Chapter 1 BOY FROM THE CITY

"I'll get a venti skinny caramel macchiato with one pump of hazelnut, double whip, and chocolate drizzle. Can you make it without sugar? Let's make it two!"

When John Wyatt heard the command, he couldn't help but sigh. The guy who placed it, who was probably three people ahead of him in line, didn't seem to mind that the queue at the coffee shop was already out the door. He just needed a big coffee, but he realized that he'd have to wait a long time to get to the counter with this long line of people requesting expensive orders.

He was accustomed to it. When you lived in New York, it was an unavoidable reality that wherever you went was crowded. In the Big Apple, there was no such thing as personal space, which grew more difficult to comprehend as time passed.

When John arrived at the counter ten minutes later, Mr. Fancy had already had his venti macchiato or whatever it was already. However, he came to work around two minutes after his scheduled start time due to the time lag.

"John, you're late," his employer, Jerry Levenstein, a ruthless older man who dreamed in cash signs, stated.

John held up his cup of coffee. "The line was too long," he said as he slipped behind his desk. "This will not happen again, Jerry."

"It best not," Jerry grumbled before returning to his job.

John let out a defeated sigh as he turned on his computer. He'd only been working for Jerry for three weeks, yet it seemed like three weeks had already passed. Jerry was a recent recruit to their department, a financial whiz who outwitted John's previous supervisor and fired him for not being a team player (whatever that means). It meant a total breakdown of John's work-life balance, and John's ruthless new employer revealed in hammering his employees to the bone.

That shouldn't have shocked him. Only the administrative personnel at the big shot law firm he works for the left at five o'clock. John didn't leave the house until almost ten o'clock yesterday night. The company's productivity was at an all-time high, but morale was low.

Particularly John's.

It hadn't always been this way, but he felt it now more than ever. It was his third job since graduating from high school four years ago, and they all seemed practically similar. John was utterly disillusioned with his job path due to power-hungry supervisors, browbeaten coworkers, and a steadily rising quantity of work for a mediocre income. Part of him wanted simpler times, like the ones he had before moving to New York.

Around midday, his phone buzzed with a new alert, and John groaned again when he saw the post. Renee, his ex-girlfriend, had just abandoned him two weeks previously because she wanted to pursue a career as an Instagram model. John wasn't sure how it all worked, but being in a relationship and pursuing her new internet profession appeared to be mutually incompatible. Renee's post was a provocative piece in which she wore as little as possible while lounging in the backseat of a fancy automobile. John had no clue whose automobile it was, and he didn't care at this moment. He unfollowed her and went about his business, wanting that portion of his life to remain securely buried.

John returned to his shoebox apartment after a packed subway journey in which he was nearly literally nose-to-armpit with someone who didn't use enough deodorant after another long day. He was able to clock out early and go home at eight-thirty. This evening, the couple next door was already bickering, and the noises could be heard through the thin walls. John climbed into bed and glanced at the ceiling, knowing he had to get up early the next day.

There has to be something more to life than this.

It was a concept that had been on his thoughts nearly too often recently. Even though it was the end of spring, John's head was still stuck in the doldrums of winter. In the concrete jungle, every day looked the same. And although other individuals appeared to revel in turmoil, he felt like it was destroying a portion of his soul.

It wasn't always like this. When he first moved to the city eight years ago to start college, he was wide-eyed and hopeful about the city's possibilities. It was the polar opposite of how he had lived his first eighteen years of life, locked in a one-stoplight town and working on a nearby farm during the summers. His adolescent self believed there was something to be said about leaving the tiny village and creating a name for himself in the big metropolis, but the longer he stayed, the less that promise remained true.

In the darkest depths of his mind, he could acknowledge that he wished to return home, to his origins. He yearned to return to the lush meadows and attend the local county fairs. It was becoming clear that his heart had never left that small ancient village.

That phrase, I suppose, is accurate. He reasoned that you couldn't take the boy's country out of him before falling asleep.

