“It was worth it. To be with you.”
I felt a flare of pleasure and distress. “You can be with me anytime. Every day at the farm.”
“I’m thankful for the farm. A lot of my buddies died, in Iraq and after. Your ma gave me a place to live and a reason to keep on living. But the deal is...” He looked away, out over the wall to where the pond gleamed and the shadows gathered. “I haven’t let myself be all the way alive. I’ve been...” He broke off, searching for words.
“Stuck.” I knew the feeling. Caught in the shadowlands between living—recovery—and death. Clinging to your familiar walls, even when they were no longer a refuge, but a prison.
He nodded once. “You asking me to dinner made me think how things could be. How I wanted them to be.” He drew a hard breath. “Like I had a chance at making them different.”
I wanted to touch him. I curled my fingers against temptation. “We don’t have to go back in.”
“I do. This is my chance. My choice.” His mouth bent in a near-smile. “Might take me another minute, though. You go on. It’s your sister’s party.”
“Jo can wait. I can wait.” I gave him his words back again, like a gift. “It’s worth it, to be with you.”
Another harsh breath. He met my gaze, his eyes raw and honest. Like he saw me, the real me, not the thin, flat, distorted image I dragged around. Not the somebody else he wanted me to be. And then we were touching, my fingers on his face, his hands in my hair. He kissed me, or I kissed him, kisses soft as breath and necessary as air. Yearning filled me. My body tingled to life, like a leg prickling with returning circulation.
I broke the kiss, dropping my forehead to Dan’s chest to avoid looking him in the eyes.
“I’ll take you in,” he said huskily.
I nodded, overwhelmed with happiness and guilt.
We went back to the dining room. Another course was already on the table. I smiled at my father. Talked to my sisters and Alec. Wondered.What if things were different? If I made them different?
“Corn bread?” the pink-haired server asked, waving tongs over a basket.
The darkness rose, wraithlike.
“Thank you,” I said.
I stared down at my bread plate, my heart pounding as if I were about to go onstage. Or jump out of an airplane.
No one was watching. I picked up the golden square. Sniffed it. It smelled so good, like Momma’s cooking and Granny’s kitchen, like buttermilk, molasses, and home.
How many calories? A hundred? A hundred and fifty?Think of the butter, the shadow whispered, tugging me back to safety.The carbs. The regret.
I put the corn bread down. Picked it up again.
One bite.My choice.
Defiantly, I tore off a corner and put it in my mouth. My brain exploded, fat and sugar detonating the pleasure centers like hard drugs. I chewed, testing the grit of cornmeal between my teeth.
Jo frowned at me. “Are you all right?” she asked, and this time I didn’t hear judgment. Only love.
I swallowed. Blinked. “Fine.”
I should have known better. I did know better.
But for the next few days, I let myself hold on to hope, clutching the possibility like a teddy bear against the personal monster in my closet.
There are no weekends when you live on a farm. Oh, Saturday is the farmers’ market, and Sunday was always for church. But every day the animals need to be milked and watered and fed. I’d always liked the rhythm, the routine, the predictability of it all.
Habit was a powerful thing. Obviously, I reckoned, I couldn’t change everything all at once. So, Monday morning, I got up as usual at five thirty, checked my phone—no messages from Colt—and went for my regular run.
I didn’t enjoy running when I started. Not like Jo, who had been on the cross-country team in high school. Keeping track of my miles was a kind of affirmation—a gold star on my secret report card. But gradually, I’d learned to like it. As long as I was putting one foot in front of the other, I didn’t have to think too hard about anything else, like how much my shins hurt or why I’d kissed Dan or what I would do if Colt hated my song.
When I got home, the sun was up. The goats were out, the babies bouncing like popcorn in the green field. I let myself quietly in the back door.
