He looks up. “Your dad would’ve liked this plan.”
I nod, too full of things I don’t know how to say.
“You selling the house too?” Matt asks, his voice easy but curious.
I glance toward the hallway. “Only if you want it.”
He shakes his head. “Got a place already. It was my grandparents’ home. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
I smile, though it stings just a little to realize how committed Matt is to his own family’s history. How tied he is to his roots.
“Then yeah. I’ll list it eventually. Hopefully, sell it to someone local.”
He nods, flipping the pages back into a neat stack. “You planning to come back much?”
“I’m not sure yet. Izzy and I still have a lot to figure out. I’ll be back at least once a month to check out the land and the crops, though. Maybe take a week or two off to help with harvest if that’s okay with you?”
His lips twitch into a grin. “It’ll almost be like you’re a local again.”
I pause at that. The unspoken welcome home.
We walk out together, the air cool and clear around us. I clap him on the shoulder before he climbs into his truck. “Thanks, Matt.”
“For what?”
“For keeping this place alive.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s not just land, Jax. It’s a legacy.”
And then he’s gone.
I stand alone in the gravel for a beat, then head into the house.
In my room, I sit at the edge of the bed, taking in everything. Saying goodbye.
My gaze snags on the frame lying face down, the one I turned over when I first got here. The version of Izzy and me I couldn’t face. I pick it up, trailing my finger over her smiling face. Her happiness. My happiness.
I’m never letting it go again.
Finally, knowing it’s time, I make my way to the room I’ve avoided since I came back.
I stand outside the door for a long while, the mark on the carpet from the door an impenetrable line and the only witness to my indecision.
It’s stupid. It’s a room. But today, something about the silence on the other side feels louder. Like it’s finally asking me to come in.
My hand hovers near the knob. I brush my fingertips against the wood, like it might permit me to enter.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “Okay. Go.”
But my feet stay planted.
For a second, I think about turning back. About going back to Izzy’s and asking her to do this for me.
Knowing she would.
Not wanting her to.
Slowly, I push the door open. It groans a bit as it moves. The air smells like dust and cedar and something faintly like old cologne. The bed is still made, a flannel still on the hook behind the door.
