"I can come," I say.
"Tonight. Come tonight, and you can stay over."
"Okay," I say. "That sounds amazing." And fast. Very fast, but after what just happened with John, I'm relieved to have the opportunity for some headspace.
We say our goodbyes, and almost immediately, Danna messages me her address and some directions. I pack up my small suitcase and make my way down the stairs hoping to find John or one of the others so that I can let them know that I'm going to be away for the night, but there is no one in the house.
Seriously. They've left me here without telling me how to lock up? It takes me ten minutes to walk around the house, checking windows and doors. In the den, I finally have the privacy to look over the photos. There are so many with Dad and my foster brothers — Christmas pictures, birthday, football, and graduation. I try to recognize who is who, but I'm still totally overwhelmed at the number of men living in this house, and remembering their names is a struggle. There's a small section of older pictures - one of dad as a kid with his parents. They both died a long time ago of a heart attack and cancer, but I remember Grammy's house and the pound cake she used to make. There are some of Dad with Uncle Walter and his other siblings, and then there are some of me. Not many. Three, to be exact. They seem faded and a little out of focus, as though they've been hanging long enough to be washed out by the sun. It makes me both happy and sad to imagine them hanging here for as long as I've been away. I really have been a constant presence in this house, even when I was absent.
I leave a simple note in the kitchen, complete with my cell number. I don't think they'll worry about me, but it's polite.
At the door, I find Dad's keys in my purse, complete with the goofy keyring he used to carry. I lock up securely. When I'm in my car, I find myself looking up at this home that should have been a part of my life but wasn't. It's an awesome place. Dad made his foster children a really special home.
I listen to a country station on my way to Danna's, enjoying the familiarity of the old tunes, some of which Dad used to play in our old truck. Broadsville is a nice town. Similar to my hometown of Coopers Valley in size and population. The main street has some adorable old stores, including a florist, where I stop to buy a gift for Danna. While the flowers are wrapped, I message Danna to let her know I'm close. She asks where, and when I tell her, she instructs me to wait exactly where I am.
It feels strange to stand outside a florist in a new town waiting for goodness knows what.
After five minutes, I hear a voice calling my name.
A gorgeous man leans out of the window of a large dirt-splattered truck. "I'm York, Danna sent me. Wanna follow me up to the ranch?"
"Sure." I dive back into my car, placing the pretty blooms on the passenger seat.
York pulls out carefully and leads me out of town, along wide-open roads until he signals into a turning labeled Jackson Ranch. The dirt road winds for quite a way before it ends in front of a large wooden ranch house. Danna must have heard the cars or seen the flying dirt that billows out behind our vehicles and is standing on the steps at the front.
Wow. She looks amazing and very, very pregnant. A fact she didn't share over the phone and Uncle Walter neglected to tell me too. I grab the wrapped stems of the flowers and my purse and climb out of my car, feeling very self-conscious because suddenly, next to Danna has appeared a whole lot of very sexy cowboys. "Do you have any bags?" York asks me.
"In the trunk."
He works his way around the back and retrieves my possessions as though they weigh nothing at all. Damn, he is sexy. Serious, tall, and intense.
"Come on. Danna and Momma have been cooking up a storm."
We make our way across the direct driveway as Danna lumbers over to meet us halfway. "Maggie," she beams, drawing me into a huge hug that mostly involved her curling around her round belly that is pressed tightly against me.
"These are for you." I hold the flowers out shyly, trying to remember the last time I saw my cousin. She was probably fourteen and going through a particularly awkward stage. Gone are the uneven bangs and the braces, replaced by pretty hair and eyes that warm me to the core. She's curvy, too, in the best way. Pregnant women always look so good, as though they are filled with the glow of creation.