The Farmhouse

by Elizabeth Bromke

“No answer.” Gretchen was standing in the doorway, her phone dangling from one hand.

  Maggie pushed up from the messy box of papers. “Briar,” she answered, her heart skipping a beat. “I have to pick up Briar. Now.”

  She raced to her SUV, and Gretchen followed, jumping in and shutting the door.

  “Wait,” Maggie said. “The boys.”

  “School bus doesn’t arrive for half an hour. We can make it,” Gretchen answered urgently, clearly set on joining Maggie to head to Travis’s mother’s house.

  Maggie threw the beast of a vehicle into reverse and peeled out of their garage, through slick, snowy tracks down the long drive and out onto Pine Tree Lane before careening through a four-way stop and speeding up the hill past the high school, where Mrs. Engel had lived since forever.

  It was irrational, her fear. But Travis always at least texted. “He must know about this,” she murmured under her breath. More suppositions filled her head, but she kept them quiet, instead opting to shape a plan. Get Briar. Get home before the boys. Pack. Get out. It didn’t matter if they had weeks or months to fight the notice. She didn’t want to be around in case Travis did show back up.

  It was her chance. And she was taking it.

  “He knows he hasn’t been paying the mortgage,” Gretchen reasoned beside her.

  Maggie shook her head. “I should have known he hasn’t been paying the mortgage. How could this happen? Gretchen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” It came out as a whisper beneath a fresh stream of tears. Her daughter’s slight hand patted her shoulder just as they pulled up to a stop in front of the Engel home, a stout ranch-style three-bedroom that Maggie herself never thought of as a particularly comfortable place, despite its cozy setting against the base of Hickory Hill.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back.” She left the SUV running and ran up the front walk and to the door, which she slammed her fist against three times before moving her second hand to the doorknob.

  It turned in Maggie’s palm but the door was already swinging back as her hand remained frozen in place, her mouth agape.

  “Hi Mama!” Briar answered the door like she, herself, was the one in charge. All four years of her little life had, ridiculously, flashed in Maggie’s mind until just then, and she scooped the sassy child up and hugged her hard.

  Mrs. Engel’s figure appeared behind them, an apron tied neatly behind her, an even expression on her face. “Hello, Margaret,” she said. The older woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. It never did.

  Maggie let out a breath while Briar slithered down her body and ran past her to the SUV. “Sissy’s here, too?”

  The opening and shutting of the vehicle’s doors assured Maggie for the moment, as she geared up to ask the question that was burning on her tongue. “Have you heard from Travis today?”

  Mrs. Engel shook her head, innocent as any grandmother. “No, why?”

  Maggie considered her options but decided to keep her hand close after all. “Just wondering. He was—uh, supposed to call me earlier. Never mind. All’s well. Thanks!” She flashed a broad grin, turned, and strode purposefully to the SUV and away from that cold, cold woman for what would hopefully be the last time ever.

  Chapter 5 — Rhett

  Rhett pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “What do you mean they sold it?”

  Zack Durbin lifted his palms in supplication. “I’m sorry, man. Gary Hart bought it through a cash deal.”

  “Didn’t Greta sign something to transfer it to a trust or something?” He was confused and tired. But mostly, crushed. Those acres were all that Rhett had planned for. His way out of his soured relationship with Emma.

  Sure, he could still break up with her. And would. He could still find a different house or apartment. He could crash with a buddy until one of his tenants moved out. But Rhett was a stubborn guy. The plan was to build on the land in Hickory Grove. Small town. Fresh start. Different life. Happier life.

  Heading back to Louisville would now feel like returning to prison. Rhett’s girlfriend wasn’t a bad person. But they simply learned, over the last several years, that they had nothing in common. Namely, Emma didn’t want children. Ever. For any reason. Rhett wasn’t sure himself, but he certainly wanted the option. What was worse was that neither could admit how far they’d grown apart. Each had fallen prey to the sunk cost fallacy. Too late to get out.

  Rhett fiddled with his phone as Zack shuffled through deeper pages, looking for some trace of hope to offer his former high school buddy.

