“No way.” Chelsea sank back in her chair. “Well, that explains a lot. And now she and Parker want kids and can’t have any.”
Allison nodded.
“And Finnley. Wow, that must’ve been a shock to you. Is that why you disappeared?”
“Yeah. I just… just couldn’t face it.” Not that a day at the beach had helped. It had occupied Finnley while her mind looped the morning scene endlessly, teasing out nuances. Trying to block mental images of Brent and Lori together.
“So you haven’t talked to Brent since then.”
“No. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Sounds like there is.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Do you think I want to be involved with a… a womanizer like him? Do you think it’s fair to him—” she jerked her chin in the direction of Finnley’s bedroom “—to have that for a role model?”
Chelsea pulled her feet onto the chair and curled up sideways. “Have you ever heard of forgiveness? Of God’s redeeming love?”
In principle. Allison’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand.”
“Listen, Allison. I’m no psychologist, but I’ve noticed something in my observations of humanity.”
Allison’s eyebrows rose as she stared at her friend.
“Sometimes those who find it hardest to forgive others have deeper issues.” Compassion flowed from Chelsea’s eyes. Not condemnation. Not judgment.
“What do you mean?” The words choked past the lump in Allison’s throat. What she really meant was, how had Chelsea seen?
“I’m guessing…” Chelsea’s hand came up in defense. “I’m guessing you’re not very good at forgiving yourself. I could be totally off base here and, if so, I guess I’ve just blown what might have been a promising friendship to smithereens.”
“But it wasn’t my fault.” Allison plucked a tissue from a nearby box, dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose.
Clearly not the response Chelsea had expected. “Huh?”
She got the words out between sobs. “I was the victim.”
Chapter 28
For two days Allison never seemed to be on the farm when Brent was. If her vehicle was parked out front, she wasn’t in the duplex or out in the garden. When five o’clock rolled around, her car was gone. Soon he’d be desperate enough to pound on the big house door or ask Noel where she was.
Not yet, though. He didn’t have a game plan besides prostrating himself on the ground and pleading forgiveness. He doubted that would be enough.
Even Curtis had quit razzing him. It took a lot to make the guy shut up. Apparently Brent’s tension was obvious to anyone paying attention.
That didn’t seem to include Allison.
The drywallers were coming Monday. They’d have Allison’s house sheeted, taped, and mudded by the end of the week. Painters the week after. Floor-layers. Cupboard installers. Trim carpenters. The electrician and plumber again. Long before the end, the process would begin again down at the school, slower because of the size.
It felt like he’d soon be done at the farm. It wasn’t true. Several months remained. But the clock was ticking. The calendar turning. Time was running out to gain Allison’s attention. Her trust. Her forgiveness. Whatever was needed.
At the moment, that was screwing the frame for the French doors in place while Curtis and Franco lifted a large pane into place in Allison’s bedroom. Everything he touched, he imagined her touching. She’d open these doors several times a day to sit on her deck, walk over for a visit with Jo, or let Finnley out to play.
A middle-aged man strolled up the hill from the straw bale house. Brent had thought all the wedding visitors were long gone, but apparently not.
The man stopped just off the deck. “So this is where all the construction noise is coming from.”
“It is.” But it wasn’t really that loud, was it? Loud enough to disturb anyone from down the hill?
“Things have sure changed on this farm in the past few years. I used to visit Grace Humbert when she lived here, years ago.”
At Brent’s blank stare, the man shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m Daniel Rubachuk. Father of the groom. Grace Humbert was Rosemary Nemesek’s mother.”
Brent brushed his hand against his work pants as he crossed the deck. “Pleased to meet you, Daniel. I’m Brent Callahan, foreman of this build.”
“My wife and I used to live in town here. Now we’re missionaries in Romania. It was our great pleasure to return for our son’s wedding.” He pointed at the log cabin next door. “That’s Zachary’s place?”
Brent nodded. “Zach and Jo, yes. And little Madelynn.”
