by Mia Sheridan
I desperately wanted to turn my mind away from these thoughts, wanted to shut down my emotions. I hardly had time to be obsessing about Annalia or any woman when I had a farm to run. And now a drought was destroying our crops. Our future. Our livelihood. I’d gone out to the fields that morning and walked up and down the rows, looking at the drooping, parched plants and feeling a helplessness rise inside me. Had my father felt the same way the morning he died? Had he felt that wave of sorrow wash through him right before his heart gave out and he fell to his knees? I hated thinking that my father’s last thought was of the dying all around him.
The door opened and I startled. I’d been so deep in my own thoughts, I hadn’t heard footsteps coming toward my room. Cole stood in the doorway with his eyebrows raised. “I should kick your ass for leaving me down there to contend with Mom while you nap.”
“I wasn’t napping. I was hiding.”
Cole let out an irritated huff that turned into a chuckle. “I don’t blame you.”
“How’d you get away?”
“I said we were out of ice and left to get some.”
“Are we out of ice?”
“I have no idea.”
I laughed softly. “They all mean well, but I hope to God they leave soon.”
“Then we’ll be left alone with Mom.”
I groaned but guilt gnawed at me. We’d lost a father, but she’d lost a husband. Of course, both Cole and I were shocked that they hadn’t divorced while we were away. I’d figured we’d come home to a broken family, had even been prepared for it. Frankly, I’d thought it would be for the best and a relief for all of us. But somehow they’d stuck it out, though from what I could tell, nothing had changed for the better.
A man is only as good as his word.
Was that what it came down to? Had my father stuck it out simply because by marrying my mother, he’d said he would and breaking a promise wasn’t part of his makeup?
After a minute, Cole pulled me from my thoughts by saying, “I thought maybe Annalia would come. I haven’t been in touch with her since we’ve been back. But I was sure she would have heard the news in town.”
I paused, not wanting to tell him she had been here. I had some irrational desire to keep our short visit in the barn a secret, something intimate and just between the two of us. But I couldn’t lie outright to Cole. “She did. She was here.”
Cole’s head turned quickly my way. “She was? When?”
“Just a little while ago. She was on her way out when I saw her.”
“No shit. Why didn’t she come find me?”
“I don’t know. She seemed like she had somewhere to be. She said she’d just dropped off some food.”
Cole was quiet for a minute. “Huh.”
I didn’t want to talk about Annalia with him, didn’t want to hear about his plans so I changed the subject. “I set up a meeting with Dad’s accountant. We need to figure out where we stand if we’re going to get things back up and running as smoothly as possible. We can’t do anything about the water supply, but we can gather the information we need to make the best decisions for the farm from here on out.”
Cole was quiet for a minute. “What if I decide I don’t want to stay, Preston?”
I’d known that was a possibility. Cole’s dreams had never revolved around the farm, but I hadn’t wanted to assume or ask anything. I wanted it to be his decision. It would be strange to live here on this farm without him—strange to live anywhere without him, being that we’d never lived apart—but now Dad was gone, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. What I’d told Annalia was true—my heart was here. It always had been and it always would be.
“I’d understand, Cole. I want you to be happy and Dad would have, too.” I didn’t let myself question what it would mean to be in this town with Annalia while Cole was living somewhere else, making a life for himself. But I couldn’t deny the small flare of possibility that lit inside me.
We were both adults now. What would happen if it were just the two of us here in Linmoor and Cole was off living his own life? If we had time . . . space . . . opportunity?
“I’ll give it some time. Nothing needs to be decided immediately.” He paused for a moment. “You’ve never questioned it, have you? Moving back here, running the farm.”
“No.”
We were both quiet for a few minutes before Cole pointed up at the ceiling. “Remember that time I convinced you those cracks in the corner were a family of spiders?”
I smiled. “Yeah. Mom and Dad were fighting and I didn’t want to go downstairs, but I didn’t want to fall asleep and have the spiders land on me either. I stayed up for hours after you’d fallen asleep watching them before it occurred to me that even spiders needed to stretch their legs now and again.”
Cole laughed softly. “That was mean. I’ve played a lot of tricks on you in my life. Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” But I smiled at the memory anyway. “Nothing that did lasting harm, I guess. Although I do still have a slight spider phobia.” Cole chuckled again and so did I.
My brother and I had lain awake together in this room telling stories since the time we could talk. Even when we’d turned thirteen and Cole had decided to move down the hall to his own room, most mornings I’d woken up to find him snoring in the bed that had always been his.
“How’s it gonna be living with Mom?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Better maybe.” Now that she didn’t have Dad to fight with constantly didn’t need to be said. Cole would know what I meant.
“Yeah, maybe. We can only hope, right?”
I distantly heard my mom’s voice calling our names downstairs and looked over at Cole at the same time he looked over at me. “Duty calls,” he whispered.
I grinned as I sat up. I could have lain there for the rest of the day, enjoying the cool air and the peaceful quiet of our childhood bedroom, but Cole was right. Duty called.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Annalia
The Thursday morning breakfast crowd was just beginning to dwindle, and I was taking the few minutes I had between tables to wipe down and refill the syrup bottles. It’d been an unusually busy morning, and I was glad because any extra tip money was always welcomed.
