“What if she doesn’t?”
“A girl like that . . .” I can’t fight the laugh that comes falling past my lips. “You can’t tame a girl like Sienna. She still has things she wants to do, things she wants to figure out. And I’d be a cocksucker if I tried to convince her she doesn’t.”
“Okay,” he says, holding a hand in front of him, “I get what you’re saying. But it’s risky as hell.”
“Everything’s a risk, isn’t it? I’ve already fallen in love with her. That’s where you really take the chance and I’m all in. It’s too late for that.” I climb off the tractor and look at my cousin. “How late is Terry’s Lumber open?”
“Till nine? I think?”
“Wanna give me a lift over there?”
“Yeah, but I control the radio . . .”
“COME ON,” I GROAN, the wheels of my suitcase getting stuck. I jerk it forward and it springs loose, catapulting me into the back of my car.
Blowing out a breath, I stand with what little energy I have left and get it situated in the trunk and close the lid.
The little house Delaney and I called home for the last year looms overhead as I walk back up to the door. Its little black shutters were my favorite part from the moment I rolled up here months ago. Although it’s small and odd-shaped and the grass never grows evenly, my heart twists as I check the door for a final time.
As I head back down the sidewalk, Peck’s truck slides in behind my car. “Hey,” he says, getting out. He pulls his brows together. “Going somewhere?”
“To Savannah,” I say, trying desperately to keep my voice free of emotion. “I have a flight in a couple of hours.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Am I supposed to tell you everything?” I laugh, letting him pull me into a hug.
“Not everything, but this is kind of a big deal.”
“I just . . .” Shrugging, I blow out a breath. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“You staying there for good?”
I shrug again. “I need to go though. I can’t miss my flight.”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, he pulls me into a hug again.
“You’re the best, you know that?” I say against his t-shirt.
This time, there are no witty comebacks and no cute one-liners. He just squeezes me tighter.
Fighting tears, I pull away and refuse to look at him.
“Here,” he says, his voice full of emotion. “Take this.”
“What is it?”
He hands me a white envelope with my name scrawled on the front. My thumb goes immediately to Walker’s writing as if touching his pen strokes allows me to touch him.
“I don’t know what it is, really. But it’s from Walker,” he says. “Are you going to tell him you’re leaving?”
“Is Tabby still around?”
“Hell, no,” he sneers. “Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. You get what I’m sayin’?”
Blowing out a shaky breath, I circle around to the driver’s side door. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t let Walker give you too much hell.”
“If you need anything, call me,” he says, as I get into my seat.
Tears welling in my eyes as Peck reaches me, he closes the door softly. Leaning down so we’re eye-to-eye, he smiles sadly. “I hate seeing you go.”
“I hate to go,” I choke out. “But I have to.”
He nods, patting his hand against the roof of the car. “Then you better get going. Be safe.”
I watch him in the rearview mirror get into this truck, throw it in reverse, and zoom off down the road.
The tears start and they don’t stop even after I hit the highway towards Chicago. By the time I hit the Linton exit, my shirt is soaked and I can barely see.
On auto-pilot, I take the little offshoot into the little sleepy town. Instead of going right towards Crank like I do every morning, I turn left.
The streets are lined with American flags that billow in the warm summer breeze. Cherry smiles, broom in hand, as she sweeps the front of Carlson’s Bakery. I wave back, wishing I could stop and get one last piece of coffee cake.
Passing Nana’s church, I stop at the little stop sign at the end of the street. Ruby, the librarian, is checking the mail at the road. She, too, waves and points to a little sign about the upcoming speaker she’s been telling me about. I give her a thumbs up, making her smile as the tears just keep flowing.
Passing Goodman’s gas station, I see a bunch of the old men who hang out in Crank sometimes and I honk. They recognize my car and lift their coffee cups high above their bib overalls, the little hello they have worked out for their friends.
Me. Their friend.
Funny how this little town that I once thought of as a pit stop in the adventure of my life has my heart all twisted into a knot. I take a quick left and head back towards the highway, a road I don’t usually take. There’s a sign painted a bright shade of blue with a white arrow that reads, “Bluebird.”