Chapter 5
Jess
“You sound tired.”
“I am tired,” I replied quietly. Our apartment was tiny, with thin walls, and I didn’t want to wake the girls.
Greta had conked out early, and Kit had been worried about a math test, so after an intense study session, she willingly turned in before her usual ten-p.m. bedtime.
I’d just checked on them and was getting supplies together so I could paint my toenails when my phone rang.
My brother Josh wasn’t much of a talker, so my heart leaped into my throat when his name appeared on the screen, and instantly, every worst-case scenario flashed through my mind. Thankfully, he was just checking in.
“I’ve got a new lawyer,” I admitted. “And I’m feeling good.”
“What did they say about the relocation order? Is it doable?” I could almost picture him pacing around the farmhouse, his evening cup of tea in a mug one of us had painted in art class in 1996.
Though he was a thirty-five-year-old Stanford MBA graduate, he lived like a Victorian recluse on the farm.
The tightness in my chest I’d been breathing through all day reappeared. “I hope he can. He’s supposed to be the best.”
Josh grunted in response. During the divorce proceedings, he’d pushed me to fight harder.
More than once, his frustration had slipped through, despite how adamantly he supported me.
But in the end, it was just money. My kids were all that mattered, and we weren’t going to starve.
I’d finished my master’s and had gotten a decent job.
And day by day, things were getting better.
After years of doubting myself—mostly because Kenneth constantly told me I was useless, dumb, and silly—I was making it on my own.
But I missed Josh, Jenn, and Jas. I missed Maplewood and my nephews.
The tug to return home, to my roots, grew stronger every day.
Sure, staying in Jersey wouldn’t be the end of the world, but my girls deserved an epic childhood.
Family and community and hikes and festivals.
Picking wildflowers and tapping trees. Memories and tradition and vacations.
They deserved so much more than scraping by while living above a yoga studio in Jersey City.
I should ask about the farm. Get the local town gossip. But for some reason, my mouth kept moving.
“It’s so funny, really. The lawyer is actually Brian Machon.”
He was silent for a heartbeat, the only sound his footsteps on the hardwood floors. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
My stomach sank. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I shouldn’t have opened this door. But there was a niggling feeling inside me that told me not to keep this from him.
“I dated him, back in college. Weird, right?”
He inhaled sharply. “Is this the Brian? The serious boyfriend? The one you brought home to the farm?”
My heart stumbled over itself. “Yes.”
“I don’t remember much about him, but I remember how obsessed you were.”
“You were in high school, so I’m sure you had other stuff on your mind.”
“This is not a good idea,” he said, his tone firm. “Ethically or—”
“Yes, it is. It’s fine,” I interrupted. “We dated twenty years ago. I’ve lived a whole lifetime since then. And he’s one of the best family law attorneys in the state. He’s my best shot at winning this.”
“Is it weird?”
“No,” I lied. In fact, it was extremely weird. Though surreal was a better way to describe the situation. He was nice. Smart and competent. Professional.
He literally possessed every quality I’d want in a lawyer.
He was also handsome and sweet and a tiny bit awkward, just like the brilliant boy I’d fallen for during poli-sci study sessions.
“It’s fine.” Thinking about Brian was bad. I’d been working my hardest to avoid it. But he kept popping into my brain. Present-day handsome, confident lawyer Brian interspersed with long-forgotten memories of college Brian.
“Totally professional,” I babbled, trying to convince myself as much as my brother, who, based on his silence, wasn’t buying it.
“What have you been up to?” I asked, mentally kicking myself for even bringing up Brian.
“I’ve been working on the guest cottage. Put up crown molding to fancy things up a bit. Tore out the old porch and built a new one. And I ordered new appliances for the kitchen.”
“Josh.” I groaned. “We talked about this.”
He ignored me, talking instead about his plan for putting up the giant tire swing Greta had requested during our visit at Christmas.
“I’m not even sure I can move yet,” I reminded him. “And you work so hard already. Don’t add to your never-ending list.”
“You know I like projects,” he said softly.
I did. Josh needed to keep his hands and his mind busy. It was the most effective way he’d found to manage the anxiety that had already stolen so much from him.
