Weekends in Carolina

by Jennifer Lohmann

  Trey will at least have to come back for that. Only he wouldn’t. The man she loved could drive to D.C. and make Kelly return to the farm for the boxes. And since she owned the land she was standing on, he wouldn’t continue to drive five hours after work on Friday to “check up on his property.” His excuse and his chain had been signed away today in an office with uncomfortable furniture and cheap art on the walls.

  She’d let herself forget the less-welcome consequences of owning the farm during the celebration. Now with just the two of them left, those consequences were all she could think on.

  They were going to walk into the farmhouse, have sex and then he would drive away. And even if he came back occasionally, this relationship would still have no future.

  Trey was walking toward her, the moonlight and the tiki lamps casting shadows that danced across his face. No matter that the light was dim, Trey’s smile was bright. “You’re leaning against the last table.” His eyes twinkled. Close up, she saw that the muscles of his face were relaxed and there was no evidence there had ever been uncomfortable lines on his neck. Watching their relationship slowly dissolve across the two hundred and fifty miles between Durham and D.C. couldn’t be the only outcome to their situation.

  His arm slipped around her waist. Warm, strong and about to exit her life. “We can’t go to bed until all the tables and tents are put away. Your rules—” a playful kiss on her lips interrupted his words “—not mine.”

  She put the bundle of fairy lights in the box and stood. Trey hadn’t stepped back, so when she was on her own two feet, she was also in his arms. It didn’t matter that there was one layer of thick woolen sweater and one layer of thermal-lined sweatshirt between them, her skin remembered the feel of his body against hers. She tilted her face up to his and kissed him. His lips were warm. Then he tilted his head and the cool skin of his cheek brushed hers. She wanted to ignore the coming storm and the tents and go inside.

  She wanted to stay out here forever so that morning never came.

  His tongue tickled the edge of her lips and she met it with her own. Slippery, wet and warm in blissful contrast to the dry chill of the night air. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her close against him. She thrust her hands under his sweater, rubbing the cotton of his shirt against his skin, creating friction and heat under her hands. He moaned and shivered when she finally yanked his shirt out from his pants and touched skin to skin.

  She wasn’t ready to be finished when he pulled away from her. He reached his hand up and brushed some of her flyaway hair from her face. “It’s warmer inside. The tents can be left until morning.”

  She dragged her hands out from under his shirt and smoothed his sweater back down. “No.” Responsibility and reality were unwelcome. “I’m not convinced the weather will hold.”

  He nodded, stepping back far enough for her to grab the box of lights and slip away from him.

  She didn’t trust herself to find the courage to ask him to stay for her. But the longer the night lasted, the more chances she had to dig up some bravery. As she walked to the farmhouse to deposit her box by the door, the sounds of table legs being folded punctuated the conversation running through her head.

  “Trey, would you move to North Carolina, back to the farm, to be with me?”

  “But I have a good job, one that I care about, in D.C.”

  “But I just bought this farm. I can’t move.”

  “But I hate the farm.”

  “But you love me.”

  At least she thought he did. He’d driven down here almost every weekend to be with her as she worked to buy the farm. He’d supported her. He’d encouraged her. And he hadn’t done all of that just because he wanted to be rid of the land.

  Her right foot hit the step and she fell forward, her box of fairy lights bouncing in her arms before sliding out of her grip and onto the porch. Luck was with her tonight because the box landed top up and she didn’t have to spend the rest of her evening rewinding strings of lights.

  “Everything okay?” Trey called from across the lawn.

  “I’m fine,” she called back. “I just stumbled on the steps.” Only she was lying; she wasn’t fine. She was driving herself crazy with her fear over asking one simple question. A no would hurt, but she’d survive. She would have her farm to absorb all her energies and she’d live to see another day. At least she’d know.

  As they took down the tents and made small talk, all the reasons she shouldn’t put her heart out there danced through her head. Don’t even try. You’ll only fail. You’ll lose what you have now. It’s not worth it.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Trey asked again as they were stuffing the last tent into its bag. “You seem...unfocused.”

  “I’m tired. And today’s been pretty emotional.”

  He put the bag on the ground and stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her. Her body melted into his, only stopping from being a loose puddle on the ground by the resilience of her skin. “Tomorrow you’ll wake up on your own farm with money in the bank to make it into the farm you’ve always wanted.”

  She chuckled into his sweater, then lifted her face to his. “I know. And that’s a pretty emotionally exhausting thought.”

  “Then let’s get all this stuff put away and get you to bed.” His kiss was sweet. “Maybe we’ll even sleep.”

  After they’d moved all the tents into the barn, they walked back to the farmhouse hand in hand. The backyard looked so empty without all the tents and people celebrating. She had enjoyed sitting at the top of the rise and surveying her fields. Hell, this was her land. If she wanted to build a patio at the top of the hill and sit on a chair with a beer after work and look out over her vegetables, she could. And that, more than anything, gave her the courage to ask Trey, “Will you move to North Carolina? To be with me?” as they crossed the threshold from the porch to the living room.