  He came up empty, apparently. “I’m real sorry, Rhett. Maybe you could go to Gary and see about buying it back. He hasn’t developed the land yet. There’s still a chance you could save it.”

  Rhett thought about this. It wasn’t a bad idea. “Yeah, maybe,” he replied, offering half a grin to Zack.

  The two shook hands, and Rhett left, dialing the garage on his way out to check on the truck.

  No answer.

  Typical Travis Engel.

  Hickory Grove was small, but trekking up Main Street and down was getting old. He’d like his truck back before making one last ditch effort at recovering what was supposed to be his future.

  Maggie’s text still sat in his inbox, unanswered and now irrelevant. Initially, he was excited to touch base with the redhead who, decades earlier, came to all his baseball games and cheered him on like a goofball. The girl he sat next to in Biology. The one who giggled during the talk and made him raise his hand and ask her question for her. He’d borne the embarrassing task and dealt with the snide laughs from the other guys in the class. Rhett would do it all over again.

  Now, as he stared at her words on the screen, he thought back to the moment their friendship solidified. It was before she had agreed to go out with Travis. Before he dated girl after girl, always searching for the one who would live up to his impossible expectations.

  It was his sophomore year of high school. Maggie and Rhett had known each other since pre-K, but they’d never had reason to talk much before that day. He was doing yard work around Little Flock Catholic Church—his parents made him, but he didn’t mind it so much—when she arrived.

  It was a Saturday, just before four o’clock.

  Confession.

  A woman too old to be Maggie’s mom was pulling her by the elbow in tight jerks all the way to the building; the woman’s dull heels echoed up the church steps and through the vestry doors.

  They’d locked eyes, Maggie and Rhett, but he knew better than to say hello.

  Still, the teenaged boy mustered up the guts to check on her the next day. In Geometry.

  Through notes passed back and forth all period, he’d learned that Maggie and her brother, Dirk—Rhett’s baseball teammate—were raised by their Great Aunt Marguerite. Well, ol’ Marguerite discovered that Maggie was wearing lipstick to school. One thing led to another, and the elderly aunt forced her to confession for a litany of other offenses.

  The two instant friends carried their conversation to lunch and wound up laughing over Maggie’s predicament. But deep down, they both knew it wasn’t the happy home Maggie longed for. A home with a mother and father. Not an apartment to which the older woman had condemned the three of them since she had no interest in tending to a garden or mowing grass.

  It was a severe existence, and Rhett often wondered if that was why she gravitated toward Travis, whose mother was similarly strict and often mean. Familiarity.

  Now, as he stood in front of the Hickory Grove auto shop, he again glanced down at her message. He told himself if the truck wasn’t done, then it was a sign, and he had better text her back and accept the invitation for a sweet tea.

  Sure enough, as Rhett walked up toward the front doors, he saw the sign: Closed. A chill rattled him through his coat as he came to the stark realization that he’d been both bamboozled by a loser and was in a city not his own without any means of transportation.

  Maggie’s offer now felt awkward. He’d be showing up to her house on foot
like some sort of hobo.

  No way.

  Even heading to Gary Hart’s realty office became a fool’s task. He could call his sister to drive the two hours down. He could call a cab and pay the exorbitant fee. But no. Rhett wasn’t about to let his truck rust in the snow outside of Travis’s garage.

  Maggie was, actually, the logical choice.

  “HEY, STRANGER,” RHETT said into the phone line. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled his coat more tightly around his torso outside the bank.

  “Rhett, um,” Maggie began, her voice strained. Background noise overwhelmed their connection. Rhett shifted his phone to the other ear. “Actually, I’m so sorry, something’s come up, and I can’t talk right now.”

  He frowned. “Oh? All right, well that’s okay but before you go—”

  “Really, Rhett. Something’s come up. It’s sort of serious.”

  “Maggie, are you okay?”

  He thought he heard her sniffle, but children’s voices drowned out her voice as she tried for an answer. “Yes, we’re fine. I’ll call you when I get a chance. Rain check, okay?”

