“They’re fine,” the woman snaps. “Come and take the baskets.”
“Do we really need five?” he asks her, and obviously I thinkit’s a reasonable question because I was wondering the same thing.
“Just bring them.” She stalks out through the open barn door.
“Evie! Jacob!” he calls.
They’re still messing around with the jars of peach puree and either haven’t heard him or are choosing to ignore him.
“Evie! Jacob!” he calls in that same merry voice. “Come take a basket!”
Evie looks over her shoulder and lets go of the jar she’s holding. I gasp as it falls to the floor, but luckily it bounces.
Then, Jacob, noticing what his sister has done, throws his own jar forcefully at his feet.
How it doesn’t smash into a million pieces, I do not know, but as he stares at it, still whole, I get the feeling he’s disappointed.
“Gently!” the dad says cheerfully as his children run over and each snatch a basket from his waiting hands.
I stare at him, agog.
Isn’t he going to tell his children off for dropping the glass jars, or, in his son’s case, forhurlingone at the floor? Isn’t he going to check that the jars aren’t cracked and offer to pay for them if they are? Isn’t he going to, at the very least, put them back on the shelves?Or say sorry?
“So we just pick what we want?” he asks as his daughter tries to tug him out the door.
“That’s right. Pick only what you plan to pay for,” I explain through gritted teeth.
“Gotcha. Come on, then,” he says as his son drops his basket on the floor and runs out of the barn. He swoops down to pick it up, adding it to the ridiculous number he’s already carrying.
On impulse, I get out my phone and text Anders:The woman who may or may not be Heather is here.I press send, then feel rude for not adding any pleasantries, so I quickly type out another:How’s your dad? I hope Jonas isn’t feeling too rough today.
Once I’ve restored the thankfully intact jars to the shelves, I head out to the back of the barn.
With Dad and Sheryl’s help this week, we’ve cleared almost all the junk around Bambi. There are still a few larger pieces of farm machinery to go, but they don’t inhibit access, so I’ve been removing the soft furnishings and ripping out the damp and rotten floor tiles. I think the whole caravan will need to be stripped bare before I’ll be able to determine exactly what can be salvaged. Mice are getting in somehow, and, with the mold and damp, I’m assuming there’s a leak.
I’m desperate to give the outside a proper wash. It’s going to take a hell of a lot of scrubbing to rid it of several decades’ worth of grime, but I can’t wait to see if the aluminum gleams once it’s clean. I still haven’t worked out how I’m going to climb up on top to wash the roof.Fly up there, like a little bird, I imagine Anders teasing me.
Thinking of Anders, I pull out my phone to see if he’s replied. He has.
Text me a pic.
No! I’ll look like a freaky stalker!I tap back, smiling.
He hasn’t told me how his dad or Jonas are, but no news is good news, I hope.
I return my attention to Bambi.
I’m still buzzing with excitement that I’m getting to dothis, that I’m renovating a vintage Airstream. Scott would have killed to own an Airstream—he’d be beside himself if he was here.
The twinge of pain I usually feel when he comes to mind is muted.
I probably should tell him that I’m staying in Indiana. Mum has agreed to go into the house to water the plants and check up on things, but we still need to sort out the possessions we bought jointly. I don’t feel entitled to them simply becauseheleftme. I gave him his engagement ring back too, within days of him telling me that he’d fallen for Nadine. My ring finger missed it for weeks, felt its absence almost constantly.
It was beautiful—a traditional diamond solitaire—but it wasn’t really what I would have chosen for myself, if he’d asked, which he didn’t.
Maybe one day I’ll be given a ring that I’ll love with all my heart. And maybe the man who bestows it on me will be just as perfect a fit for me as I am for him. I hope so.
The important thing is, I havehope.