  “I’m sorry?” he replied. She didn’t know if it was too dark to read his expression or if he didn’t have one. She also didn’t know which of those options was better.

  “Me. To be with me. On the farm. I can’t move to D.C.” She laughed at the irony of it all. “You see, I just bought this farm from the man I love because he didn’t want it. But I want him. And I come with the land.”

  “You’re tired.”

  She flipped the lights on and saw his expression for the first time. Fear. She hadn’t expected that. He sighed when he caught her looking at him. His deep breath seemed to go on forever.

  He was going to say no. She’d known he was going to say no when she asked, but she’d hoped... But she wouldn’t have been able to look herself in the mirror tomorrow morning, or the next day, or the next if she hadn’t asked. “I am tired. But that doesn’t change what I’m asking. Or why.”

  Ashes lifted his head. His tail pounded the floor in greeting, but he didn’t get up. Her old dog had tried to stay at the party all night; he’d only gone to bed when she’d noticed him falling asleep while standing and she’d put him in the house. She wished she could embrace exhaustion with the same dead man’s flop as Ashes. Instead, she sat on the couch, her body ready to be catatonic and her mind racing around in circles. From the red shooting through Trey’s eyes and the ginger way he arranged himself on the couch, Max wasn’t the only tired one.

  Neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other. Tension simmered, despite the drafts that prevented the room from getting hot. Ashes moaned from his spot on the floor. The silence reigned until the dog fell asleep, then the soft woofs and twitches of his dreams were all that kept the room from feeling like a tomb.

  Just when she thought they would spend the rest of the night in ghostly silence, Trey scrubbed at his face with his hand and then spoke. “Do you know what you’re asking me to give up?”

  Her nod disoriented her balance and all her b
ody wanted to do was fall asleep. But she’d asked the question now and she would get her answer now, even if all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball.

  “I’ve worked incredibly hard to get where I am. My job is important, it pays well and I enjoy it.” Not willing to try nodding again, Max blinked her understanding. “You’re asking me to give that up. To move down to my dad’s farm.”

  “It’s not your dad’s farm anymore.”

  “Every day of my childhood, I ate dinner at that table in the kitchen. My mother would come home from work, make ‘real food’ if we were lucky enough, and my dad would have a beer. And if we were having ‘real food,’ it was only because that was my dad’s first beer of the night. More often, my dad already had a pile of cans building for the day and we were eating biscuits for dinner because he was drinking the grocery money.”

  Max blinked again. The tears were coming. If she moved her head, they’d slosh around in her eyes and the tight ball that was her heart might break into a million pieces.

  “That same table is still in the same kitchen. And not even the new couch or the new paint colors can hide that it’s the same house. You live here now and there are crops growing in the fields instead of weeds, but that doesn’t change what this place is.”

  Being fairly certain of Trey’s answer ahead of time didn’t make it any easier to hear. And she had known. She had known and had asked anyway. She took a deep breath before sobs choked her. Her tears were hot as they rolled in streams down her face. “It’s my farm. It’s me.”

  The sadness on Trey’s face only made his answer worse. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He sat in silence. Max sat blubbering. Too tired to keep herself under control, her sobs were messy and loud. Fragments of her heart floated around her body, tearing muscle and bone as they brushed past. She’d had a choice of keeping the farm or keeping Trey and she’d chosen. Just because she wouldn’t choose differently didn’t mean she was happy with her choice right now.

  The couch shifted as Trey stood and his footsteps retreated from the living room. He returned with a box of tissues. “Thank you.” She had to cough the words out. She blew her nose. Once. And again. The pile of tissues grew to the size of her hand. Then her two hands fisted together. In the morning, she would be dry as a bone. Her broken heart was going to squeeze her dry.

  But there would be no regret in the morning. She would wish she hadn’t been so tired. She would wish his answer had been different. But she wouldn’t wake up and regret having the guts to risk it all and ask him to stay.

  She pulled one last tissue and wiped her eyes.

  “Are you done?” When he had returned with the tissues, he’d sat next to her on the couch. Closer and also farther than he’d ever been before.

  She nodded.

  “I have to drive back to D.C. in the morning.” She knew that. And that he wasn’t coming back. “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

  “I’ll be there soon.” The residue of her tears made her words halting, but she said them. Even though she knew they were a lie. Trey nodded, then left the living room for her bedroom. After she heard her bed creak, she let her head fall back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  TREY KNEW THE instant he woke up that Max wasn’t in bed next to him. He’d lain awake for what felt like hours, waiting for her to come to bed. Knowing she wouldn’t. Maybe he should have said he would sleep on the couch and prodded her to go to bed.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have asked him for the one thing he couldn’t give her.

  The temptation for his mind to scream, If you loved me, you wouldn’t ask me for this nearly overpowered rationality. The problem with his self-pitying call was that his mind was also yelling back, If you loved her, you’d move.

