Chapter 2
Griffin
Crossing into Greene County brings back many memories. The fields and large oak trees, the shops that make up the little downtown of Peachtree Pass— “What is going on here?”
I slow the truck and lean over the middle of the cab to get a better look at the construction, the progress this small town hasn’t seen in decades, if not a century.
I knew my brother was investing in the future growth of the area, but I had no idea he was building a metropolis in the middle of the hill country.
I’d recognize my dad’s truck anywhere. No matter how much money the man makes, he’ll never spend it on another vehicle.
We used to joke that it’ll be buried next to him, since he loves it so much.
We no longer joke about death. Not since my mom died.
Though he occasionally mentions being buried next to her up on the wildflower field.
I pull into a spot next to him and hop out.
Is there a protocol for walking back into their lives after so many years of being gone?
If there is, it’s lost on me, so I stroll into the construction of the new shopping space, only to hear my brother’s voice carrying from somewhere else.
I walk through and round the corner to find him pointing at a light fixture.
Hard hat on, tool belt wrapped around his waist, work boots, and paint-splattered clothes, he turns to see me when I enter the room. Baylor Greene is rarely at a loss for words, but I manage to stump him. “Brother,” I say, holding my hand out.
He grabs hold and pulls me against him, accompanied by a strong back pat. “Holy shit. When did you get back into town?”
“Just now. Saw Dad’s truck out front and stopped.”
After directing the guy to finish up, he then turns back to me and crosses his arms over his chest. “Damn, dude, I did not have you showing up on my bingo card for today.”
“Slipping back into town saved our sister from having to plan a big reunion.”
“Christine won’t let you off the hook that easily.” He nods toward the back door. I follow him to where his truck is parked. He opens a cooler and tosses me a bottle of water, then grabs one for himself. After drinking, he shakes his head and stares at me. “It’s good to see you, Griffin.”
“It’s good to be seen again. You look . . . not so much like a punk-ass kid anymore.”
He chuckles. “Marriage will do that to you. You go from thinking this is as good as it gets to realizing how meaningless it was without the love of your life in it.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say, wanting to tease him since I’m no authority on either living life in a way that’s considered “as good as it gets” or falling in love.
“The closest I’ve gotten to a relationship is a fan out at the ballpark earlier begging for an autograph.
At least she was hot.” And for some reason, she felt familiar.
I didn’t get as good a look at her as I wanted, even when I turned back.
Fangirls are all the same, though. I’m sure I’ll see her out there again.
I thumb over my shoulder at the shopping center in a not-so-subtle change of subject. “I thought you were remodeling the four shops? There are three more that didn’t even exist the last time I was here.”
“We’re quick around here. A housing development is being built out off Ranch Road 36.
Lauralee expanded the café of Peaches Sundries & More into two spaces, and the pizzeria is now open.
We’re adding a small Tex-Mex restaurant at the end with a patio for more seating and to host live music on the weekends.
I fucking miss Mexican food, and the closest is forty miles over in Fredericksburg. ”
“So you’re building an entire restaurant to suit your cravings? Sounds like a good idea if you’ve got money to burn.”
He starts back toward the shops but stops to grab my shoulder and give it a squeeze as he passes. “It’s not burning. It’s reinvesting in the Pass. A couple from Pflugerville is moving here to rent the space. Now come on, before Dad hears you’re in town and haven’t gone to see him.”
I follow him back inside, and we cut through the space to the front sidewalk on Main. He glances over at me. “Is there a reason you’re walking around in an Armadillos baseball uniform with your name embroidered on the back?”
I’d forgotten I was wearing this. Funny how long it’s been since I wore a uniform, yet the moment I put one back on, it feels like a second skin again. “Long story short, I’m playing in a fundraising game next weekend.”
Baylor stops and looks at me with curiosity leveled in his eyes. “And what’s the long version?”
“Neither Dover Creek nor Peachtree Pass High Schools has funds to support their baseball programs. The coach from Creek emailed me to ask if I’d come play in a fundraising game.
The winery is matching dollar for dollar.
The program at our high school paved the way for me to attend college and then pursue the majors.
Other kids should have the same opportunity.
” I shift suddenly, feeling self-conscious about it, though I know I have no reason to be.
We didn’t grow up like some of the other ranching families in the area.
The money came later, after a lot of hard work and sacrifices on my parents’ part.
It was my sister who changed the game entirely.
But we weren’t spoiled rich kids by nature.
We all worked hard—I hit home runs, Baylor threw touchdowns, and Christine topped the podium as a barrel racer.
But we’d still return home to chores that had to be done before catching up on homework.
We all made our way, taking different paths to success, and now have more money than sense.
