3. Darcy
THREE
DARCY
The homeplace’s white peeks through the dense trees as I pull up the gravel drive, the small rocks making dinks and donks against the body of my car. Stormy huddles in my lap, afraid of the noise. My whole life’s belongings jostle as we bumpity-bump down the road.
I roll down my windows to let in the lush smell of sweetgrass and the general green of summertime on the farm.
It’s almost dark out already. The light fades even earlier in the holler with the mountains making the horizon higher than it would be on a plain.
Maggie and Bill are expecting me even though I know it’s close to their bedtime. I could have called my parents, and eventually, I will. My parents don’t live in West Virginia anymore, having chosen a nomadic pseudo-retirement. They live in RV parks across the country and work odd jobs when they need cash, acting like college kids backpacking Europe. I miss them, am happy for them, and feel somewhat abandoned by them all at once.
But I have Bill and Maggie, and that’s almost better.
The pack of farm dogs escort us the rest of the way down the drive, chasing after my car in a swirl of barks and flashes of different-colored fur. It’s always been an ever-changing cast of strays up here, some questionably feral. I spy Candy Cane out in the pasture by the woods, serenely eating grass like he’s not the most neurotic quarter horse on the planet. By his side is his reluctant companion, an Appaloosa named Freckle.
What I don’t expect is the RV parked in the grass alongside the farmhouse. My stomach sinks as I try to guess what it could mean. It’s not my parents’ RV, but I can’t help but feel like its presence doesn’t bode well for me.
Bill and Maggie sit on the porch swing, Maggie working on a cross stitch and Bill on a crossword. The sight of them still willing to porch swing in the evenings pangs my heart. That’s the love worth waiting for.
And a love I might have given away. Doubt brings up a lump in my throat, which I cough to clear as I get out with a wave.
“There she is!” Maggie cries. They never had kids, but I always fantasized that I was theirs. They’re good to all my cousins too, but I was the one who spent the most summer hours working for them over the years. I loved the house I grew up in, but the farm is, and probably always will be, home.
My peepaw’s dad, famously known as Poppa, built this house. Poppa vowed to find a way out of coal mining after he lost his brother to a mining accident. Over the course of a decade, he and Nonna scrimped, saved, and poured plenty of sweat equity into the farm and homeplace all around me.
The farmhouse pops in its white siding and pale gray roof, though it’s seen some weather and is probably due for a refresh. It’s a two-story farmhouse where some original features linger, though slowly, Bill and Maggie have updated the interior.
I hold Stormy until I can give her a chance to get acquainted with the farm dogs. She’s an interesting cat in that she’ll follow me wherever I go like a dog, but I’ve never leashed her. In Raleigh, she’d take out the trash with me, never once taking off to explore. She just likes being close to me.
I make it up the porch with the dogs hot on my heels for pets, Stormy climbing half up my shoulder to avoid getting mauled. Maggie takes Stormy from me and waits for me to greet the dogs before I hug her. They smell like creek water and muddy paws.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Maggie says in my ear when I hug her. “We’re glad you’re here. Saved you some supper.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. Her familiar scent sets off something inside me, a switch flipped. I’m fighting tears as I glance up at the haint blue porch ceiling, painted as such to keep evil spirits away. I’m going to need plenty of help with that.
Bill stands by waiting to hug me too. He holds me back by my shoulders, catching my watery eyes. “You’re home now, sis. Cry as ugly as you want.”
I laugh, sniffling. “That’s good news because crying’s about all I got left.”
Maggie waves me toward the door. “Come on in. Let’s get you fed.”
* * *
I push away from the butcher block island in the kitchen, having had my fill of macaroni and tomatoes, green beans, and a roll with foul amount of butter. Not sure if Maggie planned to load me up on butter and carbs, but I’m appreciative either way.
“So, what’s this grand plan y’all have cooked up to fix my life?”
“Not just yours,” Bill mutters.
Maggie gives him a scathing look and she swallows, smoothing her hands down the front of her pants. “Well, sweetie, we know you’re out of a job and,” she sucks in another breath, “we haven’t had a break from this farm in years. And since your Peepaw left us, we’ve been a little antsy.”
A wry smile climbs up my face. “I miss him.”
“Us too,” Bill agrees.
We lost Peepaw last spring, and Maggie and Bill cared for him up to his final breath. They decided they didn’t want him going into a home when they could get more help on the farm and manage his health on their own. They even figured out how to bring him along while they worked on the farm, riding him out to wherever they were working either on Freckle or in the four-wheeler. Peepaw spent his final years where he lived most of his life, in the orchard. Maggie and Bill didn’t let on just how hard it was, but it was a heavy load to carry.
