Hate You Not

“Mama never wanted me to not get finished,” I explain, meaning high school. “It was my choice. And then I just…stayed. A lot of my employees go, though. In a weird way, it’s less essential for me. I don’t need college to tell me how to do a job my family’s done for generations.”

I see admiration in his eyes, and understanding.

“Also, by the way,” I add, “my farm is going to last. I know it looks a little dicey on paper, but I’ve got a master plan.”

“Shit, June.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry that I ever said that.”

I give him a bratty grin. “You know I like the sound of sorries. Just for that, I’ll take you one more place before we go back.”

We start down a red dirt road that’s lined by mossy oaks and follow as it winds up a slight hill into thicker trees. And there’s my parents’ house. Really my great-great grandparents’ house. I watch Burke’s face as we approach it, and I know he thinks it’s beautiful. It really is.

It’s not truly antebellum, but it looks the part. It’s big and white, with stately columns and a fine front porch, my grandma’s rocking chairs still on it, along with giant potted ferns that were my mama’s. I still come here to water them—me or Latrice. I know it’s weird, but I can’t stand to see this porch without my mom’s prized ferns.

“This place is mostly empty,” I say. “Would you want to go in, take a look around a real old Southern home?”

“If you do. Yeah. I’d like to see it.”

I show him a rusty metal post where people used to tie their horses, and he’s fascinated. He’s rapt as I lead him in through the big, pretty front door and then all through the first floor, with its vast, formal dining room, antique hardwoods, gold flocked wallpaper, and a wall-sized mirror with a curling scroll-style carving on top. There’s a piano in one of the parlors, and he plays a few keys, then winces at their lack of tuning.

When we get to the winding staircase, his hand catches mine. He’s quiet again until we step onto the balcony that hangs over the front porch. We stand side by side, a most unlikely couple—tech tycoon and farm queen, I think wryly—and I watch as he takes in the lush grass and stately trees around us.

“Beautiful.”

I nod as my throat tightens. “It was an amazing place to grow up. I felt like a princess. Sutton used to say she was the queen, so I was the princess.”

“Where was Mary Helen?” he asks, smiling.

“She was also the queen. Or also the princess. Depending on the mood of the day.” I laugh. “And I mean Sutton’s mood. She ran the show.”

That makes him smile. We wander back inside, and I show him my old bedroom. It’s empty but for an old oriental rug, since I moved all my stuff into the small house. I stretch out on my back on the dusty rug, and, to my surprise, he sprawls out beside me.

“Pretty,” he says, stroking my jaw as he turns onto his side to face me.

“You are.” I grin.

He shakes his head. “I’m dirty. Need a shower.”

His hand tunnels into my hair, and we kiss, gently this time, until I have a sneezing fit. “It’s the damn dust.” I rub my watery eyes. “Even though I have somebody come clean sometimes.”

Burke helps me to my feet, but I’m loath to leave. “All my memories are in this room. Feels like almost all of them, at least.” I run my finger over the windowpane where, in high school, I kept a row of scented candles, and he makes a sympathetic sound.

My chest starts aching, and I know it’s time to go. Lingering in this place only ever makes me want things I can’t have. I lead him downstairs, detouring briefly so he can admire a mural in the library.

“So this is it,” I say as we step back onto the wide front porch. “This is my mausoleum.”

We clasp hands, and I walk him over to a porch swing. We sit side by side, my legs swinging while his shoes on the porch floor keep us moving. He traces my wrist with roving fingertips, and I smile as I realize I was wrong about this as well—his hands are rough.

“Don’t be sad for me,” I tell him.

He looks into my eyes, and I can tell my gut feeling was right. Seeing this old, empty house—and what it once was—makes him feel a little sorry for me.

“Everybody’s story has a sad part. You have to get through them to get into the happy parts that happen at the end.”

“The happily ever after?” He says it with a teasing smile, as if it’s fool’s talk.