“But it was too late.” Archer went on as if he hadn’t just stomped all over what was left of my heart with his size-twelve boots.
I made a sound, something broken and guttural, the only thing I could do to acknowledge his words. In truth, I couldn’t find any empathy for his rejection because the sting of mine was far too brutal.
And so we stood there, both of us grappling with bleeding hearts—mine bleeding for him and his for someone else—until Bab came over like the spatula sergeant she was and shooed us back to work.
12
Archer
Six yearsago (four years afterthatnight)…
I almost turnedaround three times. Since it was just under a four-hour drive, I’d say that was about once an hour. Meaning that every single hour, the overwhelming urge to pull over, puke up all my nerves, and then head in the opposite direction and toward home consumed me. But every time, I fought the urge and kept the truck going in the direction of Boston.
In the direction of someone.
Someone I hadn’t seen in four years but still somehow thought of almost daily. Thinking of him was a habit I tried hard to break, but it felt like the entire town worked against me. How could I forget Toby when everywhere I looked had some kind of memory with him attached?
And then there was Dad. His illness was a reminder of how short life really was. How fast the years go by. Yet, in some ways, these last four years had felt like forever. I’d had a lot of time to think—something that was a bit surprising. After all, learninghow to take over and run the farm was more than a full-time job. But even with my limited time, thoughts of Toby always invaded.
How much I missed him. How I wished I’d handled everything differently.
I thought a million times about calling. Writing. Hell, even going to his house and talking to his mother.
But no matter how persistent those thoughts had been, I never put them into action.
I should never have let our friendship slip away so easily. I needed Toby in my life, something maybe I didn’t realize before but now was undeniable.
Death was confrontational like that. Making you face all the things you didn’t want to. Like change and how inevitable it was. In my attempt to resist it, I’d only made it worse.
Pride overshadowed the urge to make it right sooner, but now death mocked pride too.
And sure, part of me realized that right now I was trying to make up for a looming loss by recouping one from the past, but I also knew that, even if I did, nothing would be the same. And also, nothing could ever soften the blow of parental absence.
But if change must be inevitable, then I wanted to face it with Toby.
I just hoped it wasn’t too late. Which was why I was hurtling toward Boston with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and a sprig of mistletoe in the pocket of my jeans. Went out there and shot it down without anyone knowing. Felt wrong to bring him home without it. Just as the thought of doing yet another Christmas without him also felt wrong.
I just hoped he thought of me as much as I had of him these past four years. No. Even half of how much I thought of him.
Driving into the city felt like arriving in some new world. Everything here was crowded. The streets felt smaller, the buildings bigger. Traffic was everywhere, and there was nowarmth. I didn’t mean the weather either. I meant the people here didn’t smile and wave. The faces weren’t familiar. Everyone was busy, rushing from place to place, and it all felt so impersonal. And sure, there were decorations, but it felt commercial. Generic.
Not at all like home.
Toby doesn’t belong here.
I got turned around on a couple of streets but eventually found my way to the campus I knew Toby studied on. I knew from eavesdropping on his mom at the bistro that he lived off campus with roommates and had a part-time job off campus too. She’d been hoping she’d convince him to come home for the holidays, but he said he had to work.
The buildings were all timeless stone, intimidating in structure and size as students milled around with bags and armloads of books. I fought the feeling that I didn’t belong here, that I somehow wasn’t good enough because I’d skipped college to stay on the farm.
I’d been offered a scholarship to play football, but I declined. I didn’t regret the decision, and I never once felt inferior until people eyed my old mint-green truck as I passed.
After a mini self-guided tour of the campus, I drove toward the vet office where Toby worked part-time. If my sources were correct (aka my eavesdropping ears), he would be getting off work soon, and I could catch him on his way out.
I didn’t even know what I was going to say or even if he would talk to me. But I had to try. I had to correct the biggest mistake I ever made.
Because my truck was very recognizable, I didn’t want to take the chance he’d see it and avoid me somehow, so I parked a block over and walked.
Right across the street from the office was a small coffee shop with tables on the sidewalk and terrible coffee. I ordered itanyway and took a seat in the cold with a clear view of the vet entrance.
