Chapter 31
CALEB
L ennon carries two more boxes out of the farmhouse and stacks them by my truck. Most of her hair has fallen out of its ponytail. She swipes some strands out of her face and straightens. “This is the rest of it.”
“Okay,” I reply, hiding a smile.
When the horses left an hour ago, it was with twenty boxes of supplements, fly sheets, halters, brushes, and who knows what else.
Lennon’s belongings barely fill half the truck’s bed.
I add the two boxes she just brought out to the few already in the truck. Lennon fiddles with the keys she’s holding as she glances around the yard.
“I guess this is it,” she states.
Nothing looks different. Her horses are gone, hauled away by one of my family’s fancy racing rigs to their new home down the road.
But the barn looks the same. The old truck is parked outside it, just like always.
And the exterior of the farmhouse doesn’t reveal the interior has been stripped.
Lennon donated all of Earl’s belongings to charity.
All her clothes are in my truck. An auction house is coming to collect all the furniture tomorrow.
“Let’s go,” she tells me, heading toward the passenger door.
“If you want to—”
Lennon doesn’t even let me get the whole offer out. “No, I’m ready to go. Let’s go.”
“All right.” I climb into the driver’s seat and shift the truck into drive. Lennon fiddles with the stereo. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she scans through the stations, pausing on one and then flipping forward two more without stopping.
“Do you want to stop and see how they’re settling in?” I ask.
Finally, she stops fussing with the radio. Her fingers tap against her thigh; she glances in the rear-view mirror, and then there’s a sigh.
“Yeah.”
The gate is open when we reach my family’s farm, so I continue right up the drive.
This is the first time I’ve been back to my family’s Landry estate since I came to get my suit for Earl’s funeral.
It looks the exact same as always: pristine.
This property was my grandfather’s pride and joy.
Out of obligation more than anything, my father has made sure it’s kept up to the same standards.
I stop by the stable rather than driving all the way up to the house.
My mother’s Range Rover is parked in the roundabout. I’m surprised to see it. We haven’t spoken since she called me about the money missing from my trust fund, but I wasn’t expecting her to still be in Landry. The Cup—and all the social events that are all my mother cares about—have passed.
Lennon leaps out of the truck as soon as it stops. I smile as she makes a beeline for the barn.
“I’m going to go get a coffee for the road. Want anything?” I call after her.
“No, I’m good,” she says over her shoulder before disappearing inside the main stable.
Landry’s solitary coffee shop is quiet and empty when I arrive. It’s long past the usual morning rush.
I order my coffee from a high school-aged kid who first gapes at me and then peppers me with baseball questions.
What was meant to be a brief stop quickly stretches into fifteen minutes. The arrival of another customer finally ends our conversation.
Halfway to my truck, I run into Tom Stradwell on the sidewalk.
“Hello, Mr. Stradwell,” I greet.
“Caleb! I thought that was you! How are you?”
“I’m good, sir. How are you?”
“Good, good. What brings you to town?”
“Uh, Lennon. I’m helping her move everything to campus.”
A smile forms before I’ve fully finished my response. “I had a feeling,” he tells me. “I can only imagine how proud Earl would be if he were still here with us. That young lady was his moon and his stars.”
“I know,” I reply.
Lennon’s bond with her grandfather is one I was always a bit jealous of. God knows Richard Winters never held me in the same high regard. He considered baseball a waste of time.
“I’m sure she’ll excel at Clarkson. I hope she’ll give the Gazette the time of day after the offers pour in.” Mr. Stradwell smiles.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Lennon is the best research assistant we’ve ever had at the paper. Hell of a writer, too. I offered her a full-time job after graduation.”
“Oh.” I do a poor job of masking my surprise.
Mr. Stradwell peers at me. “Lennon was born here. Raised here.”
“I know.”
“The Winters name runs just as deeply in the Landry archives as the Matthews one does.”
