But it wasn’t necessary anyway. We had everything we needed.
And we’d moved so much in the past few years that we’d become pros.
Chloe had insisted on the storage pod and having furniture delivered. And, of course, she conveniently forgot to send me the bill so I could pay her back.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. Our dynamic had always been like this.
She was an oldest daughter. And now that I had Ellie, I’d accepted that an oldest daughter is gonna oldest daughter.
“I think I like the farm,” Maggie said. “There are some animals here.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “But I didn’t see any horses.”
Maggie was a horse girl. A budding horse girl, that is. Since she’d never actually ridden one.
She’d started showing interest not long after I left Donny. But horses freaked me out. And horseback riding was very expensive. I was a single mom of three and a teacher. My extracurricular dollars only stretched so far.
When I’d told the kids that we were renting a small house on a maple farm, Maggie had lit up with excitement, hoping and praying there would be horses.
“We can look around tomorrow,” I suggested. “But it might not be that kind of farm.”
Her smile wavered, the light in her eyes dimming.
“If there aren’t any horses, I’m sure there are other cool things here,” I told her.
“Like tractors,” Julian added without looking away from the structure he was building. It was pink, not his usual choice, but he was quiet and happy.
Sighing, I turned to the oven. How the hell did it work? It was beautiful, but it looked like it had never been used before. I’d give it twenty-four hours before it was covered in fingerprints.
Once I’d figured it out, I went in search of a cookie sheet so I could bake the damn nuggets, rifling through the kitchen boxes before remembering that I’d seen baking stuff upstairs when I was changing.
“I’ll be right back.” I jogged up the narrow staircase, searching my mind for where I’d seen the box, wondering whether I really had or if the image in my head was just a figment of my crushing exhaustion.
Room by room I searched, and with every minute, I was more certain that I’d imagined it. But when I opened the box of winter gear and found the baking pans packed along with snow pants, hats, and gloves, I cried out. “Aha.” Excellent.
Smiling, I headed for the hallway. At the doorway, a strange smell wafted over me, and before I could consider what it might be, a loud alarm blared.
The smoke detector above my head was flashing and screaming, yet there was no fire or smoke near me. This place must have had some kind of high-tech system where everything was wired together.
Shit.Heart lurching, I dropped the pans and ran downstairs.
It was a smoke alarm, not an air-raid signal, but my nervous system didn’t know the difference. A switch in my brain flipped, and frazzled mom faded away. By the time I hit the bottom of the stairs, my body had prepared for mortal peril.
The sensation was a familiar one, filled with fear and paranoia and hypervigilance.
It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.
But as I ran for my children, I expected the worst.
Chapter 2
Josh
Most farmers wax poetic about sunrises, but for me, it’s the sunsets. Dusk, when most of the work is done and the sun dips below the horizon, treating me to what has become my favorite show, as well as my favorite time of day.
The expanse above was filled with purple and orange and bursts of light, like the sky had been dipped in maple syrup. Details I never noticed as a kid and couldn’t have even seen when I lived in the city. But now I relished it. Sunset signaled that the day was done. That I could put my feet up and just exist for a few hours.
I’d come home to Maplewood to be busy. So busy I could escape my thoughts.
Turns out trauma is a great motivator, and farmwork is cheaper than therapy.
