10. Ten #2
I hang my head, taking two solid deep breaths to center myself and will the blood to rush nowhere in particular.
I try to remind myself of all the reasons I don’t get involved with anyone who works on this farm. I run through the list. There’s Scarlett and the aftermath of our relationship. My parents' nasty divorce. The insurmountable number of responsibilities I have.
Despite my best efforts, Cassidy seems to wipe the slate clean—making me forget why I ever made the rule to begin with.
By the time I finish unloading the manure spreader and make it back to the lesson barn after checking on one of the mares, Cassidy has clocked out.
Asher is set to clock in for evening chores, which will give me a much-needed break.
The high school kid asked specifically for three days a week after school, and that arrangement gave me, Walton, and Grady a bit of reprieve.
“Hello?”
The familiar voice calls down the aisle to the tack room, where I finish wiping off the bit to one of the bridals.
“Tack room,” I shout, leading my mother through the barn in a sad game of Marco Polo.
Gentle knocking sounds on the wood by the entrance, and I turn to see her sandy hair twisted into a claw clip, the wrinkles around her hazel eyes more pronounced. It’s like looking at my sister with a few more years added to her age and a heavy dose of steady and stable added to her personality.
“Hi, Mom.” I place the bridle on the hook, plucking the next to wipe down.
“Hello, my son, I never see nor hear from.”
I let out a heavy breath, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. She’s never once passed up the opportunity to guilt-trip one of her children.
“You know how busy it gets around here,” I start with a million other excuses on the tip of my tongue. I shove them down. They’re pointless when she’s like this. “It’s good to see you.”
“You as well.” My mom moves into the tackroom, planting herself on the chest by the door. With her arms folded across her chest, I know she’s come here on a mission—there’s something she wants.
“Have you talked to Rosemary?”
Rosemary.
Not Roe.
“What did she do now?” I question, giving up on the bridal and turning to face my mother fully. “Since it seems to be upsetting you.”
My mom shrugs in a sad attempt to feign indifference. “I was just wondering. We saw her a month ago and had a great conversation about her future. I just wondered if you’d heard anything.”
Conversations with Rosemary about the future never end well, and quite frankly, shouldn’t exist.
Roe knows she wants to do music, but beyond that, nothing has ever been planned in that woman’s life.
It can be irritating. Like when she shows up at random expecting a place to stay, but Roe is a catalyst; she often pushes those around her to take risks—to question what they truly want. And she does that by being unabashedly herself.
“She stayed at the main house when she was visiting,” I answer. “Got a new employee in Grammie’s house.”
My mom cocks her head to the side. “Poor timing for that, I suppose. I thought Roe might need the place. I suppose she could stay with me, though the apartment tends to be small for the both of us. Her large personality equates to at least three roommates.”
My face falls flat. “She’s your daughter,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone.
“And I love her dearly, Wes. Same as you. But adulthood has made us incompatible roommates. I think it’s the fact that she hasn’t really grown into adulthood at all.”
My mind flashes memories of arguments and flying hairbrushes.
My mother, like most women, has a strong sense of what should be done and how it should be done.
Having a daughter like my sister proved to be trying for her.
While my father took a different approach, one focused on freedom and a gentler guiding hand, my mother always believed Rosemary needed more structure.
Roe did not.
“She can stay at the main house,” I offer. “It’s just me.”
My mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, Wesley. What if you meet a woman? I can’t expect to get any grandkids out of you if your sister is keeping any self-respecting woman from giving you a chance by bumming off you.”
“Mom.” I grind the words out like a warning.
Despite it all, despite taking on the farm and keeping it running smoothly, nothing I’ve ever done will be enough or quite right.
I can see why my sister longed to get out of the cage, why she couldn’t settle here.
I, on the other hand, built a bed and got comfortable within the confines of my mother’s expectations.
Even so, it isn’t enough.
It’s not that I don’t love Miller Run deeply; it’s that my dreams aligned with hers, and she somehow remains unhappy. I can’t imagine how Roe must feel.
I take a deep breath. “I’m sure it would be temporary, and Roe would be able to get her own place if she chose to. She’s fully capable.”
“Of course she’s capable, Wesley. The question is, does she want a normal life bad enough to fight for it? My guess is no. She’ll just keep moving where the wind blows if we let her.”
“So we let her,” I snap, reigning my tone in for the follow-up statement. “She’s an adult.”
My mother waves me off. “Anyway,” she continues, as if we’d been talking for ages.
“I have a teacher from the school wanting to get her daughter in for some lessons. I wouldn’t normally ask this, but I was hoping you’d let her ride in exchange for helping out around here.
The girl’s mother doesn’t have much as she’s going through a…
” My mom lowers her voice as if she’s sharing a secret. “A divorce.”
“The audacity,” I jibe. “You wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Wesley, seriously.”
I start making my way to the door, my mom standing from her perch on the chest to trail behind. I head to the office with her hot on my heels. “I am fine with it,” I say, not sure why she made it such a big deal.
My mom started working as a school secretary after I took over the farm. She said she wasn’t quite ready to retire and needed to keep busy. She seems to like it—most likely because there’s a plethora of gossip to be had among the staff.
My mother has always been interested in gossip and rumors. It was something my father hated. She has also been one to have a very strong opinion on whatever gossip she heard. My father hated that even more.
“When would she want to try it out?” I ask, my hand extending to twist the knob to the office.
Mom’s footsteps sound right behind me. “Next week sometime. I’m happy to let her know. I also wondered if you’d like to get dinner tonight? No worries if not. I just figured I’d ask since I’m here. It really has been so long since we got to chat. I feel like you speak to your sister more than me.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes before catching a glimpse of the grocery bag atop the office table. I can see yellows and greens poking out of the top.
I reach for it, confirming it is exactly what I think it is.
Cassidy forgot the gift here.
There’s a moment where I try to talk myself out of the thought that already popped up in my head.
There is no logical reason for me to be concerned about this at all—and yet.
“Can’t,” I say, clutching the bag in my fist. “Asher will be here to do late afternoon and evening chores, and I have an errand I need to run.”
Mom scoffs. “Well, what is it?”
“Grand opening for a bed and breakfast a ways away.” I try to offer as few details as possible.
“A—” My mother’s brows furrow. “What?”
“Long story,” I say. “Point is, we will have to do dinner on a different day. I’ll talk to Roe, though, and give that mom the farm’s number. I’ll get her kid scheduled.”
With the bag in hand, I move toward my mom, planting a firm kiss on her cheek. “Love you, Mom.”
Once I’m out of the office, I pull my phone out, looking up Cassidy’s social media.
She posted a picture last week next to the bed and breakfast sign.
In the photo, she’s wearing something other than her usual leggings—white overalls cut off into shorts and a pale blue tank top.
With sunglasses atop her head, Cass’s blonde hair spins around her in the wind.
She’s smiling at the camera—the way she always seems to be smiling, but in the picture, she holds a paintbrush in hand.
It’s not that I meant to keep checking on her social media—it just happened.
Regardless, the sign gives me the name of the place, and I know exactly where I’m headed.
This gift was important to her, and I intend to deliver it just in time.