't need her daughter to break any bones when she had two boys who did it often enough as kids.
It was a poignant memory-spun in sorrow and joy. Ozzy was a sweet boy, but as the years went, he changed. Gradually, but irrefutably. One day Beth looked at him and didn't know him anymore. She mourned that little boy. The hint of a smile dropped from her face, and she inhaled deeply, wondering how the man in her house earlier that morning could be the boy she grew up with.
"Beth!" Her mom waved from the open door. "What are you doing standing out in this cold?"
"Hi, Mom." She waved back and approached the house. "Just remembering things."
"You can remember them inside, where it's warmer."
Sandy Lambert had blonde hair a shade darker than her daughter's. She kept hers short, saying she didn't want to mess with it when she had more important things to do. Her frame, once muscular and fit, had softened with age. She was still a formidable force, someone Beth strived to be like. Dressed in ragged purple shorts, pink slippers, and a gray tee shirt, she should be cold, but appeared to be too hearty to give in to it.
The look she leveled at Beth as she passed was penetrating and mixed with a dab of concern. "How are things with you? You look tired."
"Good. I got up early, that's all," she explained as her mom closed the front door after her. "I wasn't sure if you had the day off or not."
The living room, with its pale paneled walls and brown carpet, hadn't changed much since she'd graduated from high school, a small detail she appreciated. Her dad's brown recliner had been replaced with a dark blue one when the first one went kaput, and there were more recent family pictures on the walls, but otherwise, it looked much the same as it always had. No matter where life took her, inside the white house with the black shutters would always be her first home, and how she would base all future ones.
"I have the morning off, but we're getting a shipment of tools in later this morning, and your dad will need help sorting through it all. You know how he is-gets frazzled over everything. I'm heading over to the hardware store after lunch. You hungry?"
Her mom marched from the room without waiting for a response. Beth's parents had owned and run Lambert Hardware for the past thirty years. Her dad was always working on some project, and her mom was there with him, looking over his shoulder and rolling her eyes.
Beth removed her boots and coat, sweating now that she was no longer outside. It smelled like freshly baked bread in the house, a scent that grew as she stepped into the kitchen. The pale green room was small and cluttered, only a sliver of the refrigerator able to be seen under the photos and papers magnetized to it. Her mom liked to decorate with pigs, and there were little pink beings spread throughout the room.
She was handed a red bowl and a plate with an oversized slice of homemade bread with melting butter. Beth took them and sat at the square table in the center of the room, setting down the bowl before it further burned her fingers. "Thank you."
"How's the writing coming along? And the new project?"
Beth shifted in her seat, keeping her eyes down. "Slow, but okay. I haven't written much. It's only been a few days," she added.
Her mom didn't reply, stirring the soup around with her spoon.
"What's new with you?" she asked her mom, not keen on small talk but feeling anxious at the thought of silence.
"Benny and Jake are coming home Wednesday with their families and are staying for a few days. You'll be here for Thanksgiving next week?" It was asked like a question, but it wasn't. It was a confirmation of something already labeled as fact.
She dipped her spoon in the homemade tomato soup, blew on it before putting it in her mouth, and swallowed. Her mom believed in eating food personally made instead of in a factory as much as was feasible. The tomatoes used in the soup were from her garden. The soup was hot and filling, a blend of spices giving zip to the tomato base.
Benny and Jake were her older brothers, both smart enough to move from Crystal Lake as soon as they were able. Benny lived in Wisconsin and worked as a computer specialist, fixing problems that may arise with programming software. He was married with one daughter. Jake was the middle child, recently married with a baby on the way, and lived in a city three hours away. He was the manager of a sporting goods store.
"I miss Benny and Jake, and I haven't seen Benny in months. I will definitely be here. Where else would I be?" Harrison. She instinctively knew he would try to spend the holiday alone, like it was an ordinary day. Her stomach dipped, and she swallowed.
"Amanda Hensley stopped in at the store yesterday and said you and Ozzy had been spotted together at The Lucky Coin. I thought maybe it meant a reconciliation was in the works, and if so, you might be at his Thanksgiving instead of ours."
"So what if we were seen together there? We both work there. It doesn't mean anything."
Her mom tore off a chunk of bread and popped it in her mouth. "It was implied you were on a date."
Beth's face went hot, and she let the spoon drop from her hand. It made a small splash as it hit the soup. "We weren't on a date. He asked me to get a drink with him. Anyway, it was a mistake." She clenched her hands into fists. "This town needs to find better ways to spend their time than talking about the people in it."
"They do," her mom agreed. "But do you think they will?"
Beth thought of Harrison. She thought of what it would be like if the town found out about him. The talk that would follow, the judgment. How would he react to that? Not well, she was thinking. Beth's nails dug into her palms and she glared down at the bowl of soup.
"Beth? What is it? You're not getting back together with Ozzy, are you?" She tried to keep her tone even, but it wavered with an underlying layer of apprehension.
She looked up, shaking her head as she met her mom's blue eyes. "No. We're done. For good."
"Oh, thank God." Her mom placed a hand on her heart and closed her eyes.
A frown tugged at her mouth. "Really? I'm surprised. You love Ozzy."
"I do love Ozzy." She resumed eating her bread and soup. "But he isn't good for you. He never was. He's too needy. He held down your wings. You need to fly."
Stunned, she could only blink at her mother.
"You're my little bird. I want what's best for you, always." She smiled, reaching across the table to pat Beth's hand. Her hand was roughened by years of manual labor, but it felt like being reacquainted with one of the best pieces of her childhood to Beth. "You know that."
Beth inhaled, held it, released it. "You never told me you thought that way about me and Ozzy."
"Of course not. You had to find out on your own that he wasn't right for you. But I'm glad you see things for how they are. Ozzy is a dreamer who only dreams, and you're a dreamer who goes after your dreams." She squeezed her hand. "I just want you to be happy, Beth."
"Thanks, Mom," Beth said in a faint voice.
Minutes passed before she spoke again, and when she did, it was with the voice of a child needing comfort from their mother. "Sometimes he scares me."
Their eyes clashed, her mom's sharp on her face. "Who, Ozzy?"
Beth looked down, nodding as she lifted her gaze.
Her features turned to granite. "Stay away from him. If he scares you, stay away from him."
"I'm trying."
"Don't try, do it."
Beth swallowed, her throat closing around the ferocity of her mom's tone. She examined her mom, saw the spark of a protective parent burning through her eyes and straightening her spine. She knew her mom would not be gentle with Ozzy if she found out he'd harmed Beth.
"I'll say something to Dan and Deb, tell them to make sure he leaves you alone. I'll say something to Ozzy too. What's he done?"