Epilogue #2
The screen door creaks loudly as we walk in, leading to a big entrance hall with stairs directly ahead. It looks exactly how I expected it to—cozy and rustic, with the head of a twelve-point buck hanging over the door.
“Hello? Mama?” Ruby calls after we drop our bags by the stairs.
I say nothing, because this is all too weird. She hasn’t seen her family in over two years, and she told them she was coming. So, where the fuck are they?
Slipping her hand into mine, she leads me through the house and back outside. A couple of the dogs who were in the front are now lying in the sunshine.
We walk down the steps and barely touch the ground when there’s a loud screech that makes us both jump and turn to where the noise came from. A small blond woman is picking up a basket of laundry she’s dropped.
“Oh, Ruby, darlin’, you scared me. We weren’t expecting you so early . . .”
“I told you we would arrive at lunchtime, Mama,” Ruby replies, rushing over to grab a pile of T-shirts, but she doesn’t get the chance before she’s pulled into a hug.
And it’s a good hug too, warm, motherly.
I’m pleasantly surprised by it, because so far, the experience of coming back to Ruby’s family home is a solid two out of ten.
“Did you?” Her mom steps back, eyes slowly assessing her from top to bottom. “You look too thin.”
Ruby rolls her eyes. “I’m fine, Mama.”
“Hmm. Well, we’ll feed you up while you’re here,” she responds, then her gaze turns on me. “And who’s this?”
“Mama, this is Miles. Miles, meet Lou-Anne Lanson, my mama.”
I hold my hand out. “Miles Burlington. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
She looks at my hand, then at me. “You not feeding my daughter?”
“Mama!”
I see where Ruby gets her feistiness. It’s also where she gets her green eyes from, because I’m looking at a carbon copy of Ruby twenty-five years in the future.
Hopefully, she won’t hate me as much as Ruby did.
“I’m feeding her as much as one can feed a strong-willed woman who does exactly what she wants when she wants.” I grin and lean in. “As long as she’s kept caffeinated, though, we’re usually okay.”
“Hmm,” she hums, and I have no idea how I’ve done with my answer. She just narrows her eyes and, like she did with Ruby, drops them all the way down to my trainers and back up. “Well, I hope you’re hungry. It’s lunchtime. I just made a new batch of chutney.”
“I’ve heard all about your chutney. I’m excited to try it.”
“Hmm,” she repeats, and I revise my estimate of only needing fifteen minutes to charm this woman.
“Where are Bryce and Ford?”
“Over in Cedar Rapids picking up feed. They’ll be back later this afternoon. Give your father and me a chance to catch up with y’all.”
Ruby smiles. “Sounds good, Mama.”
“Miles, why don’t you get Ruby’s father? You’ll find him out in the shop. Tell him to wash up because we’re making lunch.”
“Mom—”
“No, it’s okay.” I wave off Ruby’s warning, thrilled that I’m being given an out. “No problem, Mrs. Lanson. Ruby’s father, coming right up.”
I take off toward the vast workshop, slowing my walk as much as I can. This crowd is going to be harder than I expected, and if Ruby’s dad is anything like her mum, then I need a different approach. Not that I know what that is.
The shop is quiet when I reach it, and the four John Deere machines stare at me through open shutter doors. Peering around, I don’t see any movement in the back, and only a box of tools sitting next to the combine harvester gives any indication that someone was recently here.
“Mr. Lanson? . . . Mr. Lanson? . . . Hello?”
I step farther in and almost trip over as Ruby’s dad whizzes out on a pullie-board from underneath. “Who’s askin’?”
“Mr. Lanson?”
The only indication he has any idea who I am is the tic below his left eye, and just like his wife, he gives me a thorough once-over. Even though he’s lying down, it’s just as effective. “Pass me the crescent wrench.”
Crouching down, I search in the well-stocked toolbox until I find what I’m looking for and hand it over.
He slides back underneath without a word.
“Quarter ratchet,” he barks. This time, only his hand appears. Again, I find what he’s looking for and pass it over. It’s followed by “cloth” then, “Boy, go get me the silver twelve-inch sprocket over on the shelf.”
