Chapter 4: Small Town Secrets
The next morning brought our first real test of fitting in. Emma had been begging to go to the town's Saturday farmer's market, and Betty Ann insisted we both needed a day off from the diner.
"Everyone will be there," she said, pressing a twenty-dollar bill into my hand despite my protests. "Time for you two to become real Riverside residents."
I wanted to say no. Crowds made me nervous, all those faces to watch and scan for danger. But Emma's excitement was impossible to resist, and I was tired of letting fear make all our decisions.
The market was set up in the town square, with white tents selling everything from fresh peaches to handmade quilts. Emma's eyes went wide as she took in the sights and sounds—children laughing as they chased each other between the stalls, old men playing checkers under the gazebo, the smell of kettle corn mixing with barbecue smoke.
"Can we get some of those?" Emma pointed to a tent selling colorful wind chimes that danced in the breeze.
"We'll see," I said, but I was already calculating if we could afford a small one for our apartment. Emma had so few things that were just hers, just for joy instead of necessity.
"Lisa Harper, as I live and breathe!"
I turned to find a woman about my age with auburn hair and a warm smile approaching us. She looked familiar, but I couldn't place her.
"It's me, Susan Patterson. Well, Susan Mitchell now. We graduated together?"
High school. Right. Susan had been in my math class, part of the popular crowd that I'd orbited around but never quite belonged to. "Susan, hi. Good to see you."
"I heard you were back in town. This must be Emma." Susan crouched down to Emma's level. "I'm Miss Susan. I teach second grade at Riverside Elementary."
Emma looked up at me for permission before responding. "Hi, Miss Susan. Are you going to be my teacher?"
"Well, that depends. Are you going to be starting school here?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. School meant paperwork, records, staying in one place long enough to complete a year. It meant the kind of normal life I'd been afraid to hope for.
"We're still getting settled," I said carefully.
Susan's eyes were kind but curious. "Of course. No rush. But when you're ready, Emma would love our school. Small classes, lots of individual attention. The principal is my husband Tom—he's around here somewhere, probably buying up all of Mrs. Chen's peach preserves."
Emma tugged on my hand. "Mama, can I go to school here? Please?"
The hope in her voice broke my heart. She'd never had a chance at a normal school experience, always moving before she could make real friends or feel settled. "We'll talk about it, baby girl."
"The enrollment paperwork is pretty simple," Susan continued. "Just bring in her birth certificate and immunization records, and we can get her started anytime."
Birth certificate. The one document I'd been too afraid to get copies of, too worried about leaving a paper trail. "I'll need to locate her records," I said vaguely.
"No problem. Take your time." Susan straightened up. "It was so good to see you, Lisa. I always wondered what happened to you after college."
After she walked away, Emma looked up at me with those serious blue eyes. "What's a birth certificate, Mama?"
"It's just paperwork that proves when and where you were born."
"Do I have one?"
"Everyone has one, sweetheart." The lie came easily, born from three years of protecting her from complicated truths.
We spent the next hour wandering the market. Emma fell in love with a small wooden dragon carved by one of the local craftsmen, and I surprised myself by buying it for her. Twenty-five dollars was a lot for us, but the joy on her face was worth every penny.
"Look, Mama!" Emma pointed across the square. "It's Sheriff Miller!"
Jake was standing near the barbecue tent, talking to a group of men I didn't recognize. He was out of uniform, wearing jeans and a blue button-down shirt that made his eyes look even darker. When he saw us, his face lit up with a smile that made my stomach flutter.
"Ladies," he said, walking over to us. "How are you enjoying your first market day?"
"Sheriff Miller, look what Mama bought me!" Emma held up her wooden dragon proudly.
"That's beautiful. What are you going to name him?"
Emma considered this seriously. "Guardian. Because dragons protect things."
Jake's eyes met mine over Emma's head. "Guardian is a perfect name."
"Are you going to buy something?" Emma asked him.
"I was thinking about it. Mrs. Patterson makes the best apple butter in three counties. Maybe you could help me pick out a jar?"
Emma nodded eagerly and skipped ahead toward the preserves tent. Jake fell into step beside me, close enough that I could smell his aftershave.
"How are you doing? Really doing?" he asked quietly.
"Better. Yesterday was hard, talking about everything. But I slept last night without checking the locks three times."
"That's progress."
We walked in comfortable silence for a moment, watching Emma examine jars of apple butter with the seriousness of a food critic.
"Lisa, can I ask you something?" Jake's voice was careful.
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"Fair enough." He paused. "Have you thought about what comes next? Long-term, I mean. Emma's going to want to go to school, make friends. And you... you deserve to have a life that's more than just surviving."
"I know. It's just scary to plan for a future when I'm not sure we'll be safe enough to have one."
"What if I told you I've been doing some research? Quietly, off the books. About restraining orders, witness protection programs, ways to make sure David can't hurt you even if he finds you."
My heart started racing. "Jake, I told you—"
"I know what you told me. But I also know that running forever isn't really living. And Emma deserves better than that. You both do."
A commotion near the gazebo interrupted us. Two teenage boys were arguing over a girl, their voices getting louder and more aggressive. Jake immediately stepped forward, his posture shifting into cop mode.
"Hey now," he called out, his voice carrying authority despite the casual tone. "Let's keep things friendly here."
The boys looked embarrassed and quickly separated. Jake had handled it without making them feel humiliated, just redirected their energy. It was exactly the kind of protection I'd been craving—quiet, competent, without drama or escalation.
"Mama, which apple butter should Sheriff Miller get?" Emma called out, oblivious to the small drama that had just played out.
"The cinnamon one," I called back, but my eyes were on Jake. "You're good at that. Keeping the peace without making things worse."
"It's what I'm trained for."
"No, it's who you are. You always were the one who made things better just by being there."
The words slipped out before I could stop them, revealing more than I'd intended. Jake's expression softened.
"Maybe we can make things better together this time," he said quietly. "If you'll let me try."
Standing there in the middle of the farmer's market, watching Emma laugh as she helped Jake pick out preserves, I felt something I hadn't felt in years: hope for tomorrow.