Dinner sounds amazing, but…
“No, thanks. I should get back to the guys.”
I leave the bedroom and head for the stairs.
“You could sleep in here tonight,” she calls after me. I look back, seeing her in the doorway. “You know, so you aren’t sleeping in the dirt.” She shrugs, tugging at the hem of her T-shirt.
“I’ll… think about it.
“I know the floor isn’t much better than out there, but at least it’s clean. And you could take turns on the couch.”
“I’ll talk to them.” I smile but already know what the answer will be. Neither are going to agree. So, that’ll be my answer.
Chapter Eight
Daisy
Iwakeeachmorningfeeling more guilty than the last that there are three men sleeping outside while I’m cozy in the house. And not only that they’re sleeping outside, but that they’re forced to be chickens, too.
“Oh, Grannie…”
It’s been a week since Gus showed me the safe in her closet. A week that I’ve tried multiple times a day to get into it, yet every combination of numbers doesn’t work. I’ve tried birthdays. Death days. Random numbers. Nothing is working. The worst part of all is who knows what’s in there? All this trying, and it could be empty. The answers may not be inside that safe at all.
Maybe the guys are right, and there isn’t a reverse. But I won’t stop trying until I know. What else do I have to do with my time?
I love Grannie, but enough is enough. It’s not these guys’ fault that their family was cruel. They were just boys—babies. They didn’t have a say in what was going on. Their grandparents are long dead—as are their fathers, so it’s not like they’re suffering anymore.
I hear voices outside, so I go to the window to listen. The warm air flutters in, the days getting hotter.
“—care what you do, but I’m helping.”
That’s Gus.
“See how much good it does you,” Wade responds.
“Better than sitting around and doing nothing,” Gus says. It’s quiet a moment, then, “Are you going to help?”
I assume he’s asking Rhett, and I wait for the response.
“I don’t know…”
“Fine. Don’t need either of you,” Gus says.
I don’t know what he plans to do, but I change into my yardwork clothes to get to work.
“Morning, Daisy,” Gus says, closing up the chicken pen. He offers me the basket.
“Oh, thank you,” I say, taking the basket with two eggs inside.
He lowers his voice and says, “When Wade is stressed, he won’t produce one of those.”
Right… egg is another trigger word. How am I ever going to get used to this?
“I understand. Thank you.” I head back into the house to put the eggs away. I hear Gus following me, so I glance over my shoulder.
“I was hoping I could help you today.”
“Help?”