The man’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “That monkey is something else, isn’t she? And another baby on the way. It’s good to see Zach settled down with a family. He and Gabe have been good friends since they were gaffers the size of that little Finnley.”
He appraised the house behind Brent. “And this is Allison’s new place. Why, this farm is growing faster than I can keep up with. Gabe and Sierra might want a place bigger than that duplex eventually.” Daniel shook his head. “I still can’t believe he went and sold that health food store. And that Keanan fellow is thinking of staying on, too. The farm will be bulging at the seams.”
“Keanan?” Wasn’t he the guy with bushy hair and a tent? Oh, and a guitar.
“You hadn’t heard?” Daniel chuckled. “Well, I guess there’s no reason you would have, I guess.”
Right. He was just the contractor. The day-to-day life on the farm was none of his business.
“Must be lots of work for a talented fellow like you around here. I can’t believe how much Galena Landing has grown since we left here ten years ago. Or is it eleven now?”
“I’ve had a few requests to bid on new construction, it’s true. I’m not sure if any of them will come through.” A guy named Tyrell Burke was planning a mansion on his farm south of town, while the Smiths wanted to build a more modest house on an empty lot in Galena Landing.
Brent wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around this town, though. It all depended on Allison. Sooner or later he’d catch her unawares and lay his soul bare before her. Meanwhile, praying was his best option. His only option.
* * *
Allison had found a rhythm. She helped out with work around the farm in the morning, staying well clear of anywhere Brent might see her, and took Finnley to the beach in the afternoon. Mason Waterman and his five-year-old twins were frequently there, too, so Finnley was finally starting to make friends with children his own age.
Mason Waterman was completely safe. He didn’t seem inclined to smoldering gazes or spine-tingling touches or multi-layered conversation. How could she make anything out of, “It’s my turn to get ice cream for the kids”? She couldn’t.
Mason and Christopher flew a kite along the beach, the fragile plastic kite dancing in the breeze as Mason expertly dipped it then allowed it to regain height with just the right tension on the string.
Being a kite looked like fun, except for the tether. No cares, just cavorting with God’s wind. But maybe the tether was necessary.
It was impossible to miss noticing that she was letting her guard down around men, and it didn’t seem to be a good habit. Look where that got her with Brent — an ache that would not go away. And Keanan — no, she wasn’t going there, either. The guy thought too much and, when he spoke, it was some kind of poetry. Besides, who knew where a man with that much wanderlust was going to wander off to next, and when?
Mason handed over the kite string to his son. For a moment the kite remained high on the breeze then plummeted into the lake. Mason tousled Christopher’s hair and reeled it in, the kite skipping on the waves as it came.
“Anything exciting online?” Mason dropped onto the sand beside her, the kite at his side.
Christopher joined Finnley and Avery as they packed sand into turret-shaped buckets for another sandcastle attempt.
Allison thumbed her iPad off, snapped the keyboard co
ver over it, and tucked it in her bag. She adjusted the angle of the beach umbrella a little more. “Just writing a class for the farm school for next year.” She didn’t have to mention she’d gotten a whole five sentences written. Her mind had done too many spins to concentrate.
“That’s a cool thing you guys are doing there. My parents can’t say enough good things about you all.”
His parents? “You grew up around here, then?”
He nodded. “My folks have a farm across the valley. I was a couple of years behind Zach and Gabe in school.”
“Oh.” She forced a laugh. “Silly me. I thought you were probably here on vacation.”
“I wasn’t sure at first.” His eyes followed the children at play. “But sometimes, when life kicks you in the teeth, you retreat to what was once familiar. Safe. You know?”
Best to choose her reply carefully. “My familiar wasn’t safe.”
She felt the glance he tossed her but kept focused on the kids.
“I’m sorry,” he said simply.
“It’s just how it was. You were telling me about your plans.”
