“I’m trying to say that I know you’re a sentimental person. I know who you are, Anna. I’m just worried about you right now. You loved Yarmouth, and I know you have wanted to return for a long time. But it might not be the place you remember, and we’re probably going to be there for a long time.”
“How long is a long time?”
“I don’t know yet.” Mom kept her eyes on the road.
I let out a breath of air, and let worry fill my lungs. I wasn’t ready to go back home to bury Grampy, and I wasn’t ready for the possibility of Nan not remembering who I was.
“Does she remember you?” I asked Mom.
Mom’s eyes were still on the road and she didn’t answer right away.
“When I called a few days ago, she asked me to bring my report card.”
I took in a deep breath. Shit.
“This is going to be hard, Anna. But we’re in it together, okay?”
“Okay.”
After a few more kilometres, Mom pulled over.
“What are you doing?”
“I want you to drive the rest of the way. Driving helps soothe the soul—trust me,” she said as she got out of the car.
“You can’t be serious. I don’t know how to get to Yarmouth.”
She was opening my door. “Easy. It’s a straight shot. Just stay on the highway until it ends. We’re more than halfway there.”
I got out and walked around the van to the driver’s side. “What are you going to do?” I asked while I buckled my seat belt.
“I’ll be your co-pilot. I got your back.” She smiled.
“Whatever you say.” I put the van in drive, making my way back to the road.
Chapter 2
I didn’t need the gps to tell me we were about fifteen minutes away. I could tell from the bumpy road and painted rocks that lined the highway. Mom was sound asleep in the passenger seat beside me. I rolled my eyes at her plan of getting me caffeinated so she could take a nap. I knew she hadn’t slept much in the past two days, so I cut her some slack and tried to avoid potholes. The sun began to creep through the clouds as we closed in on our destination. Maybe it was the town’s way of saying, “Hey, Anna and Jayla, thanks for not forgetting about us. Completely.” I wondered what had changed about the town, if anything had changed at all.
I wondered if Mom ever regretted leaving Yarmouth a decade ago. Mom took me with her when she moved to Halifax to study illustration and fine art at NSCAD University. She would take freelance gigs and commission work to pay the bills. Some months were easier than others, but she always made it work. A few years after she graduated, the university wanted her to return as an instructor. She jumped at the idea of a stable income while also working in the arts. At first glance you’d probably assume our minivan made us some soccer family, but Mom had bought this to transport large canvases and art supplies between our apartment, her studio, and the school. As much of an imagination as I had, my doodles often felt like nothing compared to the worlds she could create on paper or canvas.
It takes a lot of strength to get up and leave your hometown as a young single parent. My mother could have very well left me with her parents, but she didn’t. I have never met my father; all I knew is that he was from Yarmouth too. And coming back ten years later, I realized that Yarmouth isn’t a big enough town to be surrounded by strangers. I did think about how life would have been different by having a dad. I wondered if he ever thought about me, if he told his friends that he has a daughter—heck, I even wonder if he had another family and I have half-siblings I’ve never met. As much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I wish I had a relationship with him, but Mom told me at a young age that lingering on those thoughts was dangerous. So I tried not to.
“What did I miss?” Mom yawned.
“Oh, you know. Ran a red, police chased us for three miles until I shrugged them off on the last exit.”
“Not funny.”
“A little funny. We’re actually just about there.” I signalled and took the next exit.
Mom sighed and leaned back. She still looked anxious. Maybe she was nervous about returning? After all, she had more history in Yarmouth than I did, and returning after ten years because of losing a parent is tragic on its own. Mom always knew what to do for us, but this was something we had never experienced.
I could see fishing docks and warehouses—I even noticed there was a new bar just by the coast called The North Crow. I had read somewhere that crows have long-lasting memories, so I hoped that meant there’d be a few folks here who remembered us.
“There it is.” Mom pointed.
A sign read, Welcome to the Municipality of Yarmouth.
We were welcomed to town on a rocky dirt road surrounded by homes you wouldn’t find in the big city. I was happy to see Yarmouth not being gentrified. In Halifax it felt like a constant struggle: condos and businesses popping up out of the blue that didn’t serve the community and always made finding a home a fight. Mom and I were lucky, but a lot of folks weren’t as fortunate. So I was glad to see Yarmouth didn’t have hipster cafés or craft breweries on every corner.
“Keep following the GPS, you can go sightseeing later,” Mom reminded me.
I suddenly felt nervous in the driver’s seat. Add the fact that we were finally here, and emotionally I felt like a house made of cards. I continued on the road towards my grandparents’ house. We drove past the old playground with the green slide that always gave me an electric shock, and Mr. Phillip’s
