Noah convinced Brodie that he needed to put more time in at the ranch. That their mom was really keen to show him her new Silver Pantry project. Brodie had a cynical suspicion that this sudden new shop venture was actually Martha’s way of luring her children back to the ranch, give them something of hers to come and see that wasn’t so tied in to their father and the ranch. Or perhaps that was unfair, and she did actually just want something that was hers. He was on the fence.
Either way, the following day, he went to visit. It was still raining on and off. Heavier through the night but summer drizzle in the day. He waited for it to stop, for the sun to burst out from behind the clouds before heading over.
The roads of Autumn Falls were still eyes-closed familiar to him, even after all those years away. When he reached the turning for the Silver Sky Ranch, he slowed, looking down toward the big gates at the end of the track, trying to imagine the life behind them. Visualizing himself coming down for breakfast as a kid, pouring out too much cereal as he was distracted chatting with his brothers, laughing, spilling the milk. Getting a massive sigh from his dad. Maybe that was why he’d brought Zoey the marshmallow cereal and been more than happy for her to fill the bowl to the brim. That sigh of Emmett’s still echoed in his mind. He felt like he heard it every time he stumbled out of a club after a great night out, and so deliberately went for one more; when he pointed his skies over an off-piste sheer drop; when he flew to Hawaii because the waves were record-breaking, or held a party at his Malibu home for absolutely no reason other than that he could. Everything felt like it had been a fight against that sigh.
Brodie parked at the far end of the drive closest to The Silver Pantry building, away from the view of the main ranch. He didn’t want to admit that this was to avoid his dad but that was most likely the truth.
The pantry was housed in what was once an old barn, but you wouldn’t know it to look at it now. It had been pretty much rebuilt, with a porch over the large front door, galvanized buckets bursting with flowers outside, and huge picture windows. The clapboard was painted a tasteful pale gray with The Silver Pantry scrolled straight on the wood in a darker tone above the door.
The moment his mom glimpsed him through the window, she pulled open the heavy door. “Brodie! Hi, honey.” She wrapped her arms round his neck, smelt as she always did, of perfume and Mom. Then she stood back and, looking down at her apron stained with summer fruits, said, “Sorry, I’m a mess, I’m making jam.”
“You don’t look a mess,” he said, shaking his head at the very idea. “You look beautiful.”
She waved the compliment away in pretense at being embarrassed but he saw her smile at him endearingly.
“So, what do you think?” she asked, gesturing to the façade.
He took a step back, glanced up and said, “It looks incredible.” Then he frowned when he looked further up and saw his dad appear on the roof.
Martha saw Emmett at the same time and said, “There’s a leak that we didn’t discover till the rain came last night. Your dad’s fixing it. I’ve told him to call a roofer but he insists on doing it himself. He’s doing far too much at the moment.”
“Why is that?” Brodie stepped further back to get a better look at his dad scowling at the leaking roof.
His mom shrugged. “Doesn’t want to admit that he’s getting old?”
Brodie huffed. In his mind, his dad had always been old. Old and grumpy.
“I think maybe it’s because there’s been so much change,” Martha went on. “Logan moving back, Noah more settled.” She looked pointedly at Brodie but didn’t elaborate—he knew his mom disapproved of his lifestyle. “I guess it makes him think of what’s been lost.” She paused. “Of Jack.” Her mouth tightened at the memory. “Ethan being who-knows-where. He worries.”
Brodie looked up again at the profile of his father on the roof and wasn’t convinced by his mom’s argument. But, whether from a feeling that perhaps things were intrinsically different now that he was a father himself, or just feeling a pang of unaccustomed sympathy if what she said was true, he shouted, “Need a hand?”
“Who’s offering?” His dad called back.
“Me.”
There was a pause. “No, I’m okay.”
Brodie frowned. Usually he’d just laugh and walk away, but today it felt different. He felt likehewas someone different. He’d just navigated a weekend with his own kid. “I can help if you want help.”
His dad laughed to himself. “I’m fine as I am, thanks. Quicker on my own.”
Brodie stood with his hands in his pockets feeling stupidly ashamed at his dad’s dismissal, especially with his mom watching. Not because of her judgment, but because—yes, there it was flitting across her face—of her pity. He knew if he were anyone else—Noah, Logan, even Ethan probably—his dad would have said yes. And usually he wouldn’t care. But today it seemed to accentuate feelings about himself that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Enhanced the image of him being the kind of person someone wouldn’t want to be part of their child’s life.
He felt a hollowness in his belly. So high in Zoey’s eyes to so low in his father’s. How pathetic it seemed to be idolized by an eight-year-old. And for what? Buying unhealthy breakfast cereal and enjoying YouTube. He looked up at his dad and wondered at the look he’d give him if he’d seen Brodie making Taylor Swift bracelets or dressing up with Zoey in Aunt Eleanor’s pageant clothes.
It would be the same look as when Brodie wrote a new song as a kid—it wasn’t disregard, it was blankness. Like if it wasn’t cattle or fishing or similar, it didn’t rank on his dad’s radar and it meant nothing.
What his dad would think about Brodie having fathered a child and not knowing about it, didn’t bear thinking about.
Luckily, Brodie’s phone rang just at that moment cutting the tension. It was his friend Caleb ringing about their sailing trip.
Brodie looked down at the gravel path as Caleb launched into a story about all the stresses and calamities of getting the boat into harbor, scuffing the stones as he listened, laughing.
His mom stood for a while, but Brodie gestured that he’d be five minutes, so she went back inside to carry on with her jam.
On the phone, Caleb said, “So what time are you arriving?”
Brodie walked away round to the side of the barn. “Not sure I’m going to make it, actually,” he said with a regretful wince.
