Small-Town Girl. C.J. Carmichael

a dog,” she said through tight, dry lips.

      Russell looked even more surprised than Ben. “We can?”

      She felt a sudden, scary urge to laugh. “Why not? A dog, a cat—what does it matter?”

      “A cat, too?” Ben’s smile widened. “Awesome! Gee, Mom, can we get a hamster and a—”

      “Julie?”

      She perceived the concern in Russell’s voice, but right now, she couldn’t deal with anything more. After stacking two breakfast plates, she turned her back on her family and escaped to the sink. From the table, she heard Russell say to Ben, “No hamster, son. Or guinea pig. Or lizards or snakes.”

      He went through the list of pets Ben had wanted at one time or another. Just to make sure, he added, “A dog and a cat. Nothing else.”

      “Cool.”

      Hearing that word, Julie felt like crying. Ben sounded so happy. She glanced over her shoulder at Russell. He was gazing at his son, smiling fondly.

      Seeing Ben cheerful and excited again should have been a lovely moment for her, too.

      But she couldn’t help worrying that the repercussions of this move might be far greater than any of them could guess.

      THEIR HOUSE SOLD QUICKLY, amid a flurry of interest from two different buyers. After signing the papers, Julie could tell Russell felt like celebrating.

      She wanted to mourn. Even if they decided after a few months or a year that Chatsworth wasn’t the right place for them, there would be no coming back. Little gems like this house were rare in West Van. Most homes sold for much, much more.

      “Some wine, Julie?” He’d just opened a bottle from the case of cabernet merlot they’d purchased in March.

      She swiped a damp rag over the window ledge, watching as he poured two glasses full.

      “I never thought we’d get our asking price. After paying off the mortgage we’ll have enough money for three, maybe four houses in Saskatchewan.”

      “Yes, well, considering I don’t even want one, that’s not particularly good news, is it?”

      Russell’s face fell, and she regretted being churlish.

      “Sorry. Everything’s happening so quickly. That’s all.” She took a sip of the wine, thinking to cushion the shock of having sold her home to the highest bidder.

      “Did you give your notice yesterday?” He sat on a stool, leaning over the granite countertop.

      She started to polish the faucet. “I told Suzanne about our plans to move.” The managing editor had been flatteringly disappointed.

      Russell stopped swirling the wine in his glass. He looked at her carefully. “Did you give your notice?”

      “I tried, but Suzanne wouldn’t accept it. She asked if I would work freelance from Chatsworth. Do some editing, take on a new column.”

      “Oh.” Russell thought about that for a minute. “It never occurred to me you could continue to work from Chatsworth. But why not? Are you going to give it a try?”

      “I’d like to. We will have an Internet connection?”

      “They do have telephones,” he pointed out.

      “Naturally. Well, yes, I’d like to give it a shot. I may have to fly to Vancouver occasionally, for meetings and such.”

      “I’d planned on you coming back fairly regularly, anyway. Can’t expect you to give up all your theater and shopping. This way the trips will be a business expense.”

      “Yes.” But only one ticket would. Or perhaps Russell had no plans of joining her. Separate holidays, then. The last thing, Julie feared, her marriage needed right now.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      THE FIRST SIGN OF CHATSWORTH, approaching from the west along the Yellowhead highway from Yorkton, was the white grain elevator sitting next to the train tracks running parallel to the highway.

      The boxlike structure—which resembled a milk carton more than a building, in Julie’s opinion—was a tangible reminder of why this town existed; to service the surrounding farms. Farmers hauled their grain to the elevator so it could be sold. They banked in Chatsworth and collected their mail there. Picked up groceries at Lucky’s grocery store, filled their tanks at Stanley’s garage and bought parts at the Handy Hardware to fix their broken-down tractors.

      “This is it, isn’t it, Dad?” Ben slipped his earphones down his neck and leaned forward.

      “You bet, son.” Russell had his foot off the gas and the left indicator light flashing. He waited as a grain truck heading west passed by, then turned the Volvo onto the main road toward Chatsworth. Behind them, the rented U-Haul bumped over the twin sets of train tracks.

      The town wasn’t ugly, Julie conceded. Late-afternoon sunlight sparkled on the lake. The surrounding trees were tinged with early-autumn highlights. True, most of the homes were small and utilitarian, of little architectural interest. But the majority were well tended, and some of the flower gardens still looked spectacular, with late-blooming dahlias and mums.

      Russell turned left again and stopped in front of the three-story, brick elementary school. “That’s where we’ll be going a week from Monday, Ben.”

      Julie tried to put herself in her husband’s shoes. Could he really be happy to have exchanged his responsibilities at the university for the prospect of working here, in this modest structure, teaching grade-five students everything from spelling to art? Judging from the expression on his face, he was.

      “Worried, Ben?” he asked.

      Their son shrugged. “Not really.”

      “Well, you’ll have to be good…with the church across the road and all.”

      Julie turned to view the small white clapboard structure. “Your dad and I were married here, Ben.” How long ago that day seemed. She’d been so stressed, dealing with her parents and sister, all quite annoyed that she’d chosen to have her wedding so far from an international airport.

      Having the ceremony in Chatsworth had been her concession to Russell and his family. And they’d been bouncing between her family and his ever since. One year Julie would take Ben with her to London; the next year their son joined Russell for a visit to Chatsworth. Rarely had they made these trips as a family, saving the bulk of their vacation dollars and days for Saltspring.

      “Are we going to Grandma’s now?”

      “Sure. Let’s just drive past our new house first.”

      Julie could read the implications of the glance Russell shot her. He wanted her to like this house. He wanted her to like this town. He wanted her to think this was a wonderful adventure, a fresh start for their family. And she didn’t want to let him down.

      But when Russell parked their Volvo in front of the unassuming bungalow on Lakeshore Drive, finding compliments was hard. This place wasn’t terrible. The white siding seemed in good shape; the windows looked new. The small porch in the front was cute, though desperately in need of paint. But it wasn’t their house in West Van. Not even close.

      Oh, Russell… Where have you taken me?

      “Look at that tree house! Do you see it, Dad?”

      “You bet. I’ve always wanted a tree house. Maybe there’ll be another in the back for you.”

      Finally able to smile, Julie pointed out one redeeming feature. “There’s a raspberry bush next to the garden.” They all loved raspberries.

      “Awesome. Can I pick berries whenever I want to?”

      “In the summer, sure. They’ve finished for the season now, though.” Russell put the car back into Drive.