Chapter 23
hey
Mia gave me your number
I hope that’s ok?
I just wanted to say thank you for doing this. Like it’s been something I wanted to try out for a while
sorry I’m spamming you
I’ll stop
just wanted to reach out so it’ll be less awkward when we meet up
anyway hope you’ll have a great summer
“You seen Linden?”
I jump at the sound of Mr. Woodrow’s—Brandon’s—voice, my phone slipping from my hands and falling into the dust between us, the quiet summer air suddenly feeling heavier with anticipation.
“Fu—sorry.” I quickly swallow my curse and glance apologetically at the older man, but he merely chuckles.
“Nothing I haven’t said before, just don’t let Kelly hear you,” Brandon advises me with a slight grin. He bends down to grab my phone for me, his eyes widening when he sees the smashed screen. “Aw, shit.”
“Oh, no, it’s been like that for a few months,” I reassure him quickly as I take it from his outstretched hand and wipe it with a corner of my shirt before sliding it back into my pocket.
My cheeks are burning with embarrassment over almost getting caught while texting Mike, even though I know that technically I didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s not like Linden and I are in a relationship.
I’m not even doing this behind his back.
Hell, we’ve done everything to keep our special summer classes secret.
There’s no reason for my guilty conscience, yet my cell seems to burn a hole in my pocket while I’m trying to recall Brandon’s question.
“Uhm…I think he’s upstairs? Probably studying.
” I cringe inwardly at my choice of words, my mind diving straight into the gutter.
However, I’m pretty sure Linden has his nose buried in a textbook right now.
He’s been using every free minute to catch up on his classes since we finished the bulk of the cherry harvest last week.
I should follow his example and prepare for my last year of college.
Still, there’s always a distraction to be found—like Owen rubbing against my legs, eggs waiting to be collected, or Buttercup demanding a little treat before agreeing to walk back to the barn.
Yesterday, Kelly showed me how to turn all those second-quality cherries into jam.
How am I supposed to focus on econ instead?
I initially expected to be back in Bonham by now, so none of this would’ve been an issue.
Instead, I’m relieved Linden hasn’t brought it up yet.
Every day spent on the farm means sparing my wallet a little more, which I’ll definitely need.
My father tried to reach me twice this week, likely wanting to discuss the generator he supposedly can’t live without.
He always finds something in his chat groups—be it an additional generator, a hunting bow, or an overpriced course on urban survival after a nuclear disaster.
“That boy, always sticking his nose into those damn books,” Brandon grumbles. “You mind fetching him for me? I could use his help for a bit.”
“I could help!” The words pour out of my mouth before I can think about them. I don’t know what he needs Linden for, but over the past few days, I’ve noticed a subtle tension building between father and son. Those flames of annoyance don’t need to be stoked any more.
Brandon quietly regards me for a second, as if he’s unsure if I’ll suffice.
Instinctively, I square my shoulders under his scrutiny, puffing out my chest a little, then promptly feel ridiculous.
All those carefully toned muscles didn’t do much for me when I climbed up and down his countless cherry trees.
“The neighbor called; part of the fence broke at the far end of the pasture. We're going to have to fix it fast if we don't want any mixed breeds and a fucked-up breeding cycle. He got a mean bull who's always ready to mount,” Brandon explains as nonchalantly as if he's talking about the weather.
I, however, clear my throat when I immediately think of how Linden climbed me last night.
It was our first time trying out 69, and I was pretty pleased with my progress on suppressing my gag reflex.
Although I personally think we’ll need to repeat it a few more times until we manage to cum at the same time.
I shake my head to quickly chase away my filthy thoughts in front of Linden's father. “Oh, I can do that!” I state confidently instead.
“Yeah?” He raises a brow at me, so I give an enthusiastic nod.
“Yeah!” I insist. “There was always something to fix on the community compound. I helped my dad build sheds and stuff. We also had a few chickens, and we built a big enclosure for them.”