I can see the writing on the wall of what they’re about to ask of me and my breathing grows shallow.
“You know we love Dustin and we can call him if we need to?—”
“Or we can not go at all—” Bill cuts in.
“We need to go,” she says on a sigh.
“Go where?” I ask.
“Your mom and dad have inspired us in a way,” Maggie says. “We got that RV outside on the cheap and we want to spend some time seeing the country. We’re thinking East Coast until the Fourth, then swinging through here before we go off to the West.”
I nod, torn inside. “That’ll be so good for y’all. You deserve it.”
And I mean that, but I also see where this puts me.
“We think you can run it on your own, Darce,” Bill says.
I shake my head. “Y’all, it’s been years.”
“Nothing’s changed,” Maggie assures me. “And we won’t leave till next Wednesday so you have some time to get acclimated. That’s a whole week.”
Stormy winds between my feet where my heels hook on the bar stool.
Bill fills the silence. “We’ll pay you, of course, and you won’t have any rent. You can store your stuff you don’t need in the pole barn.”
No rent, and no expensive storage unit. The benefits are piling up. I tap my finger on the counter.
“And no phone signal, you know. Internet’s only good enough to load your email,” Maggie sings, trying to catch my eye. “What better way to get away from it all? Figure out what you want.”
I hear the subtext of what she’s saying: no Rob. That sounds pretty appealing at the moment when just the thought of his face makes me want to simultaneously scream, kick something, and cry.
“When are you coming back?” I ask.
They glance at each other again and I fear what that means. But Maggie answers, “Mid-August. But you can keep living here as long as you want after we come back. Under this roof or out to the cabin if you want. I know you’re used to being on your own.”
The cabin is typically for seasonal workers, so there’s always the possibility I’d have roommates. Though late enough in the fall, they’ll all have moved on. It’d be just me out there, across the creek from the homeplace and by the barn. But I don’t plan to be here that long.
Maggie squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to say yes. I’m sure Dustin’ll come back if we need him. And his sister said she’d come work this summer. She’s coming out next Friday to start. Bill already hired her for day work.”
Dustin’s been the on-and-off farm helper for a few years now. He’s somewhat become part of the family. I’ve never met his sister, but heard she was something of a wild child. Dustin was always worried about her in one way or another.
“I think Dusty’s girl’s pregnant,” Bill grumbles. “He wanted to take some time for the baby. That’s why Becca’s coming. And something about her wanting to start a farm. But she lives with her boyfriend out Painter a bit.”
Bill’s talking about Painter Creek that runs through the area. Yes, the town is Paint, and the creek is Painter. Painter is the local pronunciation of “panther,” and everybody spells it Painter. It’s even Painter on maps. How the town became Paint, I’ll never know. It’s one of those things you just accept.
I’d say it’s annoying, but honestly, it’s one of the idiosyncracies I’ve missed about home.
“Well, you didn’t tell me that, Bill. I guess we don’t have Dusty. But!” Maggie’s eyes light up. “We got that nice boy who works down at the hardware store. He’ll be living out here for the summer. Bill poached him and Mr. Anderson is none too pleased.”
“He’ll get over it,” Bill huffs. “So yeah, Becca, Caleb, and then some boy came up to me at the market today. Said he grew up on a fruit farm and could help with the horses?—”
“Oh!” Maggie says, trying to sell me on it. “Look at that! Two men living here and no internet or cell service. Sounds like a mighty fine summer! Almost like a retreat or something.”
Bill chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Darcy knows damn well it’s no retreat, Mag.”
I sigh and laugh too. “I know what it entails.”
I ran from my job, so I need a job. I need a fresh start, and a summer off the web and being humbled by heavy manual labor might fix me.
Plus, if Maggie and Bill want to go on this well-deserved trip, it sounds like they need me to run things.
They need me. I need them. I need the break and distraction to figure out what I want as much as Maggie and Bill do. I turned away from the life I built in Raleigh, but what the hell comes after that?
I take a steeling sip of sweet tea and run my tongue over my teeth before meeting Maggie’s hopeful eyes.
“You’ll send me postcards to the P.O. box from every stop?”
Maggie’s eyes crinkle. “If that’s what you want.”
I set my jaw and swallow hard. “I’ll be gone in the fall. I’ll have to face the music sometime. This is just temporary.”
If I say it out loud right now, maybe it’ll come true.