“Heard what?”
I take a bite out of a carrot before handing the rest to the piggycorn at my feet. Currently, we’re sitting in the gazebo, enjoying the fall air. The humidity’s finally receding, and the temperature has dropped at night, washing the air with a coolness that’s invigorating.
“About the resort,” she says.
“What resort?”
“The resort going up in the mountains.”
“No, I haven’t heard anything about it, but it’ll be great for our business.” Saying that should make me feel awesome, but instead it only amplifies the hollowness inside me, the words echoing in my chest, reminding me of just how lonely I am. Nothing has been the same since Pane left. I’ve tried to ignore it, to push aside the ache that eats away at me, but it’s persistent, gnawing, reminding me that I’m so very, very alone. That I had happiness within reach, but I decided to push it away. “So that’s a good thing—a new resort.”
“So youdon’tknow,” she tells me flatly.
“Yes, I do. You just told me.”
“But you don’t know who’s building it.”
“Why would I know who’s building it? I only just found out about it.”
“Hold on. Are you ready?”
It’s the tone of her voice that tips me off, and I know without having to ask who is building in Mystic Meadows.
“It’s Pane,” I say.
“It is!” she shrieks. “He was in town today, apparently, talking to people about it—Ron and Isaac, I guess. Clarice told me.”
My stomach somersaults in on itself, falling into a black hole from which there is no escape. I’m elated, surprised, angry. Why is he building here? Has he returned to torment me?
No, no. Of course he’s not here to torment me.
He’s keeping his promise. Even though I spurned him. Pane has returned. He’s come back.
He’s come back.
That’s when guilt crashes down on me. I broke things off with him because we were too different, because deep down I knew he would abandon me. It’s always better to be in control, tohurtfirst instead ofbeinghurt first.
As I walk back to the house with the piggycorn following me, Cristina goes on about Pane, about the project, how the town is overjoyed that he’s come back.
They’re overjoyed.
I’m even more devastated.
How can I face him after what I did?
My heart throbs in agony as I step inside the house. It pulses with frustration as I push the door closed behind me. It screams in torment as I spy my dad’s old boots.
Somehow they survived the tornado. I thought they’d been lost, but when the house fixed itself, it delivered the boots in their usual spot just inside the back door.
I slip into the cracked leather, tired and dusty from years of hard work.
I take one step.
Snap.
The sole of the right boot has broken in two. After years of wear, after years of belonging to my dad and then me, its time has ended.
It’s funny, the things that register and the times when they do. I slide my foot out, pick up the boots, and walk them to the trash.