“Guess I’m a bit like the prodigal son. Spent a while wallowing in the pig pen before remembering I had perfectly good parents who would welcome the kids and me back into their lives.” He angled a glance her way. “I’m sure you know how challenging it is to be the only parent.”
“Finnley is my nephew. I’ve only had him a few months.” That didn’t mean Mason’s assumption was wrong. It simply meant she didn’t have all the same experiences.
“You know what they say about small towns when you’re looking for a job. It’s not what you know. It’s who you know.”
“Oh? You found something?”
He nodded. “Starting soon in the office at the feed store. Harry Rigger is retiring.”
“Good for you.” She meant it, too. But it changed things. The guy was moving here permanently. He might be angling for a wife and a mother for the twins. That was definitely not going to be her.
This was the problem with having guys for friends. There was always another level, or the potential for it.
She glanced at her watch and feigned surprise. “Oh, I need to get going. Finnley! Time to pack up.”
His little jaw set.
She’d liked it better when he didn’t have his own opinions. Hadn’t she? Oh man, she hadn’t meant to admit that, even to herself. That was the controlling Allison speaking. The one who liked life in neat little organized rows, alphabetized and color-coded for maximum efficiency. The one who didn’t like surprises.
“Come on, buddy,” she called, softening her voice. “We have time to get a hamburger if you like.”
He grabbed a stick from the sand, jabbed it into the half-formed castle then kicked over the remaining turret.
“Hey!” Christopher yelled. “Daddy, Finnley broke the castle.”
Allison surged to her feet. “Finnley!”
He glowered at her, jaw set.
“It’s okay, Christopher. I’ll help you build it again.” Mason rose to stand beside Allison and quirked her a grin. “Kids, eh?”
Like she was supposed to accept this behavior as normal. It wasn’t. Not for Finnley. She collapsed the beach umbrella and picked up her bag. “Say you’re sorry to Christopher.”
He glanced at his friend, who stood with hands planted on his little hips. Finnley’s lips moved. They might have said sorry.
“Say it so he can hear you, Finnley.”
Another scowl in Allison’s direction before he focused on his toe, scuffing sand. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Finnley.” Christopher threw his arms around Finnley. “My daddy is going to help me make a new one. It will be even bigger, huh, Daddy?”
Finnley shrugged out of Christopher’s embrace and plodded toward Allison. She handed him his sandals, and he sat to put them on.
“See you tomorrow?” asked Mason. “Same time, same beach?”
“Probably not.” She tossed a laugh, hoping it sounded more natural to him than it did her. “Tomorrow’s a full farm work day.” She cupped her hand on Finnley’s head to nudge him toward the car, but he sidestepped her touch. “See you.”
“Daddy, do you have a bigger bucket?” came Christopher’s voice from behind them.
“Why did you kick over the castle?” She looked down at the shock of black hair. The brown shoulders she could barely see lifted and dropped. “Buddy, you have to play nice. You have to treat other kids like you want them to treat you. Would you like it if Christopher ruined your hard work?”
No response.
She buckled him into his car seat and his brown eyes met hers. “Christopher has daddy.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Where John?”
He’d looked to that despicable man as a father figure? She brushed the hair out of Finnley’s eyes. He needed a haircut. “He did bad things, buddy. He’s in time-out like your mommy.”
Finnley nodded. “Where Brent?”
So few words, but every one of them packed a punch. “He’s working on our house, so you and I will have a nice place to live. Remember? It’s right next door to Maddie’s house.”
“Brent live there too?”
If only. “No, buddy.” Wait, had she really wished he would? Allison shut the back door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and drove out of the parking lot, past the Landing Pad.
“Brent live there?”
Hadn’t she just answered that? But this was excessively talkative for Finnley.
“He lives in another city, far away.” Okay, Coeur d’Alene wasn’t that far, but certainly far enough on Finnley’s scale.
“Truck there.”
Allison glanced sharply at the hotel. One Timber Framing Plus pickup angled in near the building. “That’s not Brent’s truck, buddy. That’s the one Curtis and Franco drive.”
