by Tess Oliver
"Mom? Hey, it's kind of early."
"Fynn—" I could tell even with one word that something wasn't right.
I sat up in bed. "Mom? What's wrong?"
"I'm at the hospital. It's your grandfather. He's—he's not doing well. The cold went to his chest and then to pneumonia."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"He went downhill so fast, I hardly knew it was happening. And you know how stubborn he is. He never complained about feeling poorly." She sobbed into the phone.
I felt the blood drain from my head. "What do the doctors say? Is he going to be all right?"
"You need to come home, Fynn."
"I'll be there in three hours." I hopped around the room getting dressed and shoving all my things into my duffle bag. Boone watched with curiosity, but not enough to make him get up from his pillow.
I finished dressing and packing in record time. If I headed out before the morning traffic, I might be able to cut the time down to two and a half hours. Boone toddled into the van, looking confused and grumpy about being pulled from his bed.
I climbed into the van. Ella. How would I tell Ella that I had to go back home? We had seen each other every day and never thought to exchange numbers. It wasn't necessary because we both knew where to find each other. I was always right across the street in the park.
I fished through my glove box for my notepad and a pen and wrote a quick note.
Ella, I had to leave town. My grandfather is sick. I know you needed some time to think things through so maybe this is a good time for a break. I still love you. All I need is one word and I'll come back for you. I'll wait to hear from you.
Love, Fynn
I finished the note with my phone number and folded it up. I wrote her name across the paper.
I headed straight into town. I didn't want to drive my loud van through her quiet, sleepy neighborhood and decided it would be just as easy to slip the note under the door of the market. The town looked different in the early morning hours. Even the usual flock of pigeons hadn't left their perches to start their day foraging in the grass. Richard and his brother had set the fountain up with a timer so that it stopped running at night. It sat quiet and stoic in the center of the newly refurbished park, just waiting to gurgle to life.
The balloons and decorations looked almost eerie in the shadows. It seemed they had decided to go on with the celebration. I was sort of relieved to miss it. This was a Butterfield celebration. They didn't need me there.
I climbed out of the van and crossed the sidewalk to the market door. There was only one tiny light on over the counter. It wouldn't open for another hour. I slipped the note under the door and headed back to the van.
It was all up to Ella now.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ella
It was as if an invisible weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It almost seemed that deep down I knew I had been on the bus and I knew an entirely fake scenario had been created to cover up the truth. I had just gone along with it, preferring it to reality.
I'd summoned all my courage to stand in front of the town, their faces like stone as they waited to hear the details of that day. As much as I had hoped that Fynn would show up to the town meeting, I was equally relieved not to see him. My feelings about our relationship were bouncing all over the place. His presence might have made my task that much harder. One thing was certain, I was glad I could give him some peace of mind about his dad. I only wished I could have done it earlier and saved him years of hurt and anger. I wouldn't be at all surprised if after giving it some thought, Fynn's feelings for me changed. I had been the one source that could have shined light on the accident. I had failed Fynn and his family.
Patty had decided to open the store for a few hours before the festivities started. She seemed slightly disappointed that Brent's big revelation about Fynn's true identity had ended with more questions answered than left open. I think she had been counting on it being the final straw, the thing that would break up our relationship. Whether I left town with Fynn or not, I was going to have to find a new job. I just didn't see a way for Patty and I to ever be close again. It actually made me sad.
I leaned my bike in its parking spot. The park was still empty. Not even Fynn and Boone had shown up yet. I couldn't deny that I was waiting to see him. Everything had felt so chaotic the night before. I was still recovering from the many blows I'd been hit with. I couldn't focus on my feelings for Fynn. But after a long, emotional night with the whole darn town and hours of chit-chat and hugs and tears, I badly needed Fynn's arms around me. I needed Fynn.
I walked into the shop and noticed immediately that Patty was avoiding eye contact. "Morning," I said as cheerily as I could to get her attention.
"Morning," she muttered without looking up from her work.
I hated that our friendship had evaporated, especially on mornings like this when I felt like talking. There was still so much going on in my head. I walked to the backroom and grabbed my apron.
"Do you want me to stock the refrigerators?"
"Yep," she said curtly.
A little voice in my head said leave it alone, Ella. You're planning on leaving the job soon anyhow. But a louder voice reminded me that years of friendship should count for something.
I walked to the counter and stared at her until she lifted her purposefully averted eyes.
"Patty, enough is enough. We've known each other our whole lives. Up until very recently, I looked forward to walking into work because I knew that we would have fun skipping through our work day with good chats and the occasional good laugh. You don't even have to tiptoe around me anymore now that the big secret is out."
She crossed her arms, making it clear that I wasn't breaking through the cold shell. "So that's it? You're free of all the burdens now because you finally realized that you were on that bus? Well, I'm happy for you, but that doesn't free all of us. Nothing has changed for me. Sheila is still gone, and I'm still stuck resorting the candy rack until my fingers are numb from it. I'm still stuck in this prison, while you find love and romance and your happily ever after. So excuse me for not being overwhelmed with joy just because you finally came out of your little memory coma."
