Chapter 160

Almara’s Pov

My parents were thrilled when I told them Grace and I would visit home for a little while. It made them all the more eager to pack their bags and be rid of the Covington residence. It’s a long drive back to Shady Maple where I grew up and each mile feels like a hundred.

I sit in the back seat of my parents old SUV, I can’t remember a time when they didn’t have this car. I’d offer to get them a new one, but something tells me they wouldn’t graciously accept the offer knowing the money is coming from the Hurricane Pack, rather than their own hard work.

Besides, I suppose if the car runs fine then there’s no need for a new one, even if the rims have rust and the steering wheel shakes after a certain speed. I pick at a crack in the leather seats as my mother excitedly reports to me on all the neighbors that I remember from another life time.

“You remember Susan, right?”

“Uh, yes. I think so.” I say.

“Well anyways, she just opened a bakery. She has homemade biscuits with bits of bacon and cheese that are just to die for.” My mother says. I do vaguely remember Susan. She used to make baked goods and sell them out of her house. I always felt a little sorry for her.

She was a small woman, an even frailer wolf. It seems that baking was her way of winning the communities approval, given that everything else about her was less than impressive. I try to push these judgements out of my head, maybe I’m just projecting.

It feels odd going back to a life I was simultaneously comfortable living while at the same time completely unsure of myself and my life. Thinking of Susan’s frailness makes me reflect on my own. I was a nobody when I lived here, quite frankly I’m still a nobody. The only change is the band on my finger.

I leave the crack in the seat and move on to twirling the band around my finger. The diamonds still glisten as brightly as they did the first day Arthur slipped it on my finger. When the sunlight catches on the diamond an array od rainbow squares casts on the car’s old fabric ceiling. Grace is mesmerized by this.

I was too when I first slipped it on my finger, and now I’m somewhat used to the beauty and size which is exactly why I’m revisiting home. Am I still the same girl that used to live in this old town, or am I someone completely different? Is one better than the other?

I think of Arthur’s face when he saw us pulling out of the driveway. “It’s only for three weeks.” I told him, but he and I haven’t been apart for that long since we’ve started dating. While I knew I was going to miss him, I know that I was still doing the right thing.

Arthur tried to understand and mask that he was hurt by my leaving, which only made me feel worse. I don’t want him to feel like he now has to hide his true feelings from me, I thought we have moved past that.

Still, he kissed my head and said he would come in three weeks to see my hometown and pick me up. In a way this already answers my wonderings from before. I’m going to go back to this glamour lifestyle in the end, so why does it matter if I’ve changed? Wouldn’t adaption just be better?

I rest my head back on the seat, tired of my thoughts. Looking out the window something like nostalgia and cringe sill my soul as we pass through my hometown. Everything is just as I left it. I don’t know what I expected, really.

One thing is different. I notice a daycare for pups Graces age not to far from where our house is. “Is that new?” I ask even though I already know the answer, cutting my mother off mid-sentence.

I put my finger on the glass, pointing at the happy-yellow painted building. My mother doesn’t see where I’m pointing, but she already knows what I’m referencing. “Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you they built that.” Something tells me my mother and father didn’t actually forget.

“It’s cute.” I say looking at the tulips planted out front, the new playground built on fresh mulch.

“We can check it out, if you like.” My mother says. “Honey, turn here.” My mother says to my father before I get a chance to protest.

“She’s only going to be here for three weeks.” I say as the wheels are crunching the gravel of the parking lot. “I don’t think we need to get her enrolled.”

“Let’s just see what they offer.” My mother says and I realize there will be no convincing her otherwise. When we park I unbuckle Grace and we all pile through the front door.

The inside is clean and looks like a kids dream. The room is open, but divided into two different distinct sections. Half of the room is a play area with various toys and colors painted on the wall, while the other half is a cafeteria with pictures of cartoon forks and spoons.

Further back there’s a door with a rounded arch with the word ‘nap area’ painted curving the walls opening in a calming blue color and clouds and moons decorated along the sides of the wall.

“Welcome!” A friendly voice greets us. I look to see a young man about my age coming towards us with a genuine smile and bright blue eyes. “My name is Archer, what can I do for you folks?”

The similarity of his name to Arthur sends a pang to my heart. I really shouldn’t be making decisions about Graces education without him. But then a small voice in the back of my head whispers why not? I am Graces mother, I carried her in my womb after all.

“We we’re just looking.” I say anyways. Archer looks at me, and I swear his eyes linger for just a second too long before he speaks, making me feel hot and uncomfortable all over. The last thing I want is to be recognized and treated any differently. This trip is supposed to be observational, with me doing the observation.

“Of course,” Archer says with a slight bow- a sign of respect. “But this is our toddler to young pups area. Your little one would be suited back here. Follow me.” Even though I already know we won’t be signing any papers today, I find myself trailing behind him with curiosity anyways.

He leads us back the cub area and I can’t help but let out an ‘Awwwh!” It’s so cute.

The walls are painted a more calming tan, with a cartoon jungle theme stenciled on the walls. There are cribs and changing stations lined against the walls with the middle of the floor covered in a brown fuzzy rug scattered with plushy pillows, blankets, books, and chew toys.

I look at the other cubs around Graces age and my heart just melts. There’s one sleeping facedown with his little butt curled up to the air, another is on her belly crawling after some blocks. This would be great to have Grace hangout with some cubs her own age.

“We’re only here for three weeks.” I say as though trying to convince myself this is pointless.

“Then perhaps you would be interested in our babysitting program.” Archer offers and dammit, I am interested.