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The wind howls. The pines bend and recover and bend again. Sitting in the dark, hating myself with a thoroughness that would impress Richard if he could see it.
Chapter Nine
Kidd
One day.
I give her one day because that's all I've got in me. Because her ex called, and whatever smooth, reasonable poison he poured through the phone put bricks back in a wall I spent four weeks pulling down stone by stone.
Saturday. Festival day. The whole ranch buzzing with energy, locals and families from neighboring towns streaming in. Anna's flyers worked. The promise of pumpkins and cider and a bonfire under the stars, and every parking spot along the ranch road is full by ten.
My boots should be on that property. Built half of it with my own hands. The stage, the booths, the bonfire ring, the clearing itself. Every board and post with my sweat in the grain. But the festival can run without me for an hour.
At eleven forty-five, I'm in front of Sal's ordering two turkey clubs and a piece of Marie's maple pie. No plan beyond a sandwich and whatever comes out of my mouth when I'm standing on her porch with my heart in my hands and no script.
Sal wraps them without a word. Sets the bag on the counter and gives me a look that isn't a wink this time. Something warmer. The look a man gives another man when he recognizes the errand.
Her sedan in the gravel lane. Porch light off. Curtains drawn. Cottage buttoned up tight against the world.
Steps. Knock.
Nothing.
"Selene."
Silence.
"Your car's here and there's nowhere to walk in this town that I wouldn't find you. Open the door."
Muffled through the wood: "Go away, Jake."
"No, ma'am." Bag on the porch railing. Shoulder against the post. "Brought sandwiches. And pie. Marie's maple recipe, same one you liked three weeks ago. I'll stand on this porch until winter if that's what it takes. My joints already hurt. Might as well hurt somewhere useful."
"I told you I need time."
"You've had twenty-four hours. In Wild Peak, that's a geological age. Empires have risen and fallen. Bev's cat moved twice."
Longer pause. The lock clicks. Door opens six inches. She's there. Dark eyes swollen from crying, hair loose, oversized sweater swallowing her frame. No armor. No walls. Raw. Open. Every layer peeled back to the woman underneath.
Most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Can I come in?"
The door opens wider. I step inside.
Warm. Coffee smell. The particular quietness of a space where someone's been sitting alone with their thoughts too long and the thoughts have started winning. No music. No TV. Just silence and a woman standing by the window with her arms crossed, not looking at me.
The bag goes on the counter.
"Everybody's got a voice in their head that tells them they're not enough." My voice comes out steady. Surprises me. Every nerve in my body is lit up, and the words still land straight. "Mine sounds like every ranch hand who called me kid. Every foreman who patted my shoulder and walked past me to the older guy. Every person who looked at my smile and decided there was nothing serious underneath it. Yours sounds like your ex-husband."
She turns from the window.
"But here's the thing about those voices, Selene. They're liars. Every last one. They take the thing we're most afraid of and dress it up as truth. And I'll be damned if I let a man I've never met, a man who spent eight years making you smaller, tell me what I feel is a phase or a novelty or some young man's fantasy."