My brother didn’t worry about money. He’d made a lot of it on Wall Street before our lives fell apart.
Then he used his MBA and investment skills to turn the farm from failing to profitable.
He worked from sunup to sundown, even though at this point in his life, he could probably afford to live on a beach on some island tax haven.
But that was not him. If there was a job to do, Josh was on it.
Even as a kid, he constantly tinkered, rooting out problems before we even realized they existed and fixing them with the type of skill only professionals typically possessed.
Broken fences, leaky faucets, weeds in the vegetable garden.
He had this sense about him. He knew where he was at all times and could sense the condition of each person, place, or thing around him.
Of the four of us, it made the most sense for him to take over the farm.
Jas helped between his shifts as a firefighter and EMT, but Josh ran the show.
“Seen Jenn recently?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
“’Course. I see her every morning, and she and Liz never let me skip Sunday dinner, no matter how hard I try to avoid it.”
I let out a laugh. That tracked. Jenn had always possessed a heaping dose of firstborn energy. She’d bossed us all around as kids, and that hadn’t changed once we migrated into adulthood.
“And Jas?”
“He gets out of dinner sometimes because of work. Or because he sweet-talks Jenn.”
A soft smile crept over my face. “Still living in his childhood bedroom?”
“When he actually sleeps here, yes.” Josh sighed. “But you know him. He’s always moving, that kid.”
Like Josh was one to talk.
And Jas wasn’t actually a kid. He had recently turned thirty, but as the baby of the family and my parents’ unabashed favorite, he had youngest-kid energy to spare.
He had Jenn, who was twelve when he was born, wrapped around his finger.
She’d always been like a second mom to him, going out of her way, even now, to take care of him.
Leaving Josh and me to deal with the messes he made.
“So Jenn is actually taking Sundays off during the tourist season?” My sister and her wife, Mel, owned the coffee shop in town, Been There, Sipped That. And she was also in possession of the dominant family trait: an inability to slow down.
“Shockingly, yes. The college kids are home for the summer, so they’ve got all kinds of extra help. For the first time ever, she’s actually been working reasonable hours.”
I snorted. The Lawrence kids had never been known for their work-life balance.
“And Elijah is working there now.”
“No.” I gasped. “Not possible.” Elijah, my oldest nephew, had definitely hit a growth spurt this year, but he was still a kid.
My brother chuckled lightly. “He’s starting high school in the fall.”
“Damn, we’re old.”
“You’re old. I’m still on the right side of forty.”
“Yeah, yeah, little brother, I remember. But middle age comes for us all. And I worry about you, working yourself so hard and all alone in that big house.”
He scoffed. “I’ve got Bruce.”
“Your horse dog doesn’t count,” I said a little too loudly. Cringing, I stepped into the kitchen, putting more distance between myself and the girls’ room.
“He’d be offended by that statement. He’s excellent company. Besides, I’ve got visitors coming soon, so I’m focused on that. Shame you girls can only stay a week.”
I slumped against the counter. It was a shame, but I was thankful for the time I could take off to take the girls home for the Fourth of July.
Maplewood did Independence Day right. And I’d been working so much that it had been months since we’d visited.
The girls were already planning their hikes and arguing over which secret swimming holes they wanted to visit with their cousins.
I planned to use the week for job hunting and working out logistics. We weren’t on the docket until mid-July, but I’d be ready when the time came.
“It’s all the time I can get off. Trust me, once that motion is approved, we’ll pack up the car and be out of here.” I’d kill to spend the entire summer there so the kids could run wild and cleanse their lungs with fresh mountain air. But I’d settle for the month of freedom before school started.
“I miss you,” he said softly. “And the girls.”
“I miss you too.”
My heart clenched. The loss of our parents hit each of us so differently.
Josh had thrown himself fully into the farm, preserving their legacy, while I often reached for my phone to call my mom, only to be hit with a fresh wave of grief.
I missed them, and I missed my siblings.
I’d given up so much during my marriage, and I’d lost so many parts of myself.
When we finally moved back to Vermont—if we moved—I was determined to find those parts again.
And to build a new version of myself.