  Almost every morning he’d woken up in this bed, Max had gotten up earlier than he had and emptiness had greeted him. But those mornings had felt full of promise. But like everything else about this farm, this empty bed was nothing but empty promises.

  He’d never promised her. She’d never promised him. And here they both were, disappointed. He preferred anger; regret was a harder emotion to get out of bed with. He swung his legs over the edge and put on his clothes, prepared to hike the fields to find her.

  He didn’t have to look that far. Max was where he’d left her, on the couch in the living room, only at some point in the night she’d lain down. She was curled up in a tiny ball—out of sadness or for warmth, he couldn’t tell. He covered her with one of the blankets off the recliner. Then he walked to the kitchen with the intention of making himself coffee, but he couldn’t get past the doorway. Memories of childhood mornings he’d stood in this very doorway skimmed his mind. He waited for the anger to come. When it failed him, he took a deep breath and pushed his blood to boil. He concentrated on the fear of being a little boy. On nights of hungry bellies, Kelly trying desperately to be noticed, while at the same time trying to hide his secret. On his mother coming in after working two shifts and having to clean the bathroom because his father didn’t do women’s work. On the smell of alcohol.

  The dam holding his anger back broke and the rage soared through his body in a familiar rush of adrenaline and self-righteousness. You are making the right decision, his anger told him. You could never be happy in this house.

  Trey walked back over to where Max slept and caressed her hair, which was coarse and springy under his hand. He would miss her hair. He would miss her freckles.

  She stirred but didn’t wake. He gave her hair one last squeeze, patted his pockets for his keys and wallet and headed out the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  TREY USED THE first ping sounding through the audiobook he was listening to on his phone as a signal to increase the speed on the treadmill. At the second ping, he wiped his dripping face with the gym’s towel. At the third, he increased the incline. If he kept going at this rate, he’d be too exhausted to read the texts from Kelly—because Trey was sure that was what those dings were. The fourth ping had Trey changing the program from straight running to interval. Even if he was able to read the texts, he would be too worn out to process them.

  The towel was soaked with his sweat and fairly useless, but Trey tried mopping his face anyway. The only other option was to get off the treadmill and respond to his brother. But that would mean thinking about Max. And the farm. And Max. He raised the volume, letting the mind-numbing voice of the narrator ruin what would otherwise be an interesting book on inner-city education and drown out any thought of the farm. And Max.

  Kelly had sent him some emails marked with a little red “important” exclamation point. Trey had ignored those. Then Kelly had changed the subject heading from “Dad and the farm” to “READ THIS!!!” and finally to “STOP STICKING YOUR FUCKING HEAD IN THE SAND.” Trey had left all of those emails unread. He’d sold the land to Max; it was no longer his problem. His ties had dissolved when he signed those papers. Family had never been enough to tie him to his past, and that hadn’t changed.

  Max might have been enough. Max could have been enough. Max would have been enough.

  The volume coming through his headphones was as loud as he could stand it without going deaf, so Trey turned his gaze from the television screens in front of him to the screen on the treadmill and ticked down the seconds in his head with each pound of his feet. Two. One. Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. If he could control his breathing, he could call what he was doing “meditating” instead of “avoiding.”

  The screen on his phone changed with the incoming call. From Kelly. When Trey forced his gaze from the treadmill screen back up to the TVs and tried to read the running headlines on CNN, he could no longer lie to himself. At ten o’clock in the morning on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, in an almost empty gym, Trey could ignore the no-cell-phone rule. He lowered the speed of the treadmill to where he could huff ou
t words and answered the phone with “What?”

  “That answers my question about whether or not you even read my emails.”

  “The Harris’s tobacco farm is now officially Max’s Vegetable Patch. Why would I read emails about it? I don’t care about it.” I care about Max. He swabbed his face with the dripping towel, scrubbing as best he could while trying to run and talk on the phone at the same time, but the thought didn’t disappear.

  “I can barely understand you. What are you doing?”

  “Running. I’ll call you back when I’m not busy.” Running while holding the phone to his ear was easier than he’d thought. He upped the speed of the treadmill.

  “Dammit.” Kelly’s voice interrupted the movement of Trey’s finger across the air to cancel the call. “You’ll always find some excuse to not hear what I have to say, so I’ll just get on with it. I found the will.”

  “What did you say?” Trey was only half listening.

  “I found the will. Dad kept his promise to Max. He left the farm to you, on the condition that you offered her a new three-year lease.”

  Trey stopped running. When his heels curved over the back of the treadmill he lurched forward, smacking his fist down on the red emergency-stop button. The machine stopped with a jolt that rocked through his body. Only the tightness in his chest kept him from smashing forward. “What did you say?”

  “Dad’s new will. He’d shoved it into Mama’s Bible. We only searched the attic. Neither of us thought about searching the box I’d taken home.”

  Trey left his towel hanging on the side of the treadmill. He’d come back later to grab it and wipe down the machine. What he needed now was a place he could talk without falling over. He headed into the empty yoga studio and sat in the corner on the cool parquet floor.