Me: I’m here if you need anything.
Brooks: As long as the justice system works, I’ll be here, too.
Me: You know, you probably shouldn’t put this in writing. Just in case.
Brooks: Didn’t think of that.
Me: Color me surprised.
I silence my phone and slide it back in my pocket. Lora gives me a grin as she opens her hymnal and joins in with the congregation. Slowly, just like I knew it would, a sense of dread fills me.
“Can you come over for lunch after church? I have a couple of things I’d like to chat with you about, if you don’t mind.”
My face heats as I play Lolly’s request over and over.
She’s going to sell. And not only is she going to sell the acreage, but she’s also going to sell it to a developer who will create God knows what next door to the ranch. My failureto bring the land back into the Adler name—the one thing I promised myself I’d do after my parents’ deaths—will ruin the privacy and way of life for future generations.
“Everything is possible for the one who believes.”
I blow out a long breath.
Brooks might think this sermon isn’t for him, but I really don’t think it’s for me.Because all the things I want?
Mira? Lolly’s land? A family?
None of them is possible.
And there’s not a sermon in the world that can fix that.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Mira
“Honey, will you run back to the hall closet and get a vase for these flowers?” Lolly asks, holding up the bouquet of tulips I brought her.
Sun pours into the kitchen, filling it with an optimism that I appreciate. Fried chicken perfumes the air. The sizzle of the grease and water boiling for the mashed potatoes is the soundtrack to my childhood playing as we prepare Sunday dinner.
I smile. “Sure.” I toss the dish rag in my hands onto the kitchen counter and then make my way through the house.
Pictures hang everywhere, lining the hallway in mismatched frames. Images spanning decades hang frozen behind glass. Some are easier to see. The snaps of Lolly and Pop when they were dating, and of Markie and me on various trips and holidays, are fun to revisit. But then there are the others—equally as important and exceptionally more valuable —and nearly impossible to view.
Mom sitting on the edge of a boat, mid-laugh. Dad’s hand on my shoulder just before I walked into kindergarten. My parentssnuggled on a sofa with Markie in their arms, fresh from the hospital.
It’s proof they existed outside the confines of my memory. But it’s also a reminder of the loss I’ve never fully accepted. That I can’t accept, no matter how hard I do or don’t try.
The bridge of my nose burns as I dig through the closet until I find a vase large enough to fit the flowers.
“Mira!” Lolly shouts just as I reenter the kitchen. “Oh, sorry, honey. I didn’t see you there.” She holds up her phone. “I need to make a call. I forgot to call Darla Depue back yesterday about a bake sale, and she’s waiting on my answer.”
I make a face, uncertain why she’s telling me this. “Okay.”
“I’ll be right back,” she says, stepping outside as if this bake sale is so important that it will end world hunger.
“Whatever makes her happy,” I mumble, finding a pair of scissors.
My stomach buckles like I’m sitting in a chair with a broken leg. It’s been like this all day.No, it’s been like this since last night when Hartley left the bar.