  “Wait, Maggie.” No matter her circumstances, he had to get his truck back. Travis had the key. “Can I talk to Travis, then?”

  “No,” she spat.

  He started to explain himself, but the line was dead, and Rhett was now entirely out of luck. Could they be in trouble? Running from the law? Was Maggie caught up in some loser scheme with her loser husband?

  Rhett hoped not, but it sounded shady. He mulled over his options, finally deciding on heading to Gary Hart’s office. At least there he’d be in a warm place to make a decision. And by then, maybe Maggie would be ready to talk.

  Chapter 6 — Gretchen

  Gretchen was packing her suitcase, miserably and weepily. She’d never exactly adored their strange house on Pine Tree Lane.

  Her parents had gotten it as a foreclosure. Once the previous owners passed away, their children had allowed the five-bedroom Victorian to fall into relative disrepair until the bank repossessed it. At the time, Gretchen had a vague memory of great hope among the growing Engel brood.

  She could picture her mother respectfully asking Great Aunt Marguerite to help her make curtains for the front windows. A recollection of touring a carpet warehouse in Louisville became especially vivid. She could smell the carpet backing and fibers still now, as she carefully folded a pair of jeans and tucked it along the bottom of her roll-on luggage piece.

  Presently, uncertainty colored the situation. The notice read final, but there was a phone number and name to contact for further information. Gretchen gathered from listening in on her mother’s phone call that the mortgage was underwater by a few months. Sporadic payments had been made previously, already setting in motion a concern on the part of the lenders.

  As of now, the bank owned the house, and if the Engels wished to re-establish the mortgage, both parties would need to meet an official on Main Street.

  But none of that demanded that they vacate the premises, as her mother was demanding they do. Gretchen suspected Maggie was overreacting. Or preparing for something far worse than an eviction.

  Did they really have to leave immediately? She’d asked as much, and her mother explained that yes, they had to go. Today. Pack whatever they needed for a few nights and throw it in the SUV.

  She’d send someone for the furniture. Who knew? Maybe they would come back. But, for now, it was sayonara Pine Tree Lane.

  A few hours later, once Dakota and Ky finally got their acts together and Briar had stopped sobbing, and their most prized possessions were loaded haphazardly into frumpy shipping boxes they’d dug from the garage, the four Engels sat. Quiet. Watching light flakes drift down onto the driveway in slow succession.

  “Mama, it’s cold. At least start the car,” Dakota whined from the third row seat.

  “Hush up,” Maggie snapped. “I’m thinking.”

  She took in deep breaths, her hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. Her knuckles white.

  Gretchen turned to face her siblings. “Listen, you all. Mom is going to figure this out. We just have to be quiet and patient. Even you,” she jabbed a tickle at Briar’s belly and offered a small smile. “Hey, I know. Let’s play the Quiet Game, okay?”

  “What’s the Quiet Game?” Briar asked through a mouthful of Goldfish crackers.

  “Whoever can be quiet the longest gets to watch videos on my phone when we get to where we’re going. Deal?”

  “Deal!” three voices chimed in at once. The allure of getting to use their big sister’s cell phone was enough to distract them from the fact that no one had any idea where they were going.

  Gretchen eased back into her seat and studied her mom. Fine lines had grown in around her eyes like spindly branches. Her freckles no longer gave off a sweetness, but instead looked more like age spots. This was all evident despite the smudges from her make up.

  “Here, Mom,” she pulled two diaper wipes from the spare package on the console and passed them to Maggie, who held out her hand blindly, took the wipes, and rubbed her face up and down in tired, swooping circles.

  “Thanks,” Maggie whispered, wadding the wet sheets into a ball and stuffing them inside an empty cup holder. She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out before turning her head to Gretchen. “I have an idea.”

  THEY PULLED UP TO HICKORY Grove Realty. Gretchen turned in her seat and declared Dakota the winner of the Quiet Game. Ky and Briar moaned, but Dakota, in true middle-child fashion, agreed to share. It would have been a departure for most adolescent boys, but Dakota and Ky were mature. Even keeled and easy going. Which was helping right about then.

