One Song Away Read Free

odometer ticks away the miles as I go along with the jet-stream-traffic. Going back isn’t the worst thing that could happen. There’s no Mara there, and no Gideon. I’ve been gone for long enough that hopefully living there will be a fresh start. Martinville is a different way of life than Nashville, but it holds more good memories than bad for me. And right now, maybe that’s what I need. A safe place to land.
    I press harder on the gas. I need to put Nashville behind me while I still have the strength.
     
    ___ ___ ___
     
    The texts from my mother start about an hour outside Martinville. Her name on my screen brings a smile to my face. She knows I don’t text and drive, but I’m sure she’s levitating from excitement. She’s never outright asked me to move home, but I know she always hoped I would. She couldn’t hide the hum of happiness in her voice when I told her I was coming home.
    After I fill my tank at a gas station, I groan inwardly as I swipe my debit card, knowing I’ll have to supplement my dwindling cash flow. I’m not sure what jobs there are in my hometown for a failed singer-songwriter. Maybe I can be the town troubadour.
    My exit appears before I even realize I’m close; when I take it, I try to ignore the tickling in my stomach. There’s no reason to be nervous about moving back home. I’m not the first person to come back, and I sure as hell won’t be the last. I’m in touch with a few people I went to school with, and while some took the traditional college route, not everyone did. Some traveled the world. Some got married and are parents now. Some never left.
    I wonder what they’ll think of me. I’m not the Sophie-Claire who left. That girl was mischievous, friendly, but definitely immature. I’ve grown a lot since then, and for the better, I think. I guess we’ll see.
    I’m in downtown Martinville now, so I drive slowly just to piss off the jacked-up truck behind me. I want to see my town again, and the dude who is way overcompensating judging by the size of those tires can suck it up or pass me.
    My last visit was just a quick in-and-out for the holidays. Other than the Christmas tree lighting ceremony, I spent the rest of the time with my family or with Sloane, so I didn’t do any sightseeing. There’s a new coffee shop and an indie bookstore, which makes me smile. The familiar restaurants are all thriving, including the Jiffy Burger. I ate my share of greasy cheeseburgers there in high school, and whether it was actually the best food in the world or not, at the time it felt like it was.
    Maybe it’s because I know I’ll be living here again, but this trip feels different from my visits home. Martinville is going to be my saving grace—it has to be—so instead of seeing it as the trap eighteen year-old Sophie-Claire thought it was, I see it as a pair of arms welcoming me. Hopefully I can put down my tattered roots here.
    My hands are shaking by the time I pull into my old driveway. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the house seems the same. It’s the same sprawling brick one-story. The same red shutters. The same sturdy trees in the front yard, and the same chain-link fence surrounding the property. It’s ridiculous, but I have to blink away tears as I open my door and step out of my car.
    On cue, the front door swings open, and my mom hustles onto the front porch. She has her hands up in the air waving like she’s testifying at Sunday service, and her blond curls are flying everywhere as she races toward me. I can’t help but giggle at her exuberance, and the fact that some things really don’t change. Deirdre “Hurricane DeeDee” Wright is the best mom in the world, but she does tend to get a bit…
    “Sophie!” She flings herself into my outstretched arms.
    Overly excited.
    I’m laughing as I wrap my mom in a hug. She’s a few inches shorter than I am, and I already have to put on heels to be tall. Her head rests on my shoulder and her familiar