11. Umbrella #3
Emory chooses that exact moment to walk across my field of vision, heading to where the kids are playing in the front pasture.
She doesn’t seem to notice Griffin or me—my eyes glued to her every step—and on top of everything else, I can’t help worrying that she’s doing too much.
That she isn’t grieving properly or eating properly or having time for herself.
I’m especially troubled by the fact that yesterday afternoon, in the middle of the PTA parade, I got a notification from the Purple Pastures land listing I’ve had bookmarked for ten years, informing me that twenty of the farm’s acres are now for sale, and I don’t know how to broach the topic with her. Especially now.
Every instinct in me wants to go to her.
Which is why I drop to my haunches instead and begin the process of moving Pam’s body to the grapple of the skid steer, determined to finish this job and, after ensuring everything is good here, return to my actual job.
Desperate for, and yet dreading some distance.
“Hey, listen.” Griffin grabs my attention when we’ve finally managed to transport and bury Pamela and made our way back to the front of the house.
I have plans to go back to the grave for some finishing touches later and to make sure everything is settled, but with my brain restless and body weary, all I want right now is a long ride on my bike and a cold shower.
From our vantage point, I see Emory leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, brow furrowed as she watches Molly push Theo down the hill of the pasture.
“We all know she’s been through a lot,” Griffin says, so as not to alert them of our presence. “And I’m not sure where you’ve been or how deep the history there is, but I will say this, if anyone deserves a new beginning, it’s Emory.”
Theo yells, “As youuuu wiiisssshhhh!” He theatrically grunts and rolls over what assuredly is a pasture filled with alpaca droppings. But it’s clear that the kid will do anything for his Princess Buttercup.
Molly gasps, “Oh, my sweet Theodore,” then follows him, tumbling down the hill. When they meet at the bottom, the kids erupt into hysterical giggles before Theo grabs Molly’s hand and races back up the hill with her to do the whole thing again.
I glance back at Emory in time to see her wipe her cheeks, her mask slipping momentarily when she thinks no one can see.
“Emory’s husband, James… he was my best friend,” I admit, though I can’t fathom why.
Griffin whistles low. “And you…”
“Won’t go there.”
Emory slips around the corner of the porch, out of sight. I clench my fists so I don’t do something stupid like follow her.
“Ever.”
Last night excluded.
“Right,” Griffin says, like he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said. We wordlessly watch a few more rounds of Princess Bride before Griffin confesses, “Caroline isn’t Theo’s biological mom. She legally adopted him a few years ago, but before her… I was a different man.”
I glance at him, unsure why he’s telling me, a person he hasn’t known since high school, his history.
“Back then, I made so many choices that had me convinced I wasn’t worthy of her. That I couldn’t pursue her. And because of all those doubts and insecurities—the lies I told myself—I almost lost her. I almost missed out on the family—the life—I never dreamed I could have.”
“I appreciate you telling me all that, Griff, but that’s not what’s happening here. Not because I think I don’t deserve them… I know I don’t. They aren’t my family. They’re his… They’ll always be his.”
“Maybe so. But you sure do seem to be payin’ a lot of penance around this farm for someone who doesn’t think he has a future here. The fence, the porch, the barn…”
“How do you know it was me?”
“Jack’s a meddlin’ gossip… but for what it’s worth, we’re both rooting for you. You’d be good for her. For them both. Good luck convincing yourself otherwise.” He kicks the dirt, then whistles, drawing the kids’ attention. “Theo, bud. We gotta get goin’. Mama’s makin’ pancakes.”
Molly spots me and waves wildly before racing Theo towards us and crashing into my side.
“Hey, Ace.” She squeezes my waist, and though I know Griffin’s watching—assuming he knows exactly what’s going on here—I can’t help but kneel down to get a proper hug.
“Hey, Little Red. How are you holding up? You okay?”
Her green eyes go misty, but she nods, putting on a brave face that I know she learned from her mother, though hers is less practiced and far easier to read.
Especially when she looks over my shoulder, probably ensuring Theo won’t see, before her lips quiver and she whispers, “Will you take me to her grave later? I want to bring Pammy something.”
“Course, kiddo. Whenever you’re ready.” I can’t help but reach up, wiping her cheeks dry of the tears that have managed to escape. “You want to pick some flowers?”
Molly shakes her head, glances around with a glimmer of mischief, like she’s in danger of being overheard by mom ears. But Emory’s nowhere in sight. Not that I’ve been wondering where she disappeared to or if she’s okay.
“Not flowers…” Molly says, twisting her hands behind her back. “I want to bring Pammy a balloon.”