Chapter 10: Syrup, Prayers, and the Next Disaster

The cabin is really close to a little church in Maple Hollow. On my first day there, I went to the church to light a candle and pray. I sincerely wished: “God, may all those who betray true feelings never get rich.”

These days, every time I close my eyes, I see Caleb’s frowning, pleasure-filled face in my mind. Every time, I want to slap myself silly. I should be out having fun, playing wild like Jamie. Just short on cash.

So I opened my chat with Camellia: “Daddy, want to buy some maple syrup?”

The air tasted like woodsmoke and syrup, and the only sounds were birds and the distant ring of the church bell. The church bell chimed noon as I stepped out, the scent of pine and damp earth sharp in the Vermont air. Maple Hollow was nothing like Manhattan—no honking cabs, no bright marquees. Just me, my phone, and the echo of a wild year. I snapped a picture of a syrup bottle against the stained glass, wondering if healing could taste sweet or if I’d always chase the next city, the next dollar, the next disaster. Maybe next time, I’d pick a disaster that didn’t come in a tailored suit. Or maybe I’d just learn to love the mess.