After My Husband’s Memorial Service, My Son Drove Me To A Remote Road And Said: “This Is Where You Get Out. The House And Business Are Mine Now.” I Stood In The Dust, Clutching My Bag, As He Drove Away Without Looking Back. No Phone. No Money. And That’s When I Realized – I Wasn’t Alone. I Was Free…

My shoes, sensible flats I’d worn for my husband’s funeral, weren’t made for country roads. By the time I reached Miller’s Gas and Grocery at the edge of Milfield, my feet were blistered, and the afternoon sun had burned my neck. I didn’t care.

Pain has a way of clarifying things, and with each step, my purpose had crystallized. I didn’t go inside immediately. Instead, I sat on the bench outside, watching pickups and sedans come and go.

Normal people living normal lives who had no idea that Naomi Canton, who’ judged their apple pies at the county fair for 20 years, had just been abandoned like roadkill by her own children. “Mrs. Canton.”

I looked up to see Ray Miller himself, third generation owner of the store, wiping his hands on his apron.

“You all right? You’re looking a bit peeked.”

“Just resting, Ray. Been a long day.”

He nodded, glancing at my suitcase.

“Real sorry about Nicholas. He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was.”

I straightened my spine. “Rey, could I use your phone?

I seem to have forgotten mine.”

“Of course, you can.”

He led me inside, past the beer coolers and snack aisles to the small office behind the counter. “Take your time.”

Continue reading…