Chapter 12
twelve
The bright sun illuminated the bedroom while Emerson lay under the covers, thinking about the movies.
He shifted around, throwing the comforter down to his waist and yanking it up again. He was never in bed when the sun was this high in the sky. He hadn’t been comfortable in hours.
The one thing Emerson always wished he had more of on the farm, other than money, was this. Time. Rest. So he’d given himself more this morning. And he didn’t know what to do with it.
He was hiding.
He was bored.
Even if he was hiding, even if everyone knew he was hiding—everyone encompassing himself and Luca; Jansel had likely only been confused at the hasty note Emerson had left on the whiteboard in the middle of the night, being that Emerson never took sick days—he should have been able to use this extra time, somehow. Why didn’t he have any hobbies?
It was a criticism Jayden had lobbed at him, those last, horrible months before Jayden had finally admitted he needed to leave.
That Emerson didn’t have a life anymore outside of the farm.
But Emerson didn’t know who Jayden thought he had been before.
Any activities they had ever done in their Portland life had simply been Emerson tagging along with Jayden’s ideas.
But now, after hours of staring at the ceiling and every square inch of the walls of his room—
He’d landed, eventually, on the movies.
When he’d been a kid, before he’d left his hometown and never looked back, before he’d met Jayden, he went to the movies as often as he possibly could.
He got his first job at thirteen, under the table stuff that paid him before he was legal to work, and he used all his earnings on movie tickets.
While he liked the movies themselves, it was more the experience he craved.
Two hours inside a dark room, outside of his house.
No yelling, no violence, no angry silences, except for what occurred on screen.
In a movie theater, at least for a little while, he was safe.
When was the last time he’d been to a movie theater?
There was one in Lincoln City, he was pretty sure.
He’d never been to it, even after living here four years, but no time like the present.
He had no idea what movies were playing these days, had barely even watched a single movie or TV series since Jay moved out, even if he still had all the streaming subscriptions for Daisy’s shows.
Even if he probably shouldn’t be wasting money he didn’t actually have on those streaming services.
Maybe if Ben cancelled his wedding, and Luca left due to sexual harassment from his boss, Daisy could survive as a DVDs-from-the-library child.
He threw off the covers. His head was clearer than it’d been for hours. It felt good to have a plan.
At least he hadn’t hidden all day yesterday too, he told himself as he threw on fresh clothes.
Sure, after he’d stumbled away from Luca on top of that hill, he’d wandered aimlessly until he’d wound up in one of his broken-ass greenhouses.
And one could consider the long stretch of time he stood in that greenhouse, staring blankly at the water coming in through all the holes in the tarps and the broken glass, as hiding. Possibly.
But then he’d come inside and spent the rest of the day working. Fulfilling next week’s IGA order for Liv; making more batches of everything—his jams, his salsas, his pickles. And if he hadn’t seen Luca the rest of the day, because Luca was likely hiding from him—
Anyway. It was fine, going to the movies.
Like, it wasn’t, at all; he felt unhinged, couldn’t believe he was actually throwing his life into such disarray on purpose—beers at bars, movies in the middle of the day, all while the old barn remained an absolute safety hazard—but it was fine.
He would find work at another farm when this one went under.
Rent a small apartment. Somewhere. It’d be tricky, working out Daisy’s custody schedule in a different life he couldn’t fully see yet, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
The kitchen was empty, quiet. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the batch Jansel must have made, even though it was hours after Emerson normally had his morning caffeine.
Now his sleep schedule—rigid, essential—would be even more fucked.
And every second he stood in this kitchen extended the possibility of Luca wandering into it, and Emerson still hadn’t figured out what he was going to say to him, how he could possibly act around him.
Even with all the time he’d spent hiding, he hadn’t been able to figure that out.
His phone vibrated in his back pocket. He took one look at the name on the screen, and a muscle in his neck spasmed.
Jayden
A picture was attached, a haphazard collection of Daisy’s train tracks and Hot Wheels in crooked lines all throughout Jayden’s kitchen.
train town, he’d written.