He walked into the law office for the final time the following day, even though he had no way of knowing. Since Jerry took over as his employer, a troubling tendency offended his instincts. Jerry likes to cut shortcuts and manipulate figures that jeopardize the finance department's trust with their colleagues. They'd been called out for it only last week with the CFO, and John knew they were under greater scrutiny than ever.

When Jerry contacted him about inserting purposefully incorrect material in a report, John snapped.

"What do you mean you won't do it?" Jerry yelled his fists on his hips.

"You know those figures are nonsense," John answered. "I'm not going to put them in."

"How come no one in this department understands working as a team?"

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "We aren't team players because we aren't going to lie on these reports for you?"

"John, be on the lookout. You're skating on thin ice right now, "Jerry responded, lifting an eyebrow.

John eventually snapped. It was one bridge too far, the outcome of being mistreated one too many times. The contact wouldn't have been too horrible on its own, but when combined with all the others during the three weeks, he finally got what he'd been secretly looking for.

His exit strategy.

"I'm done," John said, reaching for his personal belongings. "You may fudge the figures, but I'm out. I resigned."

Jerry looked at him with a stunning face, not knowing what to say for a few seconds. Several of John's coworkers did as well, most of them pausing their work to observe the heated exchange.

Jerry's acidity has finally returned. "Excellent, excellent. It's all for the best. I can't have someone here who doesn't understand how business works."

John didn't even bother to respond to it. Instead, he discreetly packed his belongings and exited via the main entrance, but not before tossing his ID badge.

John conducted some significant soul-searching that day. The most obvious solution to his position was to begin looking for work. He felt sure he could find another job with his degree and expertise.

And answer to another jerk boss while working much too long hours? While also losing my soul in the process?

The more he thought about it, the less appealing that alternative seemed. He'd been circling the answer for weeks, and now he stared it in the eyes.

This was not the city for him. He didn't want to live this kind of life.

The essential thing was that he felt homesick. He wanted to return to his origins.

At the very least, money would not be an issue in this circumstance. His work had paid well, and he had a sizable savings account. He couldn't afford to take a year off work, but he could take some time off to heal psychologically without worrying about money.

The dilemma was whether he could genuinely pack his belongings, leave home, and realistically hope to return to the city at some point. It was a question he couldn't answer and didn't want to answer just now. But one thing was sure: he was prepared to give it a go.

After breaking his lease on the shoebox, he loaded his minimal stuff in his old vehicle and traveled back to his birthplace that weekend. It was strange to see the city fade into the distance in the rearview mirror, only to be replaced by miles of open highway. His destination, a tiny rural village in southern Pennsylvania, was eight hours away. It was a spot he hadn't been in years.

That explains his Aunt Cheryl's stunned expression when she opened the door and saw him standing there.

"What? John! What exactly are you doing here?" She shouted as she threw her arms around him.

"Hey, Aunt Cheryl," John replied, a little hesitantly. "Surprise!"

She took a step back to look at him. "You've got some serious explaining to do, so get started!"

It took him about a half-hour to explain his decision to leave New York. It took his aunt less than thirty seconds to give him a place to stay. Despite her surprise at seeing him appear out of nowhere, Aunt Cheryl was thrilled to have her only nephew back in town.

She did, after all, virtually raise him. John's parents had died a long time ago, and he had spent most of his formative years with his aunt, who had become like a surrogate mother to him. His cousin Lisa, his only daughter, had moved away years ago with her army spouse, and they were presently stationed in Texas. It meant that Aunt Cheryl was alone in her home much of the time, and he got the idea that she appreciated the company.

Things went quite smoothly throughout the first week. He took a long breath of the sweet-smelling rural air the first day he walked out of his aunt's home, finding it soothing. It lacked the staleness and rancidity that the city was known for. Even as he drove about town, he wasn't shocked that everything looked like he had left it eight years before. Of course, there was a new petrol station, and John observed a new set of homes not far from the local school, but everything was still locked in time, which he enjoyed.