Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Now
Ryland
M y anxiety always spikes as I step foot onto the cemetery grounds. It feels like a shallow place for the living to be. Each puff of breath that escapes my dry lips seems to be inhaled by death as it lurks in the shadows, watching closely and waiting for my clock to finally stop ticking. I’m being dramatic, but it has always felt like this for me.
The rows of withering tombstones have witnessed the tears of many pained souls, mine included. I try to visit my grandparents’ graves at least once a week. Some days, I weep because I miss them so much. Some days, I sob thinking of life without them. And other days, I shed happy tears over stories that I share with them of my daughter, Annabelle.
My grandmother passed away before Annabelle was born. I wish they could have met and wonder often what type of bond they would have created together. She was blessed to have my Pops around for her first five years of life. He completely spoiled her, snuck her candy when I asked him not to, and from day one was smitten with her. We all are .
Life without them has been a lot harder than I could’ve ever imagined. I often wonder what kind of man I would have become if I hadn't spent so many years being angry with my father and had more of a childhood that included my grandparents.
I know that God always has a plan for everything, and I’m thankful that he brought my little brother, my mother, and me to Covewood, Kentucky, where we were blessed to spend some amazing years with Nan and Pops. I smile at the memory and look toward Pops’ grave.
“I’ve said this before, Pops, but I was such a little punk when I showed up on your doorstep all those years ago.” I close my eyes and can see the smile on his face, the twinkle in his light-brown eyes, and feel a ghost of a pat on my shoulder with his callused hands. “Thank God I had you to help shape me into a better man. I don’t think I ever told you that enough.”
Pops and I had our fair share of arguments, but he always showed me patience. He loved Zane and me in a way we never experienced before. It wasn’t long before I started to look forward to our bi-weekly fishing trips so we could have more time to bond. He was the greatest man I have ever known.
I check my watch and see that I’m a few minutes late and give my grandparents’ tombstone a pat goodbye before making my way over to the truck that I inherited from my Pops. The dark-orange Ford truck with its white pinstripping brings my heart joy. She’s got some life left in her as I turn the key, and she roars, still as loud as the first time I sat in her.
I drive through town and feel a sense of contentment as I pass the small place in Kentucky that quickly became my home. I watch as the small businesses turn into rolling green farmlands through my windshield as I make my way toward the Wiley Farm. As I turn right, the road becomes gravel, leading through a large green gate that’s always open.
Up ahead, I watch as the old farmhouse comes into view. Its once pearly white exterior has turned into a dusty yellow over the years, but I’m here to change that. The two-story home was built in the late ‘40s and is still standing firm. My favorite part of the home is the front porch, which also needs some work done to it, but when I’m finished, it will look brand new.
The Wiley Farm became my second home during my teenage years. After Earl’s granddaughter, Raine, and I became close friends, we were inseparable. On the weekends, I was either visiting her at the farm, or she came to the cabins, and we’d swim in the lake from sun-up until sun-down.
Anytime I’m here, something always reminds me of Raine, which then causes me to miss her. Even after I let her walk away ten years ago, my heart still carries a piece of her with me. It’s cheesy, I know, but the heart does what the heart wants—or however that saying goes.
Back in the fall, Johanna and Earl Wiley made the decision to renovate their house and requested that I personally help them with the process. After Pops passed away almost three years ago, I took over his construction company. We work mostly on renovating the older homes around the county as well as buildings and businesses. We do a little bit of everything, really, and business has been going really well.
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I’ve been working on the old farmhouse, and we have another month or two left until she is completed. I know Johanna has been more than ready for things to be done so she can have her home back to normal—or so she’s expressed a time or two. Although, for the past week, she hasn’t seemed like her normal, chipper self. Mom sent me with a new herbal tea she swears helps knock out any sickness to give to Johanna, and I pray it does the trick for her.
I put the truck in park and make my way toward the house. I see Earl leaning against the porch railing and hum in approval as I sniff the air. The scents of fresh grass, brewed coffee, and the slightest hint of hazelnut touch my nose. It’s a heavenly aroma.
“Is that hazelnut I smell today? ”
“Yeah, I think that new fancy coffee maker is rubbing off on me.” Earl shrugs as he reaches down and grabs his mug, taking a sip to finish what’s left.
He hands me a mug, and I nod a thanks. I lift the mug to my lips, the liquid feeling lukewarm as it hits my tongue, reminding me that I’m late. “I’m sorry for running behind. I was visiting my grandparents.”
