The staple gun shudders and jams in my hand. I grit my teeth and punch it again. And again. And again. When it doesn’t work, I slap it hard with my palm. At a nearby table, a mother pulls her toddler closer into her side, eyeing me suspiciously.
She probably thinks I look dangerous. I feel dangerous. I haven’t slept at all in four days. I’m spending every waking moment putting up posters and taking care of the animals. When I do go to bed, as soon as I close my eyes, I’m back in the lambing barn. I get to watch in slow motion as the beam snaps off the ceiling and hurtles towards Summer. Except, in my visions, it does hit her. It crushes her alive, trapping her screaming in a pool of blood, while I try helplessly to yank it off her.
Sometimes the image is different. Sometimes it’s my dad under the beam. Sometimes Cameron. Those are worse, because I know they’re true. They really happened.
I shake myself out of it and try to slam the staple gun again.
“You’ve hung that squint,” Isla says, appearing behind my shoulder and taking the gun. “Give it here, you donkey.” She smooths down the crease in the flier and staples it firmly to the board. “Next time, just bash it with your head. It’s thick enough.”
“Thanks,” I say numbly, my voice hoarse.
She crosses her arms and surveys me critically. “You look like shit.”
“Been a long week.”
“Aye.” She glowers at the poster. “Bastards.I can’t believe they’ve given us aweek. How long have they been asking about the land?”
“They first expressed interest a year ago,” I mumble. “Escalated the last couple months.”
She stares at me. “A year?Alec, if you’d just told us, we would have been better prepared?—”
I scrub my throat. It feels like I’ve been chewing razor blades. I don’t remember the last time I ate. “Figured I could handle it myself.”
“Aye, well, that turned out well, didn’t it? You thick,stubbornman. I don’t get what’s wrong with both of you.” She sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me get you a drink.”
I need to go home to check on the sheep, but my attention catches. “Both of us?”
“Aye,he’sbeen in here moping after work every day.” She nods to the back of the pub. Cameron is sitting alone in the corner, nursing a pint and scowling. I haven’t seen him since he left. He’s dressed in his work coat and jeans, and there’s mud on his boots. He must have found a job nearby.
Good. That’s good. He’s gotten away from me. I haven’t ruined his life completely.
Fingers snap in front of my face. “Alec,” Isla says, clearly exasperated. “I askedwhat you two have done with that Englishgirl? Tell her to come by the pub so I can thank her for her wedding present.”
“Wedding present?” I say sharply. “Wait. Have you heard from Summer?”
“Aye. She sent me a parcel full of makeup yesterday. Real fancy shit, as well, must have cost a fortune. I almost feel bad taking it.”
I can’t believe it. Summer has been radio silent for the last four days. Fraser says she’s ignoring his calls. She’s not been posting online. Every night, after I’ve put up posters and fed the lambs and double-triple-quadruple-checked the structures on the farm, I check her social media accounts one by one. I keep praying that she’ll have posted something. A picture. A status.Somethingthat shows she’s happy and with her friends again.
Nothing. She’s been completely silent. It worries me.
But apparently, she sent Isla a wedding present. She’s okay. The relief is almost painful.
Isla is looking at me like I’m a pathetic injured animal. “She left you, didn’t she?” she says bluntly.
My throat spasms. I have to cough a few times to clear it. “She was always meant to go home.”
Isla throws up her hands. “Jesus, isthatwhy Cameron is staring at you like he wants you dead? You sent her away, didn’t you?” I don’t answer. Her voice rises. “I should have known. It’s like you’re physically incapable of letting yourself be happy. You know, your self-sacrificing martyr schtick is pathetic, Alec. You’re a grown man, and you act like a child.”
I nod, pulling away. Isla’s obviously gearing up for a rant, and I don’t have time for it. “I have to go,” I say dully.
“No, no, sit down. I’ll fix you a plate. You look like you’re starving to death.”
I shake my head, but she just storms back to the kitchen, muttering under her breath. I’m about to sneak out of the frontdoor when a gust of wind hits the pub. All of the shutters rattle, and the rain sprays loudly against the windowpanes.
I freeze, my heart pounding. My lungs are squeezing. I can’t get any air in. The weather is getting worse. There was meant to be wind and rain due today, but nothing severe. What if there’s another storm rolling in? Lochview can’t handle it. Around me, the pubgoers laugh and eat, completely unaware that they could be in danger.
Another rush of wind sweeps past, and the front door of the pub slams. I jump out of my skin, gripping the back of a nearby chair until my knuckles turn white. My vision is pulsing with fear. Jesus. What iswrongwith me?