“I know,” I repeat, trying to figure out what the hell he’s trying to tell me.
“I never met a man more loyal than Earl Matthews.” He pauses meaningfully. “Some things skip a generation.”
“I know this place means a lot to Lennon,” I state.
“I wasn’t talking about the town, young man.” He smiles at me. “Good luck with your senior year, Caleb. I have no doubt you’ll accomplish a lot.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
Tom winks, then continues down the street.
I stay in place for a minute, feeling like I was just spun around in a circle. Not only from the topsy-turvy ride of trying to figure out what Tom Stradwell was talking about, but also from the unexpected revelation Lennon already has a job offer in Landry after graduation.
Eventually, I stop standing on the sidewalk like a fool and walk toward my truck.
There’s no sign of Lennon when I park by the barn. I’m not surprised. I’m sure she’s looking over feed schedules and exercise charts with Louis, the barn manager.
I climb out of the truck and stretch before taking a long sip of the iced coffee I just bought. The August sun is relentless, beaming down like a spotlight. The cold liquid barely counteracts the heat.
“Caleb?”
I turn to see my mother. She’s wearing a floral print dress and a confused expression as she approaches my truck.
I school my expression carefully. “Hi, Mom.”
She pauses a few feet away from me. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Just for today. I’m helping Lennon move.”
My mother’s lips purse. “Move?”
“She’s transferring to Clarkson.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here , Caleb.”
I exhale, knowing she’ll probably take this about as well as the check I wrote Lennon. “Her horses were moved here this morning. I arranged everything with Louis. Let me know if you want me to pay room and board for them.”
Her expression hardens, turning into a cold mask. “When will you be back in Landry?”
“No idea,” I reply. Lennon is taking any incentive to return with her.
She nods, realizing the same. “Well, I’ll be at the New York penthouse for the next few months.”
“Fine.”
“What about Thanksgiving?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to Lennon yet. We’ve been busy figuring other things out.”
My mother swallows a couple of times, then fiddles with her pearl necklace. “All right. Let me know after you…talk to her.”
Voices sound, right before Lennon emerges from the barn. Her face is lit up as she talks to Louis, who followed her outside.
When she turns toward me a second later, her steps stutter. But she continues, walking over to my side and offering my mom a polite smile. “Hi, Mrs. Winters. How are you?”
“Fine, Lennon. I hear you’re transferring to Clarkson?”
Lennon glances at me, then back to my mother. “Yes.”
“Best of luck. I’m sure it will be an adjustment for you.”
My jaw is clenched so tightly it hurts. I can’t figure out why my mother insists on acting like this. Why accepting Lennon is some Herculean task to her.
“We won’t be at Thanksgiving, Mom,” I say, then pull Lennon away.
As soon as we’re in the truck, she shoots me a questioning look. “Thanksgiving?”
“In Aspen. My mom keeps bringing it up. I don’t want to go. To be around her or my dad.”
“She’s your mom, Caleb.”
“She’s conceited and condescending.”
“She’s still your mom. Don’t take having one for granted.”
I nod.
The drive from Landry to Clarkson is a familiar one. But this time—for the first time—Lennon is beside me. I watch her stare out at the rolling countryside for most of the trip. She seems lost in thought.
I park outside of Archibald Hall three hours later. It’s predominantly a freshman dorm. I’m guessing Lennon was assigned here since she’s a senior year transfer.
“Time to see if those muscles are good for anything but looking at,” Lennon teases me as she unbuckles her seatbelt.
I smile but then sober, just staring at her.
“What?” she asks, running a hand through her hair.
“Are you okay?”
“I thought we agreed you were going to stop asking me that.”
“Okay. The next time we go for a drive and you say more than ten words to me, I won’t ask.”
Lennon rolls her eyes. “I’m good. Really. This is all just…a lot.”
“I know it’s a lot. That’s why it freaks me out when you shut me out.”