God, Emerson wanted to talk to Jayden about what had happened. He’d never wanted anything so badly in his life. Maybe if he told someone about what had happened, he’d be able to stop feeling like he was crawling out of his skin.
But he knew, of course. He’d never be able to talk to Jayden about this.
Why didn’t Emerson have more friends? His life often felt full of people, despite what Jayden had said that last day. But there was no one close enough he could talk to about this.
Friends and hobbies. If he was ever granted another life, he swore he’d be better at both.
He double tapped Jayden’s text to heart it. And then he grabbed his keys and headed out the front door.
He was standing on the gravel drive, just about to unlock his truck, when a sound in the distance made him turn.
Another car, one he’d never seen before, trundled up the drive.
Emerson stood in befuddlement as it parked next to him and a woman he’d never seen stepped out of it with a smile.
“Emerson King? Or are you Jansel?”
She was older, and beautiful. Tall; bright blonde hair streaked with white pulled into a ponytail; a friendly face that looked younger at first glance than what its wrinkles revealed. She walked toward him with a slight limp, hand outstretched. On instinct, Emerson shook it.
“Emerson King,” he eventually said.
“I’m Leah,” she replied, still shaking his hand. “Luca’s mom. Thanks for taking him in.”
Emerson dropped his hand. And couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” she continued.
“Luca meant to stop at the house to get some supplies yesterday, but ended up not being able to come. I thought I’d drop by with them myself, see the place where he’s been working.
Hope that’s all right. Sounds like you have a barn that needs some fixing up? ”
Emerson stared at her.
“It’s honestly all stuff you probably already have.
” She motioned toward her car. “Just a bunch of sealants and a handful of batten strips I had lying around, but I’d be happy to take a look at her myself, if that’d be helpful.
I’m sure you’re more than capable of fixing her up, too.
Luca just mentioned you have a lot going on. ”
“You—” Emerson struggled to get his executive function running. “You want to help with the old barn?”
Luca had told his mom about the barn?
“Yes!” She smiled at him again. It was a radiant smile. She hadn’t looked much like Luca at all to him until right then. The few times he’d been able to see Luca smile like that—he’d looked like this.
Emerson blinked away, squinting toward the produce beds.
“Luca’s probably over in the fields…” His voice sounded rusty. It made him feel wobbly, saying Luca’s name.
“Ah, don’t worry about bothering him.” Leah waved a hand. “If you’re able to show me the way, I can look around myself. You can show me your biggest concerns when we get there, if you have the time.”
Emerson looked back at her. “Yeah,” he eventually said. “I have the time.”
“Well then.” She smiled once more and returned to her car. “Carry this for me, will you?”
Within a minute, they were walking around the house, a small box in Emerson’s arms, a bag thrown over Leah’s shoulder.
Leah walked with a wooden cane and asked questions about the farm as they went.
Many of the same questions her son had asked, a little over a week ago now.
His acreage, crops, livestock, how long he’d been here.
Emerson tried, the entire time, to forget the fact that he had felt her son’s erection against his hip bone the day prior.
“Here we are,” he said as they took the side trail off the main path, the old barn coming into view.
“Hey now,” Leah said. “There’s a charmer.”
Emerson couldn’t help but laugh. “Is it?”
“It is! Is she perhaps tilting a bit to the right, yes”—Emerson laughed again, feeling suddenly, strangely light at having a stranger assess his predicament—“but she’s got authentic bones, you can tell. Of course folks would want to have a wedding reception here. She’s made for it.”
Emerson shook his head. “She was made for it fifty years ago, maybe. Did Luca tell you about the mice running over the feet of the maid of honor?”
Leah laughed, an airy, almost musical sound. “He didn’t. But that likely would’ve happened fifty years ago, too. Mice are kind of part and parcel of owning a barn.”
“Yeah, but—” Emerson shook his head as they approached the door. “I feel like, in the age of social media, things have to be picture perfect. You know?”
“I do.” Leah nodded. “But the folks who are getting married. Luca mentioned they’re your friends? Are they picture perfect Instagram kind of people?”
Emerson wrenched open the door, putting his shoulder into it as he turned over the question.