A/N: This entire story is dedicated to Scott Wilson - Hershel Green (RIP)


"You're all packed and ready to go," Hershel said as he gave me a playful grin and wink over his shoulder. "It's good to know you haven't forgotten about us." I followed him with my two reusable grocery bags out of the store.

"Blue Ridge is where I grew up, this place made me who I am today, so I don't think forgetting that would ever happen."

"Sounds like you'll always be our sweet ole small town girl," Hershel chuckled as he helped me load the bags of groceries I'd had ordered in advance into the back of Daryl's truck.

My train of thought halted as soon as my mind said his name and the inner mind, my soul, absorbed it. It wasn't Daryl's truck anymore – the truck belongs solely to me. I am not sure if I will ever get used to this, but I've got to try.

"I stopped by the cabin this morning before opening the store and turned on the heat for you. I also set the fire, just in case that wasn't enough. The rest of your nonperishables are on the kitchen counter...Ya know Chonne, the house is looking pretty darn good. Mitchell and Olivia would be mighty proud."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Green, I appreciate your help, I really can't wait to see it. It's all I've been thinking about this week." I moved back on my heels, casting a glance up at the alpine range that drew around the quiet little town of Blue Ridge. My cabin was waiting for me, just over the cobalt hills and snow-sprinkled pines. "How much do I owe you, sir?"

"I'll hear nothing of it, Chonne," he said, moving the back of his hand across his scruffy white beard. "We look after our own here... and before I forget, Annette will be calling you soon. She's wanting to have a formal party to welcome you back to town. She makes a hell of a rosemary and garlic lamb roast, so be prepared to feast."

"How sweet of her. Tell her I'll be more than happy to come over, once I'm finished unpacking and getting all settled in."

Hershel handed me the spare set of cabin keys the contractors left with him and I made him promise to charge all my groceries to my account, although I wouldn't put it past him to let this shopping bill slip by uncharged as a hospitable gift. We said our goodbyes and I thanked him again as I climbed into the front seat of the truck.

"Hold up, Chonne! Hershel called back out to me from underneath the storefront awning. "I nearly forgot - did Maggie tell you that you have a neighbor now?"

"In the new cabin next door?" I called back. A vague memory came to mind of Maggie telling me a new rental place had been built next door to the north of my cabin about a year ago, and I think she said someone recently moved in. Only handfuls of cabins and homes run along the gravel road where the Jones Family cabin house and all of them are to the south, and technically, closer to town than they are to me. As far as I knew, those are the only homes along the winding forested road that had permanent residents. Most of the homes and cabins near me are rentals for vacationers who frequented on weekends or seasonal vacations.

"That's it..." He nodded, "I heard he's from Ireland or was it Scotland... or maybe Australia? Either way, I thought I best tell you so you won't be surprised."

"Have you met him?"

"Not yet, none of us hardly seen hide or hair of him in town and he's been there a few months. Seems to keep to himself, but I hear he's nice enough."

"Sounds like the perfect neighbor. See you soon."

Close to thirty minutes later, after traversing the seemingly never-ending interstate, I pulled off Highway 6 onto Trout Road; a narrow, unpaved long stretch of road. I was thrumming with excitement, my palms beating impatiently against the steering wheel as I pulled onto the once gravel, now a concrete driveway. My pooch Noah seemed to notice my sudden spike in mood and lifted his fluffy head off the back seat of the truck, his ears twitched, his nose flared in curiosity.

"Well hey there buddy, are you done napping?" I chuckled at him from the rearview mirror. With his piercing amber colored eyes, Noah is a very typical Chocolate Labrador Retriever, highly intelligent, bull in a China shop clumsy, full of energy and will run to the door to greet you (or anyone, for that matter) as if you'd just returned from a year-long trip. Labs truly are 'a woman's best friend', but for now, his leash would need to stay on every time we go outdoors.

I parked out front, and let out a weary out-breath of satisfaction, I was back home, taking in the views of the dense forest, the lake further down the hill is scarcely visible. The Blue Ridge Mountains are an apart of the Appalachian Trail in Roanoke Virginia, it's about a seven-hour drive from Atlanta

I temporarily left the unpacking efforts, so I could get Noah's leash on, even though I now have a newly added garage at the side of the log cabin. It would be easier for me to haul my things directly through the front door, rather than use the side entrance to the kitchen. Noah jumped from the backseat and let that keen nose lead the way through the garden and around to the lakefront facing side of the house. His snout darted eagerly over the fresh snow, as he picked up a scent, his tail wagging haphazardly. I took in the cool, fresh mountain air as we walked; the scent of clean pine with the faint strains of wood smoke. Noah pulled me across the clearing and finally chose a tall pine tree along the tree line worthy of doing his business.

A thin pillar of smoke rose from above the trees a few hundred yards to the north-east. I suppose that's coming from my neighbor's house. I couldn't see anything from here though, you can't see a stone's throw in front of you in these woods. Besides the edge of neighbor's driveway, which ran parallel to mine from the road about ten yards away, it was impossible to tell anyone even lived nearby.

And that is just how I want it.

Solitude.

