A Walk in the Sun

by Michelle Zink

  She shook her head. “Not because he came here. Because of what he did to you. I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone until today.”

  He held her face between his hands. “Don’t be mad on my account. Any wounds I had were healed the minute I found you.” He bent his head to kiss her.

  She kissed him back, but she wondered if he even knew it wasn’t true. Some wounds never healed. They turned into scars. You got used to the look of them, the feel of them under your fingers. They became a part of you. Maybe you wouldn’t even feel like yourself without them.

  “Smells good.” Her father’s voice made her jump a little, and Bodhi put three feet between them in under five seconds. She thought her dad might say something about the position he’d caught them in, but he just looked from one of them to the other. “Everything okay?”

  She glanced at Bodhi, willing him to stay silent about his father. That’s the last thing her dad needed to worry about right now.

  “Everything’s fine, Dad,” she said before Bodhi could speak. “I made pot roast. You eating with us?”

  He wandered over to the stove, sniffing at the big pan she’d taken out of the oven. “Smells like your mother’s.”

  “It is. It’s from her cookbook.” She went to the table and pulled out a chair for him. “Sit, Daddy. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  She was acting weird, talking too fast and moving around the kitchen like a bird trapped inside, all in an effort to distract her dad from the possibility that something was wrong.

  He sat down slowly, and she went to work pouring drinks and getting food on the table while Bodhi talked to her dad about the quality of this year’s hay. She didn’t want to think about the man who had come here, the man who called himself Bodhi’s father. Bodhi said he wouldn’t come back. She trusted him, but she still had to fight against the feeling that the perfect world they’d built had somehow been compromised.

  Forty-Four

  She was leaning against the fence two days later, kissing Bodhi as the cows milled in the distance, when she heard boots on the gravel behind her. She turned in Bodhi’s arms, half expecting to see Bodhi’s father coming up the drive.

  It was Will.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping away from Bodhi.

  “Hey.”

  They hadn’t spoken once since their fight in the Breiners’ barn. She’d hoped time would repair the rift between them, but she could tell from the set of his shoulders, the flinty expression on his face, that nothing had changed. Sadness swept through her as she walked toward him. Where was the Will she knew? The one whose easy smile and carefree laugh had gotten her through so many hard days?

  “What’s up?” she asked when they were a few feet apart.

  “Dad sent me over with some milk.” He shrugged a little to indicate the gallon of milk in either hand.

  “Thank you.” She reached out, and he handed her the plastic containers.

  He looked past her at Bodhi, still leaning against the fence where she’d left him.

  “Will,” Bodhi said.

  Will gave the smallest of nods before turning his attention back to Rose.

  “Want to come in for some lemonade or something?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “Got to get back.” He turned to leave.

  “I miss you, Will,” she said softly.

  He looked at her. “Don’t, Rose. Just don’t.”

  She watched as he continued down the path, crossed the dirt road, and hopped over the orchard fence. A minute later, she felt Bodhi’s hands on her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Not about us. Never that. But sorry about the way things are with Will.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Want me to talk to him?” Bodhi asked.

  “No, that’ll just make it worse. He’ll come around. He’ll have to.”

  Bodhi turned her around to face him. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to take you to dinner,” Bodhi said. “And your dad, too, if he’ll come.”

  Rose smiled. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. We’ll go to Clementine’s and have some of Marie’s triple chocolate fudge cake for dessert. Didn’t you tell me chocolate makes everything better when we ate those cherries?”

  She laughed. “You win. Let me run in and see if my dad wants to come.”

  She hurried into the house, stopping in her room to change into something nicer than her shorts and tank top, then continued down the hall to her dad’s room. He was sitting on the bed, staring at the open window, the curtain moving in the barely there breeze that came in through the window.

  “Daddy?”

  He turned his head to look at her. “Hi, honey. Something the matter?”

  “No. I was just coming to see if you wanted to go into town with Bodhi and me for dinner. We’re going to Clementine’s.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, honey. I’m going to chip away at some of those casseroles in the freezer.”

  She stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “What were you doing just now, Dad?”

  He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “When I came in. You were looking at the window.”

  He glanced back at it, like that might somehow shake loose the memory he needed. “I don’t know, really. Sometimes I just sit and think. I guess that’s what I was doing.”

  “What were you thinking about?” she asked.

  He looked right at her then, his eyes clearer than they’d been in a while. “I was thinking about your mother.”

  Rose smiled a little. It still hurt to think of her mother, but sometime over the past couple of months the vise on her heart had gradually loosened. “What about her?”

  He hesitated. “I was remembering. Back when we were kids.” He paused, but she waited, hoping he would go on. A few seconds later, he did. “We used to go to the pond on evenings like this one. We’d swim until it cooled off, then climb into the branches of the apple trees where we could feel the breeze better. Sometimes we’d stay there until your grandpa started hollering for her to come to dinner.”