My contract with the Cardinals set a record for the team.
Six years after being released, I still have money to last generations long after me despite trying to blow through it while traveling the world and escaping reality, if I’m honest with myself.
“I did a sponsorship for the pizzeria. Thought it was a good way to get word out.” We start walking again.
“We were planning to go,” he says, grinning.
“I had no idea I’d be treated to watching my big brother play again.
” Tugging the door open to the pizzeria, he adds, “If you’d given me a heads-up, I could have picked you up from the airport. ”
“No need. I bought a truck on my flight in. It was ready for me when I arrived.”
He looks past me toward the street. “Is that white Ford yours?”
“Fresh off the lot.”
With a few customers at the tables, he keeps his voice low when he says, “It’s a nice ride.” Nodding toward the counter, he chuckles. “Peaches knows better than to leave Dad working the register, but he likes the power behind the counter.” He tosses his hand in the air. “Hey, Dad, look who’s here.”
When he looks up, I see the way life has aged him beyond his years. He’s not old, but he’s led a hard life on the ranch as a child and then on his own property. When he sees me, he smiles. It’s one I recognize as my own. “Griffin, what? When did you get here?”
“Earlier today, but not more than twenty minutes back in the Pass.” I don’t want him to feel like he wasn’t a priority.
Coming around the counter, he embraces me. My father is not a hugging man, or he wasn’t before today that I was aware of. But a lot has changed since my mother passed seven years ago. Notably, that my dad is hugging me and dating again.
Peaches comes in from the back. Her entire expression lights up when she sees me.
“Griffin, you’re back.” I give her a quick hug because she’s the lady who used to sneak a piece of candy across the counter at the Sundries store when I didn’t have enough money in my pocket to pay for it.
She’s also now dating my dad, which in a strange way feels full circle somehow.
“Hey Peaches, how are you?”
She swats my arm. “Devilishly good these days.” I catch how she glances at my dad when replying.
I thought I’d feel more hurt somehow by their relationship, but it’s been the opposite reaction.
I’m happy for them. Though I’m not sure how the newlyweds, Baylor and Lauralee, handle their parents hooking up.
It’s not something I care to think about at all.
“The place is looking good. Dad said on our last call that he was enjoying the pace of the pizzeria.”
She replies, “It’s a lot different from working the ranch, that’s for sure.”
“And air-conditioned,” my dad adds with a laugh.
“Don’t blame you for that.” When Baylor cuts out to return to the other space next door, I say, “So I know my showing up out of nowhere is a surprise. I can get a hotel room if I need—”
“I won’t hear of it.” My dad pats my arm. “Your room will always be your room, and you always have a place to stay.”
“Even at thirty-five?” I can admit I’m old enough not to have a “room” at my dad’s house any longer.
He chuckles. “Your age doesn’t change that you’re my son, kid. Why don’t you head back to the ranch, get cleaned up, and rest before dinner? I’m sure you’re tired after traveling and having practice today before that storm rolled in.”
“How’d you know I had practice today?”
Gesturing to the uniform, he replies, “Besides you walking in wearing a Dover Creek Armadillos uniform, which is blasphemy in some circles, Coach Barth contacted me for your current email. I figured you wouldn’t mind hearing about a chance to help the local high school teams.”
“I’m glad you did. It feels good to be able to help.” Taking a step back, I say, “I’m going to take you up on the offer and head back. I could really use a shower and a nap.”
“You go do that. You know the way back.”
We don’t embrace again, but a shared look kind of says all either of us needs to. I walk toward the door but stop just shy of opening it. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yes?”
“It also feels good to be back with family again.”
He’s not a sentimental guy by any means, but even I can see the emotion swarming in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re back, son.”
I walk out into the shade of the covered sidewalk and stroll to the truck.
The rain stopped before I crossed county lines, but the sun still struggles to come back out.
I don’t mind springtime storms. It’s like the Earth’s way of replenishing itself.
I have so many memories of the rain in the while exploring, and the storm that rolled in too fast to escape when hiking in Nepal.
The storms in Australia were wild one summer but a welcome reprieve from the heat.
I remember recording the sound of raindrops hitting palm leaves as I stood underneath them during a quick shower in Hawaii.
After starting the truck, I pull out onto streets that haven’t dried yet.
These storms and the rain here are different.
The dry ground begs for it to prevent cracking.
The crops will only survive if we get what’s needed to protect them.
I will never complain about the rain after experiencing so many droughts growing up in Texas.
The drive isn’t long—another fifteen, twenty minutes on a slow day. When I see the weathered metal Rollingwood Ranch sign arched high above the cattle guard embedded in the ground, I know I’m finally home.