Trace let out a yawn, rubbing his eyes while his truck rumbled down the street. Gravel popped under his tires as he turned into the fenced-in house. He killed the engine and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes briefly, shielding them from the bright sun. The coffee still hadn’t waked him up yet. It was mornings like this that made him wonder why he took the maintenance job but at the same time he knew it would be hard getting another one and it paid well.

He grabbed his keys and exited the truck, looking up at the Victorian style ranch house. The white paint was as bright as ever, the dark shingles on the roof held an eye-catching allure. The wraparound porch was free of any trace of dirt. The wind chimes hanging from the porch roof softly dinged as the wind lifted and pulled the chimes.

Trace took the porch steps. As he neared the screen door he could hear laughter coming from the house. He took off his hat and pumped the handle on the screen door, letting it slam behind him to signal that he was coming in.

He entered the kitchen and saw the Desrosiers family sitting at the round table near the doors that lead to the back porch, bathed in the light that came in from the doors. “Hey Trace,” Mack greeted him with a smile. He was taken aback. She was crying just the night before and now she was happy? Trace didn’t get her. Girls are strange.

“What’re you doing here so early?” Charlotte’s husband, Philippe, asked while putting down his newspaper. He had more wrinkles around his eyes than Trace remembered and his ink black hair was starting to gray near his ears.

“I told Mack how there’s a position open at the school and I wanted to know if she wanted a lift,” he replied, messing with his keys. Even in this normal morning routine Trace couldn’t help but feel nervous around the older man. He may be gentle but he could get vicious if he needed to.

“Why don’t you stay for a few minutes?” Charlotte offered with a kind smile. “I’ll make you a plate.” Before Trace could object Charlotte was up and rummaging in the cabinets for a plate. Trace sat down in the empty seat between Charlotte and Philippe and placed his hat on the table.

“Thank you, Miss Char. It’s very kind of you.”

“It’s the least I could do.” Charlotte heaped the plate with hash browns, scrambled eggs, sausage, toast, and some fresh fruit. She set  the plate in front of him and poured him a tall glass of apple juice. “Think of it as a thank you for picking up my daughter in the dead of night.” She smiled at her daughter and gave her hand a squeeze. “How long are you here for?” She directed towards her daughter.

“Um, why don’t we say grace first?” Mack asked with a nervous laugh. Trace lifted his eyebrows as she turned to look at her father “Daddy.”

Hands came up to the table as they joined together. Trace bowed his head and closed his eyes, listening to Philippe’s smooth voice laced with a light Canadian accent push out the words of prayer swiftly and easily. Trace hardly heard what Philippe was saying as his thoughts spun like a whirling twirling falling from a maple tree. She was still jumpy. What could possibly have happened on that tour?

“…For it’s in his precious name we pray, amen.”

They dropped their hands and dug into breakfast.

“Now, how long are you staying?” Charlotte pressed.

Mack glanced at Trace who was intent on shoveling all of his scrambled eggs into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten before. There was no way he was going to get in the middle of that discussion. He wanted to keep his life.

“Well I—I guess I’m back for a while, being that the tour is almost over and they’re going on a break soon,” she replied, poking at her potatoes.

Charlotte paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. She slowly set it down while her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Can you afford the time away?”

“I get paid per show and they know what they’re doing.” Mack shrugged. “They don’t need me breathing down their necks.”

“What’re you going to do all summer then?” Philippe questioned.

“Hopefully nothing,” Mack replied. Philippe scoffed. “Dad, I’ve never had an actual break in my life. I’m always doing something. I just want to sit and do nothing for once in my life. Maybe ride a bit more, I haven’t see Bluebelle in a while.” She looked at Trace. “Is Cal still taking care of her?”

Trace swallowed and nodded. “He’s keeping them all in top shape. There’s a competition coming up in two weeks.”

Charlotte’s eyes lit up. “A competition?” She repeated and turned to her daughter. “Oh, sweetie, you haven’t been in a competition in a while.”

“There’s a reason for that, Mom. I haven’t been on a horse in a while,” Mack pointed out, waving her fork around.

“I think you should enter.”

“I think so too,” Trace agreed.

Mack rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage her.”

Trace shrugged. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you for breakfast, Miss Charlotte,” Trace said as he stood and picked up his plate. He followed Mack to the sink and put the plate in it and then followed her out the front door. He got to his truck before she did and hastily gathered up the trash that was sitting in the passenger seat and tossed it into the back. “What?” he asked when he noticed the disapproving look on her face.