I’d like to get rid of the cable bill we’d taken on, but my mama sat in front of that used TV watching the Spanish channel most of the day, and I felt guilty to think of her with absolutely nothing to do. I tried to encourage her to get out and do the grocery shopping, or even take a short walk, but she didn’t show any interest.
I worried about her. Although she’d never been a particularly happy person, I’d watched her slide slowly into deeper depression since she’d ceased working. But at the same time, I couldn’t allow her to live in a constant state of physical pain if I could prevent it. She rarely complained about her back anymore and I took a small measure of pride in that. We still weren’t close, but when we’d moved, she hadn’t set up her shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe. I’d hesitantly asked her why but she’d only shrugged. Although I knew it might mean she’d given up all hope of her prayers being answered, I still breathed a sigh of relief. After all, her “prayers” had done nothing but hurt me, and there was no way to turn back the clock and undo what had already been done—Our Lady of Guadalupe could probably create many miracles, but the reversal of time wasn’t one of them as far as I’d ever heard. And if she had an in with God, she hadn’t used it on my mama’s behalf.
I thought back to the days my mama had worked on the farms and remembered how much happier she’d seemed, despite the hard labor. And I, too, had loved being among people who spoke my mother tongue, who told jokes in Spanish and called me endearments their mothers might have called them: pequeña, little one, florecita, little flower, muñequita, baby doll. And though we’d all been poor and desperate, living in such a limited world, I’d felt beloved among them. I’d felt a shared community and kinship that I’d never felt since. And I’d known my mama felt the same
way. I’d loved watching her smile as she chatted with the other women who worked beside her.
I was so involved in my own thoughts, my mind lost in the fields of strawberries and lettuce and tomatoes, I didn’t see Preston and Cole walk in until they were standing in front of me where I was behind the front counter, a syrup bottle in one hand and a warm, wet cloth in the other.
“We heard you serve a mean stack of pancakes here,” I heard drawled in a familiar voice. My head rose quickly, my eyes widening, and a smile breaking out on my face to see Cole leaning on the counter in front of me. Preston was standing behind him, his hands in his pockets, and I let out a small gasp, putting the syrup bottle and rag down on the counter and rushing around it.
“There’s my girl,” Cole said as he scooped me up in his arms, laughing as he planted his lips on mine. I laughed against his mouth at the unexpected kiss, squeezing him back. Over his shoulder, Preston looked away. I didn’t miss the flash of hurt that moved over his face and I felt suddenly awkward. I had greeted Preston with a physical show of affection, too, but I hadn’t expressed it with such exuberance. Of course, the situation had been different—I’d just been made to feel like garbage by his grieving mother. Dirty. Less. And not only that, but my feelings for Preston had always been different: deeper, more intense, desperate even. My love for Cole was easier and less complicated. We’d always been able to pick right up where we left off. With Preston, that was more difficult because I felt as if every system inside of me was racing just at his nearness.
Cole put me down and took one step back, his eyes moving down my uniform-clad body. “God, you look good.”
I laughed. “Yeah? You like this?” I teased, running a hand over my boxy, blue apron and straightening my nametag.
“Yeah, I do. It’s proof that you can make anything look good.”
I rolled my eyes, my smile fading as I took his hand, squeezing it. “Hey, I’m sorry about your dad.”
He nodded. “Thanks. Pres said you came out to the farm.”
I hoped the flush of embarrassment at the memory didn’t show in my face. “Oh, I did but . . . I couldn’t stay long. I just wanted to pay my respects.”
I went back around the counter and put two menus down, nodding my head to the open seats. “Hi, Preston. You’re going to eat, right?” I said softly as he stepped forward.
They both sat down, Preston giving me a tiny lip quirk and a nod. “Hi, Lia.”
“Surprise me,” Cole said, shooting me a grin and tossing the menu in front of him aside.
“Two eggs over-easy with wheat toast and a side of bacon,” Preston said, scooting his own menu away. I smiled as I turned away to put in their order, thinking about how they were such mirror images of each other. How could everything about them physically be so similar yet they were so opposite of the other?
I still had a few tables I was waiting on and so I chatted with Preston and Cole between taking orders and pouring drinks for my other customers. As I was re-pouring coffee for Preston, Cole said, “Hey, Lia, we’re going to have a small get-together this weekend. A barn party. Will you come?”
Preston looked at his brother as if this was the first he was hearing about it. Cole winked at him. “Our mom’s leaving tomorrow to visit her sister who couldn’t be at the funeral because of an illness. We thought we’d take advantage of having the place to ourselves before we really need to get down to farm business.”
“Aren’t we too old for a barn party?” Preston asked quietly.
“One is never too old for a barn party,” Cole replied. “We’ll get a few kegs, do some cheers to Warren Sawyer, play some country music like the good Central Valley farm boys our father raised us to be. It’ll be a far better memorial service than that uncomfortable tear-fest at our house. Come on, it’ll be great. Dad would have wanted it.”
