Page 20 of Flint

“Can you say howdy?”

“How many horses do you have?”

I chuckle and squat, surprised by their enthusiasm. I don’t remember being their age, but obviously, everything is exciting when you’re five. “You can call me Flint.”

“Can we sleep in the barn?”

“Is your dad tall like you?”

They look like little copies of each other. Like their mom loved the first one so much, she immediately made one more just like him. I guess that’s the fun part of being twins.

Another tiny sip of ginger ale. Damn, she’s looking queasy. “Flint is here to help move. You can ask him questions later.”

“Are you strong? How many boxes can you move? I can move three!” One of them proclaims proudly.

“That’s because those are mom’s boxes. I can move the heavy ones,” the other insists.

“Well, that’s good. I’m going to need some strong men to help me.” I lean close and stage whisper, “I was a little worried about all these boxes by myself. Do you think we can be a team today?”

I spend the next two hours, moving furniture and directing the boys on where to put various boxes. I make sure to heap on the praise, watching their little chests puff out with pride whenever I do. Fuck, is this what my dad felt like watching me follow him around? Because there’s a warm glow in my heart that wasn’t there before today.

Alice spends the entire time telling me exactly how to arrange the truck. She doesn’t ask for my ideas or input. Nope, it’s clear this eighty-year-old woman knows far better than me, and I don’t argue with her.

Every time she wants me to rearrange, I just duck my head, keep my mouth shut, and do it. It’s not just Ronnie’s heart I want. I want all of them.

I catch Alice’s small smile after a particularly difficult time of re-arranging. Sweat is pouring off my back, and I’m damn exhausted. But that little smile lets me know I passed the test, even if I pretend I didn’t see it.

“You stop that right now, young lady!” Alice screeches at one point when I’m in the truck with the boys.

“Uh-oh,” one of them says. I think he’s Branson. There’s no way to tell them apart physically, but I’m learning that Branson is a little bit louder than Brock.

“Let’s go see what’s happening. You two come with me,” I say and reach for them, helping them down from the trailer one at a time. If there’s one thing I’m already catching, it’s that the world is a pretty dangerous place for a curious five-year-old boy who wants to climb on everything.

The boys follow me to the sound of voices. Alice is in her bedroom, scowling at Ronnie.

Her ponytail is messy, and her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on?” I ask quietly, eyeing the armoire she’s standing by. It’s made of walnut and takes up half the wall. It’s not some cheap furniture that came in a flat box. No, this is the real deal, the type of piece that’s passed through generations.

Alice glares at her. “You shouldn’t be moving things in your condition.”

She holds up her hands in surrender. “I barely gave it a tug, and I’m sorry. I won’t do it. I just didn’t think.”

“Your condition?” I glance at Ronnie, my stomach tightening. She made me and the boys cheese sandwiches with tomato for lunch and she didn’t eat one. Other than the little bit of ginger ale she’s been sipping today, she hasn’t had much.

Alice sniffs indignantly. “I meant as a woman.” She glares at me. “In my generation, men were men, and they'd never let a woman work as hard as she works.”

“Grandma!” She calls sharply.

I get the distinct idea that I'm missing something between the two of them, but I just duck my head and quietly say, “Yes, ma'am.”

I move the armoire by myself. It’s not heavy, just bulky. The kids keep trying to get under foot, and I’m scared as hell I’m going to hurt one of them with it. Finally, I send Brock to hold open the front door and Branson to “guide” me into the truck.

Another hour passes before I close up the trailer.

“Can I go with Flint?” Branson asks.

Brock nods eagerly. “Me too.”