“Men and their cars,” she muttered and pulled the door shut behind her. “Geeze, it’s as messy as your room in here.”

“Don’t start with me,” Trace said as he put the truck in reverse and pressed his foot down on the gas pedal. Mack lurched forward as the truck backed out at high speed. He then shifted the car into drive and shot down the street. “Oh, let go of the door. I’m not going to kill you.”

“You say that now and the next thing you know they’ll be trying to identify our bodies which have been pulverized into the pavement,” she bit back, her knuckles turning white on the car door handle. Her whole body had tensed up. Trace was afraid she’d end up pulling something from that position.

Trace fought the urge to roll his eyes. She knew he was a good driver so why was she freaking out? He’s never gotten into a crash before, he may speed but he was always alert. Trace shook his head and let out a sigh. She’s been in Orlando for too long. “You’re such a city girl.” She hit his arm so hard that his elbow buckled and he almost drove off the road. He quickly corrected the steering wheel an moved the truck back onto the road. “Girl, are you crazy!? You could’ve killed us.”

“I’m going to kill you in a second if you don’t take that back,” she threatened. “I am not a city girl!”

Trace scoffed. “Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.” Her eyes flashed in anger and he swore she was about to hit him again.

“Before you left you didn’t mind how fast we’d drive down the street. Hell, you’d be egging us on to go faster and now you’re acting like a wimp,” Trace replied, taking a turn so sharply she hit the door. He grinned at the things she was grumbling under her breath while she rubbed her head. “You’ve been away from home for too long, being back will do you some good. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into you.”

“I’m home what more could you want?” She asked.

“I want you to tell me why you’re here,” he replied looking at her and then looking back at the road. “Not that I’m not happy,” he quickly added at the look in her eyes. “But something had to have happened or it bothered you enough for you to pack up and leave without telling them.”

“I left a note, it’s not like I disappeared.”

“Oh, that’s just so much better,” Trace said sarcastically as he tore into the parking lot of the school and then killed the engine. “Look, I’ll be painting in the gym if you need anything, OK? We  can meet up for lunch or something.”

“Sounds good. Where do you usually go?”

“I usually swing by Rachel’s and then we go to Sammy’s if that’s fine.”

“No, that’s good. I haven’t been there in the longest time.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Trace blocked her fist that time and laughed at the look on her face. “Go or you’ll be late.”

Trace lifted his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He didn’t remember the gym being so hot when he attended the school. All of the doors were open and fans were positioned at some doors to blow in cool air but all it did was blow around the paint fumes. He started to feel sick.

He closed the lid of the paint bucket and sat down after making sure no paint was on the lid. He only had a small section of the wall finished. His mind was too jumbled to concentrate on the easy methodic paint strokes.

“Hey man, I’m not going to do all the work,” his friend Brett said while lowering his paintbrush.

“Just takin’ a little break,” Trace grumbled, holding his head in his hands. His head was starting to pound from the paint fumes. He jumped when his phone started ringing. Hastily he pulled out the phone and checked the ID before answering. “Hey Justin,” he greeted his friend slowly.

“She’s gone!” Justin practically yelled into the phone.

Trace pulled his phone away from his ear and blinked rapidly. He could practically hear a ringing in it. “Calm down, J. What’re you freaking out about?”

“She’s gone, Trace,” Justin replied, breathlessly. “Mack’s gone. She left a note about saying she needed to leave or something. We tried calling her phone but she’s not picking up. Is she with you?”

“Uhhh…” Trace hesitated. He knew he had to tell his friend where she was, considering how much he was freaking out. But at the same time Mack didn’t seem like she wanted to be found but there were only a few places she could be and Tennessee was the best bet.

“Trace, come on. You know something, right? Is she safe?”

“Uh, yeah, man. She’s safe. She’s back here in Tennessee, actually,” Trace said slowly.

Justin let out a huge sigh of relief, “Oh thank God.” Then he sounded pissed. “Is she crazy!? We’ve been running all over this damn hotel trying to find her! Why’d she go back?”

“I don’t know, she hasn’t said anything to me,” Trace replied. “What’d the note say?”

“Just some bullshit about her having to go home. Is anyone sick? Dead? Dying?”

“No, everyone’s fine as far as I know.”

“Good. Is she there? Can I talk to her?”

Trace bit his thumbnail. “Uh, no she’s busy doing something.”

