Chapter 9
Nine
Wes stood at the kitchen sink, staring at his phone. The last text exchange from the night before was glowing on the screen.
Are we okay?
I don’t know.
He’d barely slept, replaying their conversation over and over. The worst part was that Jake wasn’t wrong. Wes was exhausted. He was hiding. He was terrified of what would happen if he stopped holding everything together through sheer force of will.
But Wes wasn’t wrong either. Jake didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—what it was like to be responsible for someone else’s life. To watch your father struggle with basic tasks. To know that one disruption, one spike in blood pressure, could trigger another stroke.
The sound of tires on gravel made him look up. Jake’s rental car was pulling into the drive.
Wes’s heart hammered as he dried his hands on a dish towel. Through the window, he watched Jake sit in the car for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, before finally getting out.
They met at the door.
“Hey,” Jake said. He looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes.
“Hey.”
“Can we talk?”
Wes glanced toward the living room, where Henry was watching the morning news. “Let’s go to the barn.”
They walked in silence, frost crunching under their feet. Inside the barn, Jake turned to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no right to tell you how to live your life.”
“You were upset about Alvin.”
“That’s not an excuse.” Jake stepped closer. “You were right. I don’t know what it’s like to have responsibilities like yours. I don’t know what it’s like to have a father.”
Wes’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry too. What I said about you not understanding—”
“Was true.”
“No. It was cruel. And I didn’t mean it the way it came out.” Wes looked down at his hands, scarred and rough. “I’m scared, Jake. All the time. Scared of losing the farm, scared of losing Henry, scared of... this. Us. What happens when you leave?”
“I’m not leaving.”
“But your job—”
“I mean, yes, I have to go back to Atlanta for meetings. But I’m not leaving leaving. Not unless you want me to.”
Wes looked up. Jake’s eyes were earnest, worried.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Wes said quietly.
“Good.” Jake’s shoulders relaxed. “Because I have something to show you. I need you to take tomorrow off.”
Wes almost laughed. “Tomorrow? The Saturday before Christmas. I can’t just—”
“It’s already handled.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tucker, Evan, Chuck, and Brody are covering the farm tomorrow. All day. I confirmed with Tucker on the phone last night. I figure four strong men might be able to replace one of you… for a day, at least.”
Wes stared at him. “You asked them to—”
“I asked Tucker if he could help. He said he would do one better and recruited the others. His exact words were, ‘About damn time someone got Wes away from this place for a day.’”
“I don’t understand.”
Jake took his hand. “I want to show you something. Three somethings, actually. Will you trust me?”
Wes thought about the four men volunteering their time, about Jake arranging all of this, about the earnest worry in those kind blue eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “I trust you.”
The next morning, Wes stood in his kitchen, watching through the window as Tucker’s truck pulled up, followed by Chuck’s SUV. The four men piled out, laughing about something.
“Morning, sunshine,” Tucker called as Wes opened the door. “Ready for your mystery date?”
“It’s not a—”
“It absolutely is,” Chuck interrupted. “Jake planned the whole thing. Very romantic.”
“We’re just visiting some properties,” Wes protested.
“Sure you are.” Evan grinned. “That’s why Jake asked us to cover ‘no matter what happens, even if he’s resistant.’”
Chuck held up a thermos. “We brought coffee. And Brody made cinnamon rolls.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Shut up and say thank you,” Tucker said, pushing past him into the house. “Where’s Miguel?”
“Already in the field. We’ve got reservations all day, beginning at noon. Not including walk-ins.”
“We’ve got it.” Chuck squeezed Wes’s shoulder. “You go. Have some fun. Let someone else worry about things.”
Jake’s car pulled up, and the four men stood smiling at him, daring him to dally. He grabbed his jacket and called out to Henry that he was leaving. Before closing the door, he turned. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”
“Merry Christmas,” said Evan, arm around Tucker’s waist. “Have fun.”
Outside, Jake’s rental car was running, plumes of exhaust smoke rising in the cool air.
“Ready?” Jake asked as Wes climbed in.
“I think so. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Diane’s farmhouse looked picturesque in the winter morning light. Smoke rose from the chimney, and the windows glowed warm against the bare orchards beyond.
She met them at the door with a smile. “Wes Dalton. " I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Crawford.”
“It’s Diane, honey. Come in, both of you. Coffee’s fresh.”
Her kitchen smelled of apples and cinnamon. Same as always, Wes thought. He remembered coming here with his mother as a kid, he and Cody Crawford eating fresh peach cobbler while the women talked about canning and preserving.