I blinked at her, trying to decide if I had only just imagined her words. My throat turned thick and cold as clay as I found my tongue. "You think I'm free? If I was free, do you think I'd wake up every day waiting to hear Ethan in the next room to prove that it had all just been a bad dream? Do you think my heart would break every time I saw or heard something that reminded me of my twin, the one person who knew more about me than I knew about myself? If I was free, do you think I would go to bed every damn night wishing I could wake to a different reality? Fuck you, Patty. That's all I have to say. Just fuck you."
I pulled off my apron and headed to the back, figuring I'd just lost my job and not really giving a damn anymore. I heard the cowbell clang before I reached the back and turned sharply around, hoping to see Fynn. I needed him more than ever at that moment.
It was Fran. She was wearing a bright yellow dress, and she'd even bought a new straw hat for the big celebration. "Hey, girls, I'm here to pick up the hot dog buns for the day."
Patty's face was still a mix of rage and regret as she swept around the counter. "I'll get them for you."
Fran's gaze shot back and forth between Patty and me, apparently trying to figure out what was happening before she walked in. "Everything all right, Ella?"
"Everything is peachy, Fran. If you need some extra help, I find myself with nothing to do this morning."
"Uh oh, then that doesn't really go with the term peachy. But if Patty can spare you, of course I can use the help."
Patty carried out the box of hot dog buns.
"Yep," Patty dropped the box on the counter with a clatter.
Fran stared at both of us again, but she smartly decided to drop it. "Well, then, you can help replace some of the balloons that popped over night. Without Fynn, w
e'll have to tie them on ourselves."
"I'm sure he'll be here soon." I hung my apron on the backroom door and returned to Fran, who looked even more baffled than she had a few minutes earlier when she walked into the Arctic chill that was floating between Patty and me.
"Do you know where Fynn was headed this morning?" Fran asked.
"This morning?" I asked.
Patty busied herself at the snack stand, but I knew damn well she was listening to every word.
"Richard was driving in early this morning from a business trip. He said he saw Fynn driving on the highway, heading away from Butterfield."
"Heading away from Butterfield? Is Richard sure it was Fynn's van?" As I asked the question, I could feel bits of myself crumbling away.
"Yes." Fran's finely tweezed brows squeezed together. "He didn't tell you he was leaving?"
I shook my head and used all my self-control not to tear up. I wasn't in the mood to give Patty any satisfaction this morning.
Fran looked over at Patty, who was still putting up a good act at the snack stand. She was probably working hard to hold back a smile. "Patty, you opened up this morning. Did Fynn stop by and mention where he was heading?"
Patty looked up over the tops of the chip bags. "Haven't seen him all morning."
"Oh, well, I'm sure he'll be back soon enough," Fran said, in a pep talk voice. "In the meantime, we'll get everything put together across the street."
I moved to the door, but it felt as if someone had tied lead weights to my ankles. "I'm sure you're right, Fran. Let's go across the street and get those balloons filled." I forced an airy tone even though it seemed that all my insides were melting together into one hot mess.
The fresh air on my face helped alleviate the sickening knot that was forming in my stomach. I followed Fran and her jaunty steps across the street. I stopped to stare up at the fountain.
He was gone. I could feel it in my bones. Fynn had left Butterfield. He had broken his promise and left me behind.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Fynn
After my dad's funeral, I could remember thinking that I hated funerals. Pretending politeness and receiving hugs from people you had never really wanted to hug and filling a plate with foods that you knew you were never going to eat, it was all such bullshit. That wasn't closure. The real closure came after the distant family and friends left and you were alone with your sorrow, alone with the personal memories, not the ones recited by friends or a pastor.
Mom began to stack the dirty plates and then put them back on the table. "These can wait. Do you want some coffee?"
"Coffee sounds good." I stood at the hearth looking at the pictures on the mantle. In one picture I was holding up a newborn calf, my arms smeared fingertip to elbow in blood. My hands had been small enough to fit in the cow when the breech calf needed turning. I had hesitated, as any fourteen-year-old kid being asked to shove his hands inside a cow would have, but Grandpa wouldn't take no for an answer. In the end, I saved the cow. Grandpa had snapped a picture of the disgusting but proud moment. My grandfather had taken over where Dad left off, teaching me never to back away from doing what was right. Even though I'd made plenty of wrong decisions growing up, my dad and grandfather never gave up on me. They both saw something in me that I couldn't see in myself.
I walked to the window and pushed back the thin lacy curtain that had been hanging in the front window since I could remember. Charlie and Cash were standing in the pasture in front of the barn, nibbling the last bits of summer grass. In the distance, the feathery gold tips of spring wheat swayed in unison in the late afternoon breeze. In a few months it would be harvest time, only this year Grandpa wouldn't be standing out there in his favorite blue work shirt and rolled up jeans telling the harvest crew what to do.