“Well, I’m going to fly out and get her.”

“Are you crazy? You have a tour and four other guys to worry about, J, she’s fine here,” Trace told him. Justin started to say something but Trace interrupted him. “Look, something obviously upset her. I mean, she was crying about something but she didn’t say what. I know you all are worried but she wouldn’t want to be the reason you guys cancel shows just to come get her. I mean, you don’t really need her at the end, right?”

“…right,” Justin grumbled.

“So, you guys can do your shows while I keep an eye on her. You have a show here soon, right? By the time you get here I’ll try and get everything I can out of her and then you all can talk and work things out. Something upset her out there and if one of you guys tried to force her back she’d dig her heels into the ground.”

“You have a point,” Justin sighed. Trace frowned. Justin sounded really tired, more tired than he’s ever heard him before. They must’ve been up all night going out of their mind with worry. Trace’s blood started to boil. She’s done some stupid things but this by far takes the cake. “Just…call me back with updates, ok?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, T. Look, I have to go—radio interview. Call you later.”

“Alright, bye man.”

“Later.”

Trace hung up his phone and let out a groan as he got back to his feed. Brett lowered his headphones and looked at Trace. “Everything ok, man?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Trace replied, picking up his paintbrush and dipping it in the white paint. I just have a headache the size of Texas.

“Who’s that pretty young thing?” Brett asked.

Trace looked at him and noticed that his friend was looking down the gym. Trace turned his head to see what Brett was looking at and almost burst out laughing when he noticed that he was referring to Mack who had walked into the gym, reading a magazine, and sat by the door. “You don’t remember her?” Trace asked with a chuckle.

Brett shook his head. “Should I?”

“Yeah, you only tormented her for five years,” Trace replied. Brett gave him a blank look. “That’s Mack. You know—“

A light bulb went off in Brett’s head and his eyes widened. “Tiny Mackie?” Trace nodded. A smile stretched on Brett’s face. “She aint so Tiny anymore. She got a boyfriend?”

Trace tensed. “What happened to Bridgette?”

“Got bored,” Brett said with a wave of his hand. So what’s the story? Why’s she back here?”

“She…er…she’s taking a break from dancing. Wanted to find a job here,” Trace replied, hearing the wooden handle of the paintbrush let out little crackles in his fist. “I think she’s just here for the summer.”

Brett licked his lips. “Wouldn’t mind a summer romance.”

Trace frowned at his friend but it was lost on Brett who was still looking in Mack’s direction. He wanted to knock Brett out. How dare he talk about his friend like that, let alone her. Short-term flings were Brett’s forte, he was kinda famous for it but girls always fell for him. Trace liked the guy enough but he didn’t know the word commitment when it came to girls.

“Unless you’re interested.” Trace blinked and looked over at Brett who was now looking back at him. “I mean, if you’re interested that’s cool. A guy can only go for so long without female companionship, ya know?”

Trace’s stomach turned at the thought, but not in the way he expected as he glanced over at Mack. The two watched as she tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear and flipped a page in the magazine. Trace shook his head and looked back at Brett. “Not interested,” he said finally.

“It’s been years since Sam.”

“It’s only been two,” Trace corrected him. “And I have a job to worry about.”

“Then you don’t mind if I…?” Brett’s voice trailed off and he lifted his eyebrows.

Trace struggled to come up with an excuse but nothing came to mind. “Go ahead,” Trace replied with a shrug, slapping more paint against the wall. A sinister smile formed on his face as Brett dropped his paintbrush and wiped his hands on his jeans. Mack was extremely picky, he knew. There was no way he’d give Dylan a chance, even without their history. But, Brett was used to getting the attention of every filly in a fifty-mile radius…. Trace kicked himself as he watched Brett saunter over to his friend.

Trace pretended to add more paint to the wall as he watched Brett approach her out of his peripheral vision. Brett stood over her, watching intently as she looked up at him. He searched her face for clues as to what they were saying but he was too far away to be able to tell. That and she was an expert at hiding her emotions by now.

Trace turned back to his paint bucket and took his time getting more paint on his brush before turning back to the wall. After a few strokes of the paintbrush Brett walked back over to him. He told himself that he didn’t care if the two had gotten along, didn’t care if they had a date, and didn’t care if she had fallen for his charms.

Brett picked up his abandoned paintbrush and muttered, “Must be losing my touch.”

Trace smothered the grin that begged for release.