“Oh. Brent live there?”
She sighed. “He kind of lives there when he’s not at his other house.” Time for a subject change. “Do you want a burger?”
“Brent come?”
“No, buddy. Just you and me. We’re a family now, just the two of us.” She glanced in the mirror as she shifted the car into gear. “I love you, Finnley. I’m so glad you came to live with me.”
His dark eyes still gleamed with unshed tears. He stared at the Landing Pad as they drove past, likely focused on the lone Timber Framing Plus truck.
Brent was probably still sitting on her doorstep. The jerk.
Chapter 29
Allison watched Noel sharpen knives for fill-the-chicken-freezer day. Zach turned on the feather-plucking machine so the rubber fingers spun on the drum. Claire turned the heat down under the large canner they’d use for scalding the birds.
Covered in a rubber apron, Allison cringed. Jo stood ready to show Keanan and her the fine art of gutting chickens. The best she could hope was that the laid-out assembly line and everyone else’s experience would get her to the end of the day.
She knew this was part of farm life. Local eating and optimum health made vegetarianism out of the question. Not that she’d ever been all that tempted to skip meat, but then she’d never raised fluffy yellow chicks to fill a freezer before. Never taken part in the process. It didn’t look like Keanan had, either.
They’d set up near the tire swing, sandbox, and toddler-sized slide that functioned as a mini-playground for Maddie and Finnley. The idea was to keep the kids nearby but not underfoot. At the moment, Finnley sat on top of the slide platform, watching the adults, while Maddie tried to climb into the tire swing.
“Ready?” called Zach. He pulled a chicken from a large sack in the back of the pickup. The guys had spent the better part of an hour rounding up the birds earlier.
“Water’s hot.” Claire glanced down the table where cutting boards and gleaming knives awaited. “We’re ready.”
Allison squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bring herself to watch as Zach lifted the first bird to the chopping b
lock. A resounding thwack cut through the air, followed by the sound of fluttering feathers as the bird’s nervous system petered out.
She stole a glance over to see Claire sink the headless bird into the vat of hot water. The stench of hot wet feathers filled the air. Allison glanced at Jo. How would that smell to a pregnant woman?
Jo met Allison’s gaze with a grimace, her nose twitching.
Allison raised her eyebrows.
“I’ll be okay,” Jo whispered, the last word cut off as Noel flipped the plucking machine on and accepted the bird from Claire. He held the bird inside the machine. Wet reddish brown feathers poured out onto a tarp below.
Meanwhile another thwack resounded, and Claire reached toward Zach for the next bird. Noel handed the nearly naked one to Jo, who stripped the residue of feathers, pulling out a few black pinfeathers.
That bird was headed straight for Allison. Why couldn’t she do Jo’s job instead of removing guts with Keanan? Right, feathers were probably bad enough on a pregnant stomach.
“Ready?” Jo asked Allison.
“No” wasn’t the right answer. Allison nodded, gut queasy, as she pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.
“Okay, see? Here’s the bottom of the rib cage. You cut here, but only deep enough to pierce the skin. You want the innards to come out in one ball, not lacerated.” She glanced at Allison. “You think it smells bad now, just wait until one of us slices an intestine.”
Great. And Noel had made sure the knives were sharp, too. It was only a matter of time before one of those slit too deep.
Keanan leaned over Allison’s shoulder as Jo demonstrated the rest of the cut then worked her hand between the ribs and the guts. A few seconds later, she dragged the mass out and dumped it into the bucket beside her.
Allison needed a deep breath, but was afraid of what she’d inhale. She managed to get enough air without gagging.
Jo peered into the cavity. “Now you just need to scrape out the bits that are still stuck to the ribs. Like this. And cut off the feet.” She showed how to wiggle the feet to find the joint. “And then a rinse…” She turned on the hose and squirted water into the void. “Now into the cooler. We’ll cut most of them up for parts before freezing, but we can do that inside later. For now, they need to get cold.”
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