Chapter 1: Renaissance
The "Welcome to Riverside" sign looked exactly the same as it had fifteen years ago when I left for college, full of dreams and certainty that I'd never return to this sleepy town of three thousand people. Now here I was, pulling into the parking lot of Betty Ann's Diner with everything I owned packed into the back of my beat-up Honda and my five-year-old daughter sleeping in her car seat.
"Mama, are we home yet?" Emma's sleepy voice made my chest tight with love and worry.
"We're here, baby girl," I whispered, turning to look at her sweet face. Her dark hair was messy from sleep, and she clutched the stuffed rabbit she'd had since she was two. The rabbit had been through hell with us—three years of running, hiding, sleeping in shelters and cheap motels. Now maybe it could finally rest in a real bedroom.
The diner looked tired but clean, with red vinyl booths visible through the wide windows and a "Help Wanted" sign that I prayed was still current. I'd called ahead, using the pay phone at our last truck stop because I still didn't trust cell phones. Too easy to track.
"Stay right here while I check something, okay? Don't unbuckle your seatbelt."
Emma nodded, used to my overcautious rules by now. I hated that she'd learned to be so obedient, so careful. Five-year-olds should be wild and carefree, not watching their mother's face for signs of danger.
The bell above the diner door chimed as I stepped inside, and the smell of coffee and bacon made my stomach growl. When was the last time I'd eaten? Yesterday morning, maybe. I'd been too nervous about coming back here to keep food down.
"Can I help you, honey?" The voice belonged to a woman in her seventies with silver hair pulled back in a neat bun and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. This had to be Betty Ann Johnson, the owner who'd answered my call two days ago.
"I'm Lisa. Lisa Harper. I called about the waitress position?"
Her face lit up. "Lisa! I was hoping you'd make it. You look just like your mama did at your age."
That stopped me cold. I'd forgotten that in a town this small, everyone remembered everyone. "You knew my mother?"
"Sarah Harper? Course I did. Sweetest girl, rest her soul. Heard you had some troubles after college, but that's none of my business. What matters is you're here now, and you need work."
Troubles. That was one way to put it. Getting married to a man who turned out to be a monster, having a baby with him, enduring three years of escalating abuse until the night he put me in the hospital and I finally found the courage to run. "Troubles" felt like calling a hurricane a light breeze.
"The job's still available?"
"Yours if you want it. Six dollars an hour plus tips, flexible schedule if you've got childcare needs. I saw the little one in your car—she's welcome here during your shifts if needed."
The kindness in her voice almost broke me. It had been so long since anyone had offered help without expecting something in return. "I don't have much experience waitressing."
"Honey, you carried a baby for nine months and kept her alive for five years. You can handle carrying coffee to truckers and teenagers."
I almost smiled. "When can I start?"
"How about right now? Afternoon shift just called in sick, and we could use the help."
My practical side screamed that I should find our apartment first, get Emma settled. But my bank account was down to forty-seven dollars, and we needed food and a security deposit. "Let me get Emma."
Betty Ann waved me off. "Bring her in. I've got coloring books behind the counter, and she can help me fold napkins. Kids love feeling useful."
Twenty minutes later, Emma was perched on a stool behind the counter, carefully folding paper napkins while Betty Ann showed me how to work the ancient cash register. My daughter looked happier than I'd seen her in months, chattering about the pictures in the coloring book and asking Betty Ann about the photos of grandchildren taped to the wall.
"She's a sweetheart," Betty Ann murmured to me as we watched Emma giggle at something. "Reminds me of my daughter at that age."
"Thank you for letting her stay. I know it's not normal—"
"Nothing about raising babies is normal, honey. We do what we have to do."
The afternoon passed in a blur of coffee refills and sandwich orders. My feet ached in my cheap shoes, but the tips were better than I'd expected. Riverside might be small, but the truckers passing through on Highway 12 were generous, and the locals seemed genuinely glad to meet me.
"You're Sarah's girl, aren't you?" asked an elderly man named Frank during the dinner rush. "She was a year behind me in school. Terrible what happened to her and your daddy."
Car accident when I was twenty-two, just before I met David. Sometimes I wondered if things would've been different if they'd lived, if I'd had family to run to instead of staying trapped in my marriage for so long.
"She'd be proud of you," Frank continued. "Coming home, starting fresh. Takes courage."
Courage. I'd never thought of what I was doing as courage. It felt more like cowardice—running away, changing our names, always looking over my shoulder. But maybe Frank was right. Maybe there was something brave in deciding to stop running and try to build a life.
By eight o'clock, the diner had quieted down. Betty Ann sent me home with a container of leftover meatloaf and the promise of steady shifts. Emma had fallen asleep on the small couch in the office, exhausted from her first day of feeling like a normal kid.
"There's an apartment above Miller's Books that just opened up," Betty Ann said as I gathered our things. "Jenny Miller's a friend of mine. I'll call her tonight, see if she can work with you on the deposit."
More kindness. I wasn't used to it anymore, didn't trust it. But Emma needed stability, and this felt like the safest place we'd been since we left. David wouldn't think to look for us here. Why would he? I'd never talked about Riverside, never mentioned wanting to come back.
"Thank you," I whispered, meaning it more than she could know.
"Welcome home, honey."
As I carried Emma to the car, I looked up at the star-filled sky I remembered from my childhood. Maybe, just maybe, we could make this work. Maybe Riverside could be the fresh start we desperately needed.
Maybe we were finally safe.