Mom's footsteps behind me pulled my attention from the scene outside.
I took the coffee cup from her hand. "After I drink this, I'll get changed and head out to feed the animals."
"Are you sure? Before you arrived, I'd been paying Josh from down the road to come feed. I was just going to call him because I thought you might want to take tonight off."
"No, I'm looking forward to it. It was always my favorite chore of the day. Boone's too." Boone lifted his head at the sound of his name and then dropped it again when he realized there was no treat behind it.
"If you say so." Mom sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. The past week, spending hours at the hospital, all the while trying to keep the farm running, coupled with the stress of losing her dad, had taken its toll on her. Dark rings circled her eyes, and she looked even thinner than usual.
"Sorry I wasn't here for most of this, Mom. You should have called me earlier."
"He was doing fine. He took a turn so quickly, I had no time to warn you. I'm just glad you got here before he died. I know it was extremely important to both of you."
My chest tightened as I thought about how close I came to missing his final hours. When I reached his bedside, he looked like a shell of his former robust self, drained of color and with enough tubes sticking out of him to make him unrecognizable. He hadn't opened his eyes when I walked in, but when I took his hand, he said my name. He knew instantly it was me. His last words to me were 'take care of the farm, Fynn'.
Mom reached over and covered my hand with hers. "You're going to have to make a lot of decisions in the next few months. We'll need to harvest this last crop of wheat, and then you'll have to decide whether or not you're going to sell the place."
"Me? Why am I making that decision?"
"Why, Fynn, don't you know? Grandpa left you the farm. It's yours to do with as you please."
"What? No. It's yours. I can't make that kind of decision."
"Sure you can." She squeezed my hand. "Which brings me to my other news. Grandpa left me a nice sum of money. I've grown weary of farm life. I've decided to move to the east coast. Remember my best friend, Paula, from Langston? She lost her husband a few years ago, and her kids are grown and out of the house. I'm going to move into her house in Boston. We're going to travel and possibly even start an antique shop together." She stopped and smiled. "You look speechless. Too much all at once?"
"It's kind of coming at me fast, yeah. I don't get it. Why did he leave the farm to me?"
"I think he thought you might like to run it. You know those wheat fields provide a good income, enough that you can put a good price on this place. Then you're free to move on. Or, you can run the place yourself. But you don't need to decide right away, Fynn." She took a sip of coffee. "I still can't believe the story you told me about Butterfield. And that girl, Ellie—"
"Ella." Just saying her name felt like someone tightening a belt around my heart. I had checked my phone obsessively, but there was no call. I had at least expected a call, even if it was to tell me it was over. I hadn't expected silence.
"Ella. Right. From the look in your eyes when you say her name, it seems you two had a little something going."
"It was more than a little something, but it's over. I never let on that I was Frank Axworthy's son. It was a mistake, a decision I will always regret."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Fynn. Well, you've got a lot on your plate now, so maybe a girl would just get in the way. Besides, Fynn Chandler Axworthy, you have never had a shortage of women in your life."
"Yeah, but this one was different. Pretty much irreplaceable."
"Nonsense." Mom leaned over and kissed my cheek. "I guess those dishes won't clean themselves, and you'd better get out to feed the animals before the goats start chewing through their gate."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ella
After a week of tension, Patty and I had recouped a bit of our relationship. I had no doubt that my boss was relieved that my happily ever after came to a crashing halt. Now we were both back in the same lonely boat. Only I couldn't help but notice that every time the beer delivery guy stopped in with his dolly of beer, Patty went into smile and lash b
atting overdrive. She also did her usual disappearing act, leaving me to sign off on the delivery. Sealing her fate of forever admiring guys from a distance.
I'd had more than one conversation with Samuel, the delivery man, and I'd managed to get a few details about his personal life. He was very much single and a bit of a cad, but a likeable cad. He lived just thirty minutes from Butterfield. As far as I was concerned, the matchmaking ducks were all lined up, and I had a plan to lead them to water, metaphorically speaking.
Samuel's truck pulled up out front, and Patty started her nervous dance. She was standing at the back, near the refrigerator, moving bottles around to accommodate the new product. I caught her using the glass door as a mirror. Of course, I knew too well that after a few minutes of primping, pinching her cheeks for color and quickly slapping on some lip gloss, the newly shined up Patty would scurry into the backroom to hide.
I watched outside the window as Samuel unloaded the truck. My timing had to be perfect or the plan would fail. Samuel slammed shut the doors on the truck and leaned back his filled dolly.
I headed to the door and pushed it open. "Patty, Fran just texted me. She has an emergency. I'll be right back."
"No!" she cried out, but cut her plea short when Samuel slipped past me with his load. "The boss will have to sign for this one," I told him as I scurried down the sidewalk and out of view of the store.
In an unexpected coincidence, I nearly ran straight into Fran as she rounded the corner to the market. "Ella, where are you off to in such a rush?"