“I was just telling Jake the other day about the 2019 storm,” Diane said, pouring them a cup. “Lost half my peach trees. The ice buildup was so fast, branches were snapping. Sounded like firecrackers all night long.”
Wes nodded. “We lost thirty percent of our stock. Would’ve been worse, but Dad and I stayed up all night, tarping what we could.”
“Robert did the same.” Diane’s voice softened. “Saved what he could. But the stress...”
She trailed off, looking out at the orchard.
“The doctor said it was inevitable,” she continued. “The storm was just the final straw. Two weeks later, Robert had his heart attack. He was gone before the ambulance arrived.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Diane,” Wes said, unable to say her name without some formality. His own mother had been sick for two years before she died—a long, slow decline. It was awful. But he imagined the shock of sudden loss could be equally terrible.
“I tried to run everything myself after that.” Diane sat down across from them. “Thought I owed it to him, you know? To keep his legacy alive.”
She laughed, bitter. “Nearly killed myself trying. Cody found me passed out in the orchard last July. Dehydration, exhaustion. I’d been working fourteen-hour days, hadn’t eaten properly in weeks.”
“What changed?” Jake asked, though he already knew.
“My daughter staged an intervention. Brought my whole family down from Tennessee. They said Robert would be rolling in his grave if he knew I was killing myself to save his farm.” Diane looked directly at Wes. “She was right. This farm was supposed to be our life, not our death.”
“But the—” Wes began.
“—it’s just dirt and trees without someone to tend them,” Diane concluded, reaching across the table and covering Wes’s hand with hers. “Your mama wouldn’t want you working yourself to death, honey. She’d want you to live.”
Wes’s eyes welled. He thought of his mother in her final days, worried about him, making him promise to be happy.
He’d promised. Then he’d spent five years doing everything except that.
“Then, I reached out to Mr. Marley here—Jake.” She smiled warmly. “Because of him, I was able to hire help. We reached out to other farms that taught me best practices. Cody set up the books and an ordering system online. The farm’s doing better now than it has in years.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s more than good. It’s what Robert would have wanted.” She squeezed Wes’s hand. “And it’s what Linda would have wanted for you.”
They left an hour later, after Diane insisted they take a pie for Henry. In the car, Wes stared out the window, processing.
“You okay?” Jake asked.
“She knew my mom since they were kids.”
“Yeah?”
“Mom loved that orchard. We’d go every summer for peaches.” Wes closed his eyes. “After she died, I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t face Diane, couldn’t face... any of it.”
“But you did today.”
“Because you made me.”
“I didn’t make you do anything. I just drove.”
“You’re also the reason that farm is still operating... that Ms. Diane can still handle it.”
“It’s what I do, Wes.” Jake’s eyes twinkled as he reached out and stroked Wes’s temple with the back of his hand. “Eventually, that’s gonna sink in. I just know it.”
“I don’t know. I've got a thick skull… or so I’m told.” Wes winked. “Where are we going now?”
“Lunch first. Then, the Whitlocks’ vineyard.”
“The young couple?”
“Sarah and Keith, yes.”
They stopped at a diner between properties. The TV above the counter was showing the news. A meteorologist pointed at a system developing over Texas.
“Could bring significant icing to central Georgia,” she said. “We’re watching this closely.”
“They always say that,” the waitress commented, refilling their coffee. “Gets everyone worked up over nothing.”
Wes and Jake ordered burgers and sat in silence for a while. Finally, Jake spoke.
“My third foster home was with an older couple. The Hendersons. They were kind, stable. I stayed there for almost two years—the longest I ever stayed anywhere.”
Wes waited, sensing there was more.
“Mrs. Henderson had a garden. Nothing fancy, just vegetables and some flowers. She taught me how to tend it, how to be patient with growing things.” Jake smiled sadly. “Then Mr. Henderson had a stroke. A bad one. They couldn’t keep foster kids anymore, so I got moved to another home.”
“I’m sorry.”
“The thing is, I never went back. Never visited, never called. I was thirteen and angry, and I thought if I couldn’t stay, what was the point?” Jake looked at his hands. “She died when I was in college. I found out on Facebook. In the pictures from the estate sale, the garden was all overgrown.”
“Jake—”
“I’m not telling you this for pity. I’m telling you because I understand being afraid. I understand protecting yourself by not getting too attached.” He met Wes’s eyes. “But I also know the regret that comes from letting fear make your choices.”