I gave the leash a gentle tug guiding Noah back toward the cabin. Inside, I pulled the heavy oak door firmly shut, sat on the bench, unlaced and pulled off my boots and set them on the large welcome mat. Afterward, I hung up Noah's leash on the coat hooks beside the door and he didn't hesitate, Noah took off sniffing out the new environment and I came to a stop, taking in my surroundings.

"Well, I'll be damned…" I respired. The photos the contractor had sent the finished work didn't do one ounce of justice. The old Jones family cabin was no longer the dusty and outdated log cabin I remembered from childhood. The living area was well lit with accent lighting, the wooden walls freshly stained, and the large cobblestone fireplace stood beautifully without a crumbled, out of place stone in sight. Large bay windows brought space and depth to the front of the living room which faced the lake. It had the perfect mixture of both new and nostalgic.

Pass the comfy living area and into the kitchen, the stainless steel was gleaming, bronze speckled granite counter tops and cobblestone backsplash, a new large granite counter island with matching bench centered the kitchen.

I walked through the rest of the bottom floor of the cabin which consisted of a cozy dining nook, a nice sized bathroom, and two downstairs bedrooms. All wonderfully restored. I stood in the doorway of Morgan's room and wondered how did they ever sand away all of the graffiti he'd etched into the wood back in 96.

When I'd repurchased the home, much of Gram and Pa-Pa's furniture had been found in the basement, stored safely away after all these years. Apparently, the previous owners hadn't bothered to do away with them. I'd saved my favorite pieces to be kept in the home and donated the rest to the local mission. But still, I could hardly reconcile the vacation home I now stood in against the one I spent every summer and most holidays in as a child. While it's been tumultuous in the last seven months, to finally be standing here enjoying the finished product was surreal.

I headed upstairs to the loft style master bedroom that had once been Gram and Pa-Pa's. I stood at the windows in my new bedroom and took in the broad view of Blue Ridge Lake. A cool blue mist hovered over the forest, with monolithic pines rising like tall statues around the dusky lake. If Hershel was right about Grandpa Mitchell being proud of the life I was able to return to his beloved cabin, then Daryl would have been even prouder at the way I had managed to make it all come together. I guess his years of hard work at the family-owned Dixon Constructions company had somehow influenced me a little. D always had such good tastes when it came to refurbishing or constructing of any kind.

Eventually, I began my unpacking; I started with grocery bags and then my suitcases of clothes, shoes, and toiletries. Last were my cherished electronics and small appliances. I stacked the boxes and bags neatly in the entryway inside the house. In the space of four hours, I had almost entirely organized and unpacked all of my belongings. I prided myself on my organization, although Daryl thought I was orderly to a fault, borderline OCD is what he called it, but it was just the way I ticked. I organized just about everything. It got me through law school, and it certainly got me through the last year and a half… But I guess something had to give. It was funny that for all our arguing, it was Daryl's death that got me to finally realize maybe there was some truth in his criticisms... Truthfully, it was a damn shame that it took such a tragic event for me to see it.

After several hours of unpacking and one pair of aching feet later, I reclined with a glass of Merlot in the steaming bathtub of my upstairs suite. I enjoyed long baths back in Atlanta, but the climate here was much better suited for those long hot baths. The cloud cover of the afternoon had finally cleared and dusk was falling rapidly. Small twinkles of starlight are visible from the glass skylight above me as I sank into the heat of the water, allowing myself to finally relax for the first time since I arrived.

Being here is my way of making a much-needed change. Stuck in my late thirties as a recently widowed, a workaholic lawyer was not something I'd ever envisioned. I was curious to get to know the side of me that didn't define myself solely by ritualistic practices and behaviors. I didn't plan on staying at the lake house forever, but I wanted to make the coming months a worthwhile experience.

I was startled out of my thoughts as a gut-churning wail echoed out from somewhere deep in the woods. Water splattered over the brim of the tub as I suddenly sat up, my fingers nearly lost the grip on my wine glass. My breath hitched to a halt and I listened closely for the sounds of anything else outside, maybe something closer. A few nail-biting moments later, a second bloodcurdling scream followed, an odd shrill and panicked groan, as if someone, no a woman, was hurt or in danger. The cry resounded eerily across the forest.

For a moment I thought about calling Maggie, but as I walked over to my cellular I thought back in time to a memory of me and Morgan as kids dashing up the stairs, two at a time, like frightened bunnies to jump into bed with Gram and Pa-Pa, terrified by the exact same sound. 'A fox', Pa-Pa had informed us; 'their scream sounds just like a woman's cry, nothing to worry about while we are tucked up safely inside.'

I let out a breath of nervous laughter and settled back down in the bath, allowing myself a moment to calm down. I'd forgotten the strange and oftentimes terrifying sounds that the woods surrounding Blue Ridge Lake emitted. It was all normal and expected when living in the middle of nowhere. Still, I couldn't shake the eerie feeling, my tranquil mood was now ruined.

I attempted a few more minutes in the bath, focusing on balancing my breathing and letting go again. I finished off my large glass of wine but I couldn't shake the feeling. It was like that uncomfortable irritation you got when being watched. I feel so silly, considering that with the shut wooden blinds are practically impossible to see through.

I gave myself a mental pep talk as I got out of the bath. I'm back home so I can finish grieving and after that is done, I have got to make a real attempt at moving on.