“Always.”
We exchange a grin.
My shoulders sag, and I turn away from my brother, happy to have this conversation concluded. As I peer into the distance, I observe a dip in the trees that piques my curiosity.
“Hey,” I say, pointing toward the drop-off. “Is there a road out there? Or a driveway? Do you see that?”
Holt shrugs.
“Who owns that?” I ask.
He shrugs again. “I have no idea. Why?”
“Because,” I say, moving to try to get a better vantage point, “that’s another potential access point. Greg didn’t mention this.”
“Right. And if we owned this back chunk …” Holt says, his voice raising.
“Consider the redesign.” I use my hands to help explain. “Instead of going up because he can’t go east, Wade could expand north, and … the options are endless.”
“I wonder how many acres that is?”
I turn back toward the truck. “Let’s go take a look.”
Holt follows me, staying a few feet back.
I slip my phone from my pocket and take a quick glance at the screen. There’s one missed call … from Kelly.
I breathe a sigh that’s equally filled with relief and disappointment.
Seven
Shaye
Water droplets splash onto the countertop and down the front of my shirt.
Leftover scrambled eggs from this morning fight against the current but eventually drop into the garbage disposal. It growls as it eats the debris. The sound is a little more metallic than it used to be, like metal-on-metal.
I turn off the disposal and the water. My favorite hand towel embroidered with lemons that I got on sale at Marshall’s is soft on my hands as I dry them.
The kitchen is filled with the soft glow of the sun’s setting rays. It’s my absolute favorite time of day in this house, specifically this time of year. I walk to the window overlooking the backyard and soak in the warmth.
The fence separating my backyard with the house behind me will eventually fall down during a storm. I’m surprised it’s still standing. The yard is tiny and uneven, and the overhang on the back stoop creaks when the wind picks up. Still, I love this little house and its cheap rent and chipped paint because it’s mine.
At least until my lease runs out.
I toss the towel on the counter.
My body fills with a peace that I’ve welcomed in my life in lieu of the sadness and anger I used to feel. It isn’t sunshine and rainbows in my soul, but it’s not fire and brimstone either. My best friend, Lisbeth, says the rainbows will come. I just need to give it more time.
I say she’s more of an optimist than me.
The doorbell jolts me out of my head.
“Coming,” I call out as I walk around the corner of the kitchen island.
“Hurry up! This is heavy!”
I yank the door open and nearly get trampled by Lisbeth Kline. Her cheeks are flushed as she rushes in like a bull, her arms loaded with bags.
“What in the heck are you doing?” I ask with a laugh.
The bags hit the floor with a thud.
“I said I would take a couple of bags of lettuce. I didn’t say you could bring me all the food you’ve ever bought,” I say.
“I went ahead and cleaned out my fridge and my deep freeze.” She wipes a chunk of blond bangs off her forehead. “You know how I do when I get going. It was supposed to just be perishables that would, well, perish while I’m in Florida for a week. But then I thought it was a good time to just go all-in. I mean, I am going to see my parents after the wedding. You know how hard Mom makes it for me to leave once I’m in Ohio again.”
I take in the number of containers in front of me. “Tell me this is it. There’s not more in your car, is there?”
“This is it. But we better get it in your freezer before it melts.”
I help gather the bags from various department stores filled with frozen food items and carry them into the kitchen.
“I need a grocery store monitor,” she says, setting the bags on the island. “Or at least one of the new fancy refrigerators with a camera so you can see inside it while you’re in the dairy section.”
I laugh. “Or, you know, you could just make a list.”
She scoffs at me like I just asked her carb-loving self to go gluten-free.
Lisbeth pulls out boxes of Hot Pockets, cartons of milk, and bags of frozen pearled onions from a Macy’s bag.
“When are you leaving?” I ask, putting the items away.
“In a few days,” she fake cries. “Why did I have to RSVP to this damn wedding, Shaye? And why won’t you come with me?”
“You RSVP’d because you and Lydia are friends. And I’m not going because I’m not throwing away that much money on a destination wedding that’s not my own. Also, I wasn’t invited.”