“Community compound, huh?”
Shit.
I bite my lip when Brandon repeats the word with a calmness that almost feels suspicious.
My family isn't the ordinary type, so I usually try to avoid the topic. Especially after Linden reacted so horrified to the last bits I shared. I don't want the Woodrows to think poorly of my father. He's unique, yes, but not…I don’t know what they’re picturing, but he’s not that.
“Uhm…yeah? My dad’s big on…” I trail off, looking for a word that fits. Not prepping, that sounds pretty negative. Not conspiracies, because that definitely sounds terrible, too.
I eventually decide on “homesteading” while falling into step beside Brandon, who's leading us to his beat-up truck parked in the courtyard. He’s limping slightly, I notice, but I don’t dare ask about it.
Brandon stops by the barn to grab a wooden post and a coil of wire.
Handing me the latter, he lets out a low whistle, and the next moment, Oak rounds the corner to jump into the truck bed.
“It shows,” Brandon says when we both get in and strap our seat belts on.
I blink in confusion, unsure of what he means until he clarifies.
“That you’ve been around animals before. I wasn’t sure at first because you were so hesitant. But they have some instinctive trust around you.”
As if to underline his point, the orange devil darts in front of the car, screeching.
Brandon snorts but opens the door so Owen can jump inside, carelessly stepping over him to curl up in my lap.
I wait until he’s settled, then start scratching behind his ears.
It will take less than three minutes before I start sneezing again, but I can’t resist his nudging and meowing.
“We only ever had small animals like chickens or rabbits,” I explain. “Nothing big like cows.”
“Pet rabbits?” Brandon asks. There’s an odd undertone in his voice that gives me pause.
“Uhm…no. They were adorable—” I break off, cringing at my choice of words, but when I glance at Brandon, he doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with a grown-up man calling small animals adorable.
“But my dad and…the others, they always said animals should be…you know, useful. Not for cuddling. So…they were all raised for…slaughter.”
I hold my breath when it feels like I’ve given away too much.
But if anyone would agree with my father, it would probably be a farmer.
Then again, not every animal on the Woodrow farm serves a purpose: aside from Owen, there’s a bunch of cats running around in the barn.
So far, I’ve also spotted a big hamster cage and two miniature pigs, which I thought were raised for private meat production, until Linden explained that his mom adopted them from an abusive breeder.
“Were you the only kid around that place?” Brandon wants to know as we slowly bump down the dirt road. Endless acres of pasture stretch out on both our sides. I imagine it must look even more impressive in spring when the grass is a lush green rather than a sad yellow.
“Is summer always this hot around here?” I ask instead of answering him. My shirt is already clinging to my back again from the short car ride, even with the AC blasting.
Brandon blinks, obviously surprised by my sudden change of topic, then shakes his head.
“God no. I mean, over the past years, we have had noticeably hotter summers, but this is still an outlier. Winters have become warmer, too. We got about a month less of snow and ice. Means there’s a lot of ticks and mosquitoes around to torture us.
But people never learn. They still drive their fucking cars to the next house over, buy another fifty shirts they don’t wear, and cheer when politicians bomb the shit out of countries they can’t even find on a map. ”
I hold my breath at the anger vibrating in his voice, my thoughts going back to my father and the topics he cares about—which are chemtrails, electromagnetic mind-control, and the flat earth theory, mostly.
Rationally, I know that Brandon is correct, but it’s not always easy to shake off my father's voice whispering in my ear: It’s all lies, son. Don’t believe them.
“Hasn’t the weather always been subject to change?
” I ask tentatively. Shame prickles at the back of my neck, making me shiver despite the stifling air around us.
I don’t want him to think badly of me, I realize.
Somehow, it’s incredibly important to me that he doesn’t make me out as a nutjob—and not just because he’s Linden’s father.
“True, but it’s become more unpredictable in general. The year I broke my hip, we had some horrible flooding. And fuck, but I already fear there’s another downpour coming for us. You feel it in those broken bones, let me tell you.”
