"I can't believe I'm back here."
I spent my whole adult life running from this place, and here I am.
Again.
Ready to take on whatever was left of the family orchard.
When my grandmother passed, she left this ridiculous house to me, and all she said in the will was:
"Savannah, do not paint over the Haint Blue ceiling beneath the wraparound porch."
Why?
Simple.
Spirits.
Apparently this specific shade of peeling paint is the wall I never knew I needed between the earth and the ether.
"Meeeooooowww."
Oh shit.
Marley!
"I'm sorry, buddy. You have to hold on a moment. Let me get you inside."
Thud.
"Marley!!"
Savannah's black cat had somehow managed their way out of the carrier, maneuvered around a cooler and a gas station bag of Slim Jims, Twizzlers, and Gatorade, and was now proudly stretched across the grass before her.
Marley licked a paw, stood, and began walking toward the house.
Halfway there, the cat looked back at Savannah as if to say:
Coming?
"Oh, you silly cat. Let me at least grab our bags."
Savannah began making a pile outside the car.
Luggage.
Duffels.
Car snacks.
Entirely too much shit for one person and a cat.
By the time she'd stacked everything precariously atop her luggage on wheels, Marley was already halfway up the walk.
Savannah reached back into the car for a Twizzler, shoved it into her mouth, grabbed the handle, and followed.
The house was just as she remembered.
She'd spent so much of her life here.
Climbing trees.
Shaking branches to get down the highest peaches while her grandmother yelled from somewhere below:
"Gentle, Savvy! We still need to sell 'em!"
There were nights stretched out on the lawn.
Bonfires.
People.
Family.
Now.
It was just her.
And Marley.
Savannah needed a fresh start.
Somewhere she could just be Savvy.
Not Chloe's ex.
Not a failed architect.
Not anyone.
Just a woman repairing her grandmother's home and taking on the orchard.
Simple.
She craved simple.
No city lights.
No hustle and bustle.
No Zoom meetings or project deadlines.
Just...
Savvy.
And a lot of peaches.
"Meeeooooowww!"
"Yes, Marley, I'm coming! Jeesh. Can't a girl have an existential monologue in an orchard in peace?"
Stories are linear.
Unless they are not.
I told you the library was haunted.
Consider this your gentle reminder,
in case you forgot.
Toujours,
—M🍑
I think I understand why you say this library is haunted. 🫣
I didn’t forget 😉🦋