  “One sec, though,” Gretchen warned, as her mother unbuckled her seatbelt and told the kids to sit tight. Gretchen desperately wanted to join her mom. Her need for information was dire, but being eighteen didn’t deprive her of her duty to be a big sister first.

  Before she passed back the device, she tapped out a message to Theo. She needed to confide in someone she could trust. And Theo might be able to help. If he couldn’t, his mom sure would.

  “Okay,” Gretchen said at last, hitting send and passing the phone back to Dakota who took it and thanked her.

  Having nothing else to do, Gretchen simply sat and prayed. She prayed Mr. Gary would have a rental. She prayed her mom’s credit wasn’t affected. She prayed hardest, though, that her dad was slimy enough to leave town for good and never look back.

  Because, really, if Gretchen and her siblings could shake free of the controlling jerk of a father, then they could do without a big house on a nice street. Especially one that never did get that pretty new carpet.

  Chapter 7 — Maggie

  Maggie knew she could call Becky. Or maybe even Fern. But her pride was bigger than that. And, anyway, if she could solve this thing right now—if she could find a great little rental and sign her name on the dotted line—then everything would be just fine. No need to drag her kids into someone else’s house. No need to dive into the details of her dysfunctional world.

  Gary Hart leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk in front of him. The shift of his heft pushed air out from the cushion of his chair, and he winced in embarrassment. But he pushed ahead, undaunted. “Your credit’s shot to heck, Hun,” he answered. The flesh of his elbows rubbed across the varnished finish, and Maggie wondered why on earth he was wearing short sleeves in such weather.

  The man dabbed at a sheet of sweat forming along his hairline, which was high enough to nearly disappear from sight. She closed her eyes and forced herself to be nice. And patient. And hopeful. She had no room to judge this kind man. No room at all. “I think I can get cash, Mr. Hart.” Why hadn’t she stopped at the bank first?

  “You can’t sign a lease agreement without even marginal credit, Hun. I’m terribly sorry. You know, I have a sister who might rent to you. Up in Corydon...”

  Maggie shook her head. “I can’t move. It has to be local. My kids are in scho
ol here. My clients are here. You don’t know of anyone who’d be willing to... work with me?”

  Gary Hart’s expression softened. “Listen, Miss Maggie. I’ll make some calls. You know property management is not my main line of business here. Leave me your phone number, and I’ll be in touch if I can find anything. All right, Hun?”

  She nodded and took his business card, flipping it over to jot down her number before thanking him and rising.

  With no family to impose on, and no friends she was willing to humiliate herself in front of, Maggie stomped out to the SUV.

  “Well?” Gretchen pressed as soon as the door fell closed.

  “He’ll call us if something comes up.” Maggie put the car in reverse and briefly checked over her shoulder just in time to avoid backing squarely into a clearly confused man wandering through the parking lot. “Crud knuckles!” Maggie sputtered, darting a glance in her rearview to see the boys focused on a screen and Briar babbling to her doll. Maggie’s heartbeat shot to triple pace and fell back again.

  Gretchen twisted in her seat. “Hey, I know him,” she said, her voice a murmur.

  Initially inclined to wait a second then speed off and up the hill toward Hickory Grove Inn, Maggie glanced at her daughter who repeated herself. “Mom, I know that man.”

  Exasperated, Maggie asked her how she knew him then squinted into her side view mirror to get a better look. “Oh my Lord, it’s Rhett Houston.” Immediately, she slunk deep down in her seat and waved at Gretchen to do the same. “How the heck do you know him?” she hissed to her daughter as she kept her face firmly turned from the window.

  A giggle escaped the teenager’s mouth. “He came into Mally’s today. Ordered a burger and coffee and chatted with Theo. Said he knew you,” Gretchen concluded pointedly.

  A flush crept up Maggie’s neck as she peeked over the door to discover the coast was clear. “Yes, well,” she answered, straightening and backing out carefully so as not to draw attention. “We were friends in high school. That’s all. Wonder why he’s walking around Hickory Grove?”