Chapter Text
Avery Fell stared out the train window, painfully aware of the empty seat beside them. A dusting of snow coated the grass and trees, and smoke curled from the chimneys of charming cottages. As the train slowed, the landscape gave way to sloping roofs and the spire of a pretty little church. Fyrepool was said to be the loveliest village in the Devil’s Dyke area.1 Once, this would have been Avery’s dream holiday. But not like this. Alone. Broken. Heartsick.
Avery Z. Fell. Former bookseller. Former corporate executive. Current lost soul.
They shook off the thought and forced themself to take a deep breath. Time. They had to give it time. Both their doctor and their therapist had said so.
Avery turned from the window and opened their journal. Like always, they checked the date before writing anything. Three months and three days since the accident that had left them with a traumatic brain injury and a faulty memory.
It is a process, they wrote at the top of a fresh page.
After a few notes about how they felt today—no noticeable headache, mild fatigue—they began their daily list of new memories.
There wasn’t much to report. Only a hazy image of a white corporate office and a person in a gray suit. The doctors would want to know about that. Any memories of the time directly before the accident were signs of improvement, they’d said.
Avery hesitated, a spot of ink pooling beneath the nib of the fountain pen.
Write it. Just write it.
They bit down hard on their lower lip and scratched out the words on the paper.
I remember meeting Stella.
Stella. Beautiful, brilliant Stella. Dressed all in white, red curls bouncing as she giddily shared her knowledge of the Eagle Nebula.2
That memory wasn’t crystal-clear, either. Avery and Stella obviously hadn’t been floating in an insubstantial web of dark matter. They would have been in a planetarium or standing in front of a large screen. But it had felt as though they’d been alone with the stars. Avery had been dazzled. Smitten. Entirely undone by Stella’s boundless enthusiasm and supernova smile.
Avery blinked back a tear. In a better world, Stella would have been here at their side. Holding their hand, perhaps. But she’d left when Avery had accepted the new job, and they’d never heard from her again.
They slammed the journal closed.
Fuck, they thought, but managed not to say aloud.
The worst part was that they couldn’t even remember what had caused the breakup. They’d fought. There’d been a horrible, wonderful, desperate kiss. Avery had tried again and again to remember more of that day, or even more of the events of the days and months before. But there was nothing. Simply nothing.
They had to move on. Accept that Stella was gone and this was the new normal.
The train came to a stop at the Fyrepool station. Avery squared their shoulders and rose to their feet. It was time to do what needed doing. The show must go on, as that bebop band—Queen, was it?3—would say. They put on their brightest fake smile, collected their bags, and stepped out into their new world.
***
Opening a garden supply shop in December was probably not the smartest business strategy, but Anthony Crowley had a habit of doing things that later came back to bite him in the arse. Buying an ailing shop full of old tools and wilting plants was definitely one of those things.
Three months of work had the shop—now operating under the moniker Hell of a Garden —looking bright and modern. The plants were healthier. He’d acquired an assortment of succulents in cute pots and garden-themed knickknacks to tempt the tourists. But none of those factors could make up for the fact that all the autumn planting was done and spring was an entire season away. He could only hope the Christmas trees and other holiday greenery would bring in enough customers to keep the shop open.
Anthony stepped out into the greenhouse. The place was a bit sparse, with only evergreens and other winter-hardy species to occupy it. While the temperature wasn’t as frigid here as outside, neither was it warm, and he folded his arms across his chest to keep himself from shivering.
Also, the posture gave him a stern, displeased sort of look—exactly what he needed to get the plants in line.
“Right,” he barked. “Look lively! This shop is about to open for the first time, and I won’t have any of you drooping or dropping needles. Do you want customers to walk in here and see wilting or rot or leaf spots? Do you?! Do you think they’ll take you home out of pity? Ha! They’ll leave disappointed, and you’ll spend your existence gathering dust in the corner. If you want any chance of residing in a cozy cottage or growing in a fancy garden come spring, then you need to be perfect !”
The plants trembled.
“Not. A. Blemish. Got it?”
The plants rose up a little straighter and looked a little greener, though many still quivered.
“Good.” Anthony spun on his heel, marched to the front door, and flipped the sign to “Open.”
1People usually neglected to mention that the town had been named for its unique sulphur spring that most often simply looked like a pretty little pond but occasionally got in one of Those Moods and made the whole place smell like rotten eggs. Avery knew this, because Avery had done their research. Research was one of their favorite things, next to forgiveness and a perfect multi-layer angel food cake with triple-berry filling and just a dusting of confectioner’s sugar.return to text
2Avery had particularly liked the pinky-blue bit.return to text
3Yes, it was Queen. No, it wasn’t bebop.return to text