I perk up at that information, relieved that we’re not talking about me anymore, even when I can’t detect a single cloud in the sky. “Linden mentioned he took some time off to help out around the farm when that happened.”
“Yeah, that was my fault. A terrible storm caught us off guard, and we had to get the cows back in. Some of them were standing knee-deep in the mud; poor things. Went out with the tractor, got stuck, then toppled it over when I tried to pull it out. Lost several ladies that summer.”
Brandon doesn’t look at me as he recounts this, but I can hear a slight tremble in his voice.
“That must have been bad. Like…financially?” I hum.
He doesn’t answer me at first. Instead, he stops at the side of the road. To our left, I detect the broken fence, with the wire detached from the weathered post. There’s no mean bull around. In fact, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even need me to fix this.
“Yeah.” Brandon sighs when he kills the engine, leaning back in the seat for a moment. “If I hadn’t had Linden, we might not’ve made it that year.”
I let the words sit with me, wondering if Brandon knows how badly Linden needs to hear them instead of me.
And then, for a brief second, I allow myself to think my father will say the same to his friends in the commune.
Maybe even to Dex, who happily shows off every piece of equipment they buy from my scholarship to his handful of YouTube subscribers.
Might not’ve been able to afford this without Micah—I shudder at the thought, scrambling to follow Brandon out of the car.
We work quietly but swiftly, pulling the old post out and driving the new one in before replacing the wire.
The silence between us is filled with the chirping of crickets and buzzing of insects.
Oak disappears into the field with Owen hot on his heels, his orange tail sticking out between the dried grass like a little flag.
“We’ll probably have to replace all of the fencing,” Brandon announces when we’re done.
I use a corner of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead, then let my gaze travel along the fence. I can’t even see where it ends.
“Now?” I ask, trying to keep the note of intimidation out of my voice.
“No.” Brandon snorts, amused by my relieved sigh. “But next year—you know, if you’d like to come around again then.”
He says it with such perfect nonchalance that I almost miss the invitation in his words. My stupid heart gives a happy flutter in my chest—I stomp it down quickly.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to the cherry harvest next year.
Training camp and all that stuff. But maybe after graduation!
” I add that last part hastily, then bite my tongue when I realize that’s also a lie.
By then, Linden will probably want to introduce linen-pants Colin to his parents.
And who knows, since Linden insists he’s completely different from how I picture him, he might fit right in.
“Ah, right, Linden mentioned you've got plans to go pro. Football, right?”
I nod quietly, busying myself with putting all the tools back into the battered box.
“I played, too. Just in high school, of course. Could’ve gone to Burlington, but my daddy didn’t want me wasting my time getting a degree when I could learn right here, you know?
” He gestures around to indicate the fields surrounding us.
I wonder how much of this belongs to the Woodrows, and how many of them have worked on this land before Brandon and Linden.
“Almost made the same mistake with Lind. But I’m glad we sent him off to Bonham. Times change, and farming’s getting more complex every day. I think it’ll help him do right by all this.”
Nausea spreads in my stomach at the hopeful smile spreading on Brandon’s face. I think back to the textbooks in Linden’s room, how his eyes light up when he talks about his classes, the gentle way he held the rescue kittens while patiently feeding them from the bottle.
Don’t make him, I want to say, please don’t make him. He doesn’t want this.
Instead, I swallow hard, forcing the words back from my tongue and down my throat.
“My dad didn’t like the idea of me going to college, either,” I say as I stuff my hands into my pockets. They’re trembling, and I’m afraid he’ll notice.
“Really? What made him change his mind?” Brandon’s eyes are on Owen chasing Oak through the field as he speaks. I follow his gaze, chuckling at the sight. I suspect Owen doesn’t understand that the German Shepherd isn’t having as much fun as he is.
Money, I think, but rather allow silence to spread between us.