― Cormac McCarthy
Willow Grove
I came back, outwardly unscathed, but inwardly scarred.
War's not a glorious adventure, regardless of cause. Tell that to crowds lining the Highway of Heroes, that nondescript stretch of Highway 401 between Trenton Air Force base and Toronto.
There, the faithful stand, waving flags or watching silent, lining overpasses while hearses file past. It's grim business and I have the star to prove it, but not the scars―well, none visible.
But I returned and that's something―pass the bottle―I'll toast that, but not too much. I get maudlin. Besides Zoloft and Paxil don't mix well with alcohol and it's wrong to get sentimental over what can't be helped.
As I said, I returned from hell intact but now find it hard to sleep. I need land, air to breathe and wind to comb the long grass and make me think I'm free.
But I'm not―not really, but like Hamlet, could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
And there you have it and you have me. Pathetic.
A year back from Afghanistan Dad died―nothing pathetic about that but timing. It was the worst of times for me and dreams I thought I could reclaim, were now forfeit.
But I was richly left and Dad, aging hippie he was, got to claim the land he never bought. He left that to me and so I'm in Willow Grove completing the deal.
Lucky me.
"You bought the Randall place?" Ella Wiltshire smiles. "I thought that land would lie fallow forever."
"It still might," I laugh. "I'm not a farmer―just want space."
I look around her general store while sipping coffee. She runs an antique business on the side, Second Regard and a small cafe. An entrepreneur for sure, but also good looking and smart―lethal combination. Not that I'd know, of course, having screwed up every relationship and maybe that's why I stay silent.
I wonder how long that will last. Obviously, not indefinitely.
"What's your name?" she asks, as if genuinely interested .
"Scott...Scott Reynolds."
"Ah, so you're Bert's son," she grins mischievously.
"Naw, no one famous. My dad was Hank and just an aging hippie yearning to get back to the land and I suppose I'm going to do it for him."
"Good for you, Scott. I think you'll like it here."
She's beautiful and I'm feeling the pull of her charm and she has powerful gravity.
But I'm not naive when it comes to romance. Besides, I'm damaged goods, barely able to take care of me.
Last thing she needs is a combat veteran struggling with PTSD...among other things. Nope, it's better let things be.
She's been mulling over my words and comes back like a compass point to due North―my purchase of the Randall Place.
"Something about that land is strange—even teenagers stay away from it— don’t hold beer bashes there or ride motorbikes or go snowmobiling in winter.”
“Yeah, why is that—they think it’s haunted?”
“Haunted? No, not that—more like it’s special, as if the land itself is sacred. Hard to explain. Most of the townsfolk round about feel the same too.”
I'm intrigued. I know I should let it drop, but feel compelled to pursue it further.
“So, is there any kind of history other than local group-think that it’s some kind of sanctuary?”
“Hmm, sanctuary—I kind of like that. It is silent and remote—unspoilt by man or machine for all these years. It’s as if the Randalls gave that land back to nature.”
“And now I come along as a kind of interloper—some brash outsider who plays the part of the iconoclast and destroys the local legend.”
She arches an eye brow and and scans me, appraising my worth.
“No, you’re not an iconoclast. I think you’re someone who respects the land. I’m not sure where you fit in but you seem natural for the place. Does that make any sense?”
“I think so, I’m not really sure where I belong right now—I’m kind of feeling my way, but feel drawn to the land. It’s pathetic—I’m thirty and still don’t know myself.”
“Well, don’t beat yourself up too much—you don’t choose Willow Grove—it chooses you, and right now it's plainly drawing you."
Something was drawing me for sure―perhaps the land, possibly...
But more likely her. Yeah, definitely.