Chapter 9 - The Return to the Mountains
Six months later.
The air smelled like pine needles and river mud.
I stood on the wooden porch of my parents' house outside Asheville. They had returned from Florida after Grant's conviction—he was sentenced to twenty years in a federal penitentiary—and the secondary mortgage had been fully cleared by the trust fund Adrian had established.
I wore torn jeans and a faded t-shirt. The bruises were gone, leaving behind unblemished skin and a quiet, fierce strength that I had not felt since I was fourteen years old.
"Evie!"
I looked down toward the driveway. Adrian was pulling up in a battered pickup truck, a pair of fishing rods sticking out of the back window.
"You ready?" he called out, leaning against the door frame.
"Always," I smiled, grabbing my sunglasses and running down the porch steps.
We drove down to the French Broad River, the tires kicking up dust on the old dirt roads. The water was cool, clear, and rushing with the vibrant energy of late spring.
We waded into the shallows, the icy water washing over my ankles.
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"You remember what I told you?" Adrian asked, casting his line into the current.
"Water can hold you," I recited, looking out at the endless, beautiful expanse of the river. "But only if you stop fighting it long enough to breathe."