I debate telling him lunch is ready, and I was sent to get him, because I don’t know whose wrath I care to face the least. I also don’t want to ask “which shelf” because there are many lining the walls, but luckily, it’s only the third one I'm searching for.
“Here you go, sir.” I pass it carefully over. This time, I get a grunt before he disappears back underneath. “Anything else I can help with? What’s the issue under there?”
There’s silence. “Know anything about these?”
I’m glad he can’t see me grimace. I know cars, but combine harvesters are a stretch, and I pull on every single memory I have of working with Lando on machinery.
“Yes, sir. My brother has one, and I help him fix it when he needs a hand.”
Once. I helped him fix it once. Even then, I wasn’t helping because he wasn’t really fixing it. He was in the Burlington farmyard, and I happened to walk past when he was talking to Johnny, the yard manager.
But my white lie earns me a grunt, which sounds more approving than the last. There are a couple of loud clunks followed by huffing.
“The feeder head needs unclogging because the sprocket’s worn down.”
I nod. “We have problems with the slugs.” I have literally no idea what I’m talking about.
“Goddamn slugs is right,” he grumbles as something clatters to the floor before he reappears. “Get in and turn the engine on.”
I glance up into the cabin. “Sure, no problem,” I reply, sending out a quick prayer it’s a self-explanatory switch on.
Ruby’s dad is much bigger than he seemed under the engine, tall and broad, and kind of intimidating, especially when he barks, “What are you waiting for?”
I hit the power button, and the motor roars to life. He leans over the harvester, far too close, and I break out in a sweat at the idea of him having an accident. I can’t have Ruby’s father get made into a hay bale on my watch.
Fuck fuck fuck.
My finger hovers over the stop button close enough that I’m pressing it before he tells me to.
I receive a frown in response, but when he doesn’t tell me to switch it back on, I climb down from the cabin, ready to stand in awkward silence. I still haven’t told him we’re needed for lunch, and I’ve been here twenty minutes.
“So you’re the husband?”
“That’s me, sir.” I nod, slowly, before I realize what he’s asked, and try to hide my shock. It’s rare that I’m caught off guard.
He rolls his lips until they disappear under his thick beard. “You came to seek forgiveness instead of permission? That it?”
I decide to roll with this conversation. “Something like that.”
“Took you what . . .” He stretches out his arm, looking at his watch. “Two months . . . three?”
“Um . . .” I stop and frown.
“We do get news out here, you know.” Each sentence comes with added bite to his tone.
“I . . . um . . .”
Where the fuck are my words? And then it dawns on me. They might not have been here to greet us, but it’s obvious they don’t miss a thing.
This whole charade is a test, except I don’t think Ruby realizes either. She’s always genuinely believed they don’t give a shit.
“So it would seem,” I reply, eventually. “Didn’t think to inform Ruby?”
He ignores me. Instead, he wipes the oil off his hands before tossing the cloth on a nearby bench. “Tell me, do you love my daughter?”
“Yes, sir—”
“Why?”
It’s the easiest question. “Because she’s determined, funny, and stubborn. She has a huge, generous heart. She loves fiercely. She’s kind to animals. And she’s beautiful,” I add.
He nods. “Determined. Gets that from me, you know. Ever since she was a little girl, I was determined she was destined for better things.”
My jaw clenches as I take in his words. I’m not fully understanding what he’s trying to say because what sort of fucked-up parenting is this?
“You said yourself, Ruby’s stubborn with a big heart.
If she thought she needed to stay here to help her mom and me on the farm, she would have.
Instead, she’s doing what she loves . . .
” He nods at me. “And traveling the world at the same time. That was quite the win you had the other day, boring-ass game, though. You played better in Gloucester.”
I’m astounded. Literally astounded, and fucking mad—I don’t even smile when he pronounces it GLOW-sester. If I’m not mistaken, he’s followed Ruby’s career since she left here and never bothered telling her. He’s watched our matches enough he can critique them.
“She taught herself, you know, on a couple of the farm horses here. She used to sneak out early in the morning before school and all weekend. If I ever wanted to find her, she’d be in the fields setting up obstacles. I couldn’t let her grow up here with talent like that—”