Preston sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of coffee. It was pretty clear that when Cole said “we” what he really meant was “I.” Using their father’s memory to get Preston to agree to what he wanted was sort of manipulative, but that wasn’t for me to point out.
“Come on, Lia,” Cole said. “I’ll pick you up.”
“I, um . . .” I bit my lip, feeling uncomfortable about going to a party in the Sawyers’ barn. I’d heard about barn parties. Apparently it was a “thing” around here, and I’d even been invited to a few, but I’d always declined, not comfortable socializing that way with the other kids at my high school. I’d grown slightly more confident hanging out with others my age, or from IHOP, but I worried no one I knew would be at their party, and I’d linger on the sidelines. Alone. Watching.
Watching Preston talk to other women.
Preston had dug back into his food, and Cole was watching me with an expectant look on his face. “Please?” He gave me that irresistible grin of his.
I let out a breath. “I never could resist you, Cole Sawyer.” I laughed, rolling my eyes at the same time. “All right. I’ll write down my address.”
He grinned. “Great.” I glanced at Preston, but he was intent on his food, his jaw rigid.
“Great,” I murmured, wondering if I’d just made a big mistake.
**********
I raised one eyebrow as I came down the steps of my apartment building to see Cole standing beside a beat-up motorcycle. “What in the world . . .?”
Cole grinned, sweeping his arm toward it. “Your chariot, madam.”
I laughed but didn’t move. “Seriously? You want me to get on that thing?”
“Hey, I’m a good driver. And look,” he unhooked a second helmet from the back of the bike, “safety first.” He put a leg over the bike and nodded to the small space behind him.
I took the helmet but still didn’t move. “Since when do you ride a motorcycle anyway?”
“It was my dad’s a long time ago. Actually, my mom bought it for him—I think she thought it’d give him the cool factor.” He laughed softly. “My dad had many good qualities, but a cool factor wasn’t one of them. It’s been left to rust for years. I’ve been tinkering with it in the garage.” He gave me a persuasive grin. “I’ll drive carefully, I swear. And it’s not like we have to get on the highway.” That was true enough. We could go through downtown and take the dirt back roads to his farm.
I stepped forward, putting my helmet on as I swung a leg over and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Drive slowly, Cole Sawyer, or I swear I’ll do a tuck and roll right off this thing. On purpose.”
“I promise, baby.” He put his own helmet on and we took off, wobbling a little and causing my heart to rise into my throat. But then he got us steadied and once he’d picked up some speed, I relaxed, the hot wind making my clothes ripple as we drove through downtown Linmoor.
I laughed as we turned onto the bumpy dirt road, remembering another ride on a bike with a Sawyer boy and the way my long, orange hair had streamed behind me. Preston. What a sight we must have been that day.
We pulled onto the grass beside his farmhouse, and Cole came to a jerky stop, causing me to let out a small scream/laugh, gripping his waist so I didn’t tumble off the bike onto the ground. He put the kickstand down and got off, holding his hand out to me. I took it and climbed off, too, removing my helmet and handing it to him.
The strains of music drifted from the barn in the near distance.
I was running my fingers through my hair when I caught sight of Preston, standing at the edge of the porch, a look of such simmering fury on his face that it caused me to freeze, my eyes going wide. “Did you seriously drive her here on that piece of rusted junk?”
My gaze moved uncertainly to Cole but he didn’t seem the least disturbed by Preston’s anger. He ran a hand through his thick, helmet-flattened, golden-brown hair and smiled innocently at his brother. “Yep. And look, we’re both in one piece.”
“That thing isn’t safe.”
Cole clapped Preston on his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, big bro.” He turned to me. “He’s seven minutes older
and look at how he takes the responsibility. Annalia, shall we join the party?”
“Sure,” I murmured, scooting past Preston. I felt his body heat as I passed, the tense way he held himself, and I wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him I wouldn’t get on the bike again. I wanted to take my thumb and smooth the crease between his brows and reassure him, but I felt stuck between him and his brother, so I stumbled along behind Cole, heading toward the party.
Lights had been strung from the rafters and they twinkled, the large space glowing and somehow intimate despite the size. I couldn’t help the delighted smile that tipped my lips up as I looked around; the effect was magical.
Different items had been pulled from around the barn to form makeshift seating—the storage boxes Preston and I had sat on the week before, a few ancient-looking trunks, and wooden pallets piled three-high. A few benches had also been brought in from somewhere, some lawn chairs, and three picnic tables. There was a table set up near the door holding three kegs, plastic cups, various snacks, and a few two-liter bottles of soda.
Cole took my hand and led me to the beer and took two cups, pouring soda for me when I told him that’s what I’d prefer and a beer for himself.
We took a seat at one of the picnic tables and Cole introduced me to the other people sitting there. I listened to them all chat and laugh, smiling in the appropriate places and hoping I didn’t seem too awkward. I had such little experience socializing, and I felt slightly intimidated by all the people I’d seen before but never spoken with. I scooted closer to Cole, needing the security of a friend, and he pulled me to him as I sipped my drink.