  “That sounds nice.” Rose could see them, young and falling in love.

  He nodded. “It was.” His gaze seemed to clear. “What about you? Are you doing okay, honey?”

  She nodded. “I’m good.”

  “You and Bodhi seem to have gotten . . . close.” His voice was gruff, and she willed herself not to blush. “And I hear there’s some kind of rift between you and Will. Are the two things related?”

  She didn’t know what to make of the question. After months of minimal conversation, was this her dad trying to be involved? Trying to brush up on what was going on in her life?

  “A little,” she admitted.

  He seemed to think for a minute before reaching over to pat her hand. “You don’t owe anything to anybody but yourself. Remember that.”

  Forty-Five

  “I think you have a secret plot to make me fat,” Bodhi groaned, leaning back in his chair.

  Clementine’s was busy, and they’d chosen a table outside on the sidewalk before ordering giant hamburgers with French fries and three big slices of cake, one of them to go for Rose’s dad.

  Rose laughed. “You invited me to dinner!”

  “True, but you decided on the hamburger.”

  “That doesn’t mean you had to order it.”

  “I might not have if you’d warned me that it was a pound of beef.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That was not a pound. You’re exaggerating. Besides, I’m starting to see a pattern here.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked

  “First the food at the peach festival and now this. Just admit it; I can eat more than you!”

  “I want to argue the point,” he said, “but I’m too full.”

  “Ha! I knew it!”

  He grinned from across the table, then held her eyes.r />
  “What?” she said.

  “I just don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he said. “And I know I’ve never smiled as much. Maybe not in my whole life.”

  Her heart squeezed with melancholy. “I’m glad.”

  “Ready?” he asked. “If we leave now, we might be able to catch the sunset from the orchard.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  They said goodbye to Marie on their way out, then got in the truck and headed home.

  They parked in front of the house, and Bodhi walked around to open her door, something he insisted on even after she had told him it was silly.

  “Let’s take this inside to my dad,” she said. “Then we can walk over to the orchard.”

  They were almost to the porch when they heard the sound of shattering glass from inside. They looked at each other in the split second before they started running.

  Bodhi threw open the screen door. “Stay behind me,” he said.

  They crept into the foyer, glancing at the living room. It had been ransacked: cushions pulled off the sofa, the TV tipped over onto the floor, all of the knickknacks and pictures and books pulled off the shelves.

  Bodhi turned to her. “Go outside and call the police. Right now.”

  “My dad’s in here! There’s no way I’m going outside!”

  She saw the conflict on his face, knew he wanted to press the issue but also didn’t want to stand there arguing about it when someone was breaking into the house.

  “Stay back,” he said, already moving forward.

  Pictures had been knocked off the hallway wall, and Rose could see even as they rounded the corner into the kitchen that it was a mess, too. Rose recognized the floral border of her mother’s china in some of the porcelain littering the floor. The drawers were all open, their contents spilling out onto the floor.

  A man stood with his back to them near the old hutch by the kitchen table. He was muttering to himself as he shoved a set of old silver candlesticks into a backpack.

  Before Rose knew what was happening, Bodhi had launched himself at the man. Just before Bodhi reached him, the man turned, and Rose saw that it was Bodhi’s father.

  They went down, shattered glass crunching under their bodies as Bodhi rolled on top of him. Then Bodhi was punching and punching, his back flexing as he lifted his arm again and again, brought it down again and again.

  “Bodhi, no! Stop it!” She was screaming at him. Not because she cared what happened to the man who had broken into her house, who had once hurt the person she loved, but because she didn’t recognize Bodhi’s face with the mask of rage covering his normally serene features. Nothing scared her more until she remembered her father.

  “Dad?” she called out, heading for the door of the kitchen. “Where are you, Dad?”

  She heard a muffled groan from behind the kitchen island and followed the sound across the room. Her father lay on the tile floor, his head bleeding profusely, his face a mess of cuts and bruises that were already turning purple.

  “Daddy!”

  She cradled his head in her lap, and then Bodhi was there, right next to her. Glancing across the room, she saw that his father was still, his eyes closed. She wondered if he was dead and was surprised to find that she didn’t care.

  “Rose . . . Rose!” She heard Bodhi calling her name through a haze of shock. When she turned to look at him, he met her eyes, his expression calm. “I’m calling an ambulance, Rose. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Forty-Six

  Bodhi finished giving his statement to the police and then went to find Rose. When he didn’t find her in the emergency room lobby, he went to the greeter’s desk at the front of the room.

  “May I help you?” The woman was about Maggie Ryland’s age, with gray hair that curled near her ears and pink-rimmed glasses edged in rhinestones.

  “I’m looking for an update on John Darrow,” Bodhi said. “He was brought in about an hour ago.”

  Her smile was warm. “Are you immediate family?”