“I’m not trying to shut you out,” Lennon tells me. “I promise. I just don’t want you to think I’m a total mess.”
“Life is messy, Len. That doesn’t make you a mess.” I pause. “Although I’d still be here—even if you were.”
She smiles. “Thanks, Winters. Not just for all the boxes you’re about to carry.”
“But mostly, right?” I joke as I climb out of the cab. “You know you packed more for the horses?”
We survey the dozen boxes in the back of my truck.
“Are you complaining I didn’t pack more?” Lennon asks.
“No, definitely not,” I’m quick to say.
“That’s what I thought.” Lennon smirks, then grabs the nearest box. I snag two and follow her over to the entrance of her dorm.
Clarkson’s campus is busier than I’ve ever seen it. As a member of a sports team, I was eligible to skip the dorm experience. I don’t spend much time on campus, period. Aside from attending classes, all my time is spent at the sports complex or my house off-campus.
There’s a folding table set up in the lobby where a few student volunteers and staff members are checking students in.
Lennon reaches the front of the line and gives her name. One girl at the desk is leafing through a stack of papers; the other stares at me.
“All right, just sign here and then you’re good to go,” the girl says to Lennon.
“Aren’t you Caleb Winters?” the other asks.
“Yeah, I am,” I confirm. I don’t need to glance at Lennon to know she’s probably rolling her eyes.
“What are you doing here ?”
“My girlfriend.” I nod to Lennon, then follow her toward the stairs. “What room are you?” I ask.
Lennon flips the folder open. “219.”
“Second floor?”
“Great guess,” Lennon mutters sarcastically.
I smirk as I trail up the stairs after her. The dorms are air-conditioned, but the frequent opening and closing of every door in the residence hall means the HVAC system is being rendered mostly irrelevant for the time being.
There are a few side glances as we walk along in search of Lennon’s room, which is bizarre. I don’t interact with many people on campus. It’s strange to realize random people recognize me at first glance.
We reach 219. Lennon uses her new student ID to unlock the nondescript wooden door.
It swings open to reveal a compact room.
The walls are white and the floor is covered by a dark gray carpet.
A twin-sized bed, desk, and chest of drawers are the only furniture.
I stack the two boxes I’m holding on the desk and glance at Lennon.
“What do you think?”
She surveys the small space. “That I over-packed.”
It takes three more trips to transport the rest of her belongings from the bed of my truck into her new room.
My phone vibrates as she begins opening boxes. It’s Drew, asking if I want a ride to the team meeting.
I reply, telling him I’ll meet them there, then turn to Lennon.
Her expression is knowing. “You’ve got to go to a baseball thing, right?”
“Right,” I confirm. “But the field house is only ten minutes away, not three hours. I’ll be back in an hour. Two, tops.”
“It’s fine. I’ve got a lot of unpacking and organizing to do, anyway. My advisor wants to meet with me tomorrow, so I need to go over all the Journalism requirements. And also figure out where the school store is so I can get all my books…”
Her voice trails off when she catches my smirk.
“What?”
I shrug. “It’s just funny seeing you be all nerdy again. Reminds me of high school.”
Lennon manages to blush and look indignant simultaneously. “Nerdy?”
“It was a compliment,” I assure her. My phone vibrates in my pocket again. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay,” Lennon replies.
I step forward to kiss her, then turn to leave. “Oh, wait. I forgot to give you this.” I grab one box off her desk, rifle through it, then hold out the plastic bag I snuck into it last night while she was packing. “Here.”
Lennon’s brow wrinkles as she grabs the bag from me and rips it open.
“Now that we go to the same school again, I thought you might want to wear it,” I say as she holds up the Clarkson Baseball sweatshirt. “You can still wear the Landry one back home.”
Lennon flips the material over, staring at my name and number on the back.
“Some girl told me they don’t sell sweatshirts with your name on it in the school store,” she tells me, raising one eyebrow.
I grin. “They don’t. See you later, Matthews.”