Richard

Duringmy drive to the motel, I take in the sleepy town. The brick buildings along Main Street are the same ones from my childhood, although they have had their paint, awnings, and decor updated over the years. From the general store that opened during the height of prohibition to the pharmacy that hasn’t been renovated since the fifties, everything about Lake Wisteria is familiar. Quaint.Happy.

I didn’t think I would see the town again. When I swore not to return, I made my peace with never coming back to the one place that always felt like home.

It wasn’t the place itself, but a special person who made it feel that way.

While Lake Wisteria and its three hundred residents were warm and welcoming, Maya Dela Rosa was the one reason Ireturned to the lakeside town every single summer.

At least until she had me promise to never come…