  “No. Just a . . . a friend.” He felt traitorous saying it. He couldn’t call himself a friend of John Darrow’s after what his father had done.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We can’t give out patient information unless you’re an immediate family member.”

  He nodded, patting the Formica desk between them, trying to quell his frustration. Retreating to the waiting room, he took a chair in the corner and dropped his head into his hands.

  This was his fault. He hadn’t been around his dad in years, but Bodhi should have known he wouldn’t leave quietly. Not after his father had seen the Darrows’ house and property. Not when he needed money.

  Bodhi and Rose had waited in silence until the police and ambulance arrived. John had been semiconscious, at least. That was a good sign. The same couldn’t be said of Bodhi’s father, although Bodhi couldn’t have cared less about that. According to the police, his father was alive and would be extradited back to Colorado where there was an active warrant for his arrest. It was too good a punishment for him as far as Bodhi was concerned.

  Self-loathing had seeped into every crevice of his body since they’d arrived at the hospital. Rose had gone with her father while Bodhi talked to the police. Normally he’d be nervous talking to the law, not because he’d ever done anything wrong but because he’d spent so much time trying to stay out of sight. He had to remind himself that he was almost nineteen. He could go anywhere now, and the police, locals who knew the Darrow family well, hadn’t had anything but compliments for the way Bodhi had handled the situation.

  But he had done this, as sure as if he’d done it himself. He had brought all the ugliness of his past to the one place—to the two people—who least deserved it. He’d been trying to find the right time to give Rose the plane ticket, to ask her to come with him. He knew she wouldn’t want to leave her dad, but he also had a feeling she might be looking for a way out. The farm was struggling under the weight of the drought. The Darrows couldn’t afford to hire someone new for fall, which meant Rose would be right back where she’d been at the beginning of the summer, doing everything herself. She deserved better, and he’d been a little giddy at the idea of making an escape together, getting on a plane and leaving all the sadness and loss behind.

  Now he knew it was a fairy tale. He’d gotten carried away. Had forgotten who he really was, where he came from. Had deluded himself into thinking it didn’t matter in the face of his feelings for Rose. All lies. How could he stay in Rose’s life after this? How could she trust him? How could her father trust him?

  “There you are!” Rose’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to find her rushing toward him. “I’ve been trying to text you.” Marty trailed a few steps behind.

  Right. Marty. One more person to disappoint.

  He stood. “I left my phone at home. The front desk wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  His arms opened for her automatically, and she stepped into them and leaned her head on his chest. “Are you okay?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He could barely choke the words out. “How’s your dad?”

  “He’ll be all right,” Rose said. “They think he might have a minor concussion, but other than that, he’s stable. They’re going to keep him overnight just to be safe.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad.”

  She raised her head and stepped away from him. “Tell me about your dad.”

  “Nothing to tell,” he said. “They’re sending him back to Colorado to face charges there. He won’t be able to bother you anymore.”

  “Us,” Rose said. “He won’t be able to bother us.”

  Bodhi gave her a tight nod.

  He felt a light touch on his shoulder and realized Marty was standing next to him, her green eyes piercing his. “This wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “End of story.”

  It wasn’t true, but it wasn’t Marty’s job to make him feel better, and he knew if he argued the point that’s exactly wh
at she’d try to do.

  “I’m going to make sure they have your dad’s insurance information,” Marty said to Rose. “I’ll be right back.”

  Rose nodded, her hand still on Bodhi’s waist, like she was afraid he’d vanish if she stopped touching him. She waited for Marty to disappear around a corner before turning back to Bodhi.

  “You do know this isn’t your fault, don’t you?” she asked softly.

  He looked past her, over her shoulder. He could give her what she wanted, say the things she wanted to hear. But he’d lied to her enough. About his plans at the end of the summer, and most of all about himself. About who he was and what he could offer her.

  “Bodhi?” A note of fear had crept into her voice.

  He swallowed hard and forced himself to look down at her. He wouldn’t be a coward, at least. “This is a bad idea, Rose. I’ve always known it. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

  She shook her head. “What are you saying?”

  “I can’t give you . . . anything,” he said. “And you deserve . . . everything.”

  “You do give me everything,” she said, panic in her eyes. “Everything that matters.”

  “It’s not true, Rose. You want it to be true. So do I.” He hesitated, knowing once he said the rest of it there would be no going back. They wouldn’t belong to each other anymore. “But it’s not, and it’s better if we end this now.”

  “Don’t do this,” she said.

  It took every ounce of strength in his body to step away from her. “Someone has to.” He took a long look at her. He would finish his job on the farm, especially now that John Darrow was injured. But this was the last time he’d see her like this. Like she was still his. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

  And then he turned and walked away, before he could be selfish and change his mind.

  Forty-Seven

  Rose was still sitting on the chair in the lobby when her aunt found her twenty minutes later.

  “You’d think with the price of medical care here they could at least . . .” She trailed off. “Rose? Honey?”