Earl waves me off. “Oh, that's okay.”
I watch him closely. For as long as I have been working on the renovations, if I was even just a few minutes late, Earl always made a comment. He appreciates punctuality, whereas my Pops was always late to everything. Somehow, they always made it work with their friendship. I secretly think they enjoyed having a reason to pick on one another.
I notice the way Earl’s brows are pulled together in concern, his lips are in a tight line, and his shoulders are tense. Something is bothering him. I take a sip of the semi-warm coffee, allowing the flavor to perk me up for the hard work ahead, and ask, “Everything okay this morning?”
Earl huffs and shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says and blinks away the thought he was trapped in. “Johanna is still feeling bad. I finally talked her into letting me take her to the doctor this morning.”
“The soup didn’t help?” I asked, remembering Olivia saying that she was bringing her famous bone broth concoction that she, too, swears fights illnesses away. Johanna Wiley has me convinced that she is superwoman. Anytime she is sick, she can be found up before dawn, prepping her animals and garden or painting away with a cup of coffee in her free hand. Nothing stands in her way, except whatever is going on with her now.
“Nah, she said it was good but couldn’t even stomach it after a few sips. Nothing keeps her down, so we need to get some answers,” he states, determined. I nod in agreement.
“I can call Luke in,” I add as a smile plays on my lips. Luke is my best friend and just so happens to be a cop .
Earl chuckles and shakes his head. “Now, that would be a sight to see. She’d manage to put up a fight.”
“Eh, Luke can handle her.”
“I’m going to make a quick breakfast. Would you like something to eat?”
I shake my head and point toward the barn. “No thanks. Have you messed with the animals this morning?”
“No, I haven't yet, but you don’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense. I’m here to help. Afterward, I’ll finish up this railing,” I reply and place my hand on the wooden railing, giving it a shake. There are a few places that need a replacement, and then I’ll work on getting it stained. Earl gives me a wave and retreats inside the house.
I say a silent prayer over Johanna as I walk toward the gate where the animals are kept. The wind sweeps against my body, a slight embrace that feels like a hug. The mornings still hold a slight chill as a reminder of the cold months we had to endure. I swing open the gate and am greeted by a bark.
“Hey, ol’ girl!” I reach down and pat Daisy, the Wileys’ Great Pyrenees, on the head. She gives my hand a lick, her white fur sticking to me. She barks with eagerness. Even with her old age, she’s always ready to work in the mornings.
“Alright, alright, give me a second,” I add and grab one of the wicker baskets that hangs inside the opening of the chicken coop. I gather the colorful eggs and am instantly swept away with the memory of meeting Raine for the first time.
I chuckle, remembering the look on her face as she ran smack into me, crushing several eggs all over my sweatshirt. She was horrified. I, however, had never been happier to be covered in egg yolk.
I pull myself out of the memory and return to filling the feed and water containers, and then I leave the coop door open to allow the chickens to roam the farm. I make my way toward the barn and whistle, signaling Daisy to go in before me. I open the gate, and Daisy does her job of herding the sheep into the field.
This farm used to contain so much life—sheep, goats, pigs, chickens, and even a few ducks at one point. Raine would always bring some sort of animal needing a home on the weekends she spent here. A few of those animals I helped her find during my visits. An injured blue jay, a few baby bunnies, and even a baby fawn who seemed to have lost its mother. Our walks through the woods behind the farmhouse were always adventurous.
Now, the Wileys kept twelve sheep, twenty-one hens, one trouble-making goat, and Daisy on the farm. It’s the maximum they can keep up with these days. Even Johanna’s garden and greenhouse has dwindled down to a few basic vegetables, fruits, and herbs along with some of her favorite flowers. The thought brings my heart sorrow, remembering how vibrant and full of life this farm once was when I first saw it fourteen years ago. I help when I can, but even that doesn’t seem like enough some days.
I finish up the chores, grab my tools from the bed of my truck, and get to work on the front porch. After I fix a few of the loose boards, a loud bang echoes through the front screen door along with Earl’s panicked voice quickly behind it. I jump up and rush into the house, through the living room, and find Earl hovering over Johanna’s unconscious body on the kitchen floor.
“Jo honey! Jo?!?” he shouts and looks up at me with pleading eyes. “What do I do? She, uh…she just stood up and fell over.”
I move quickly and position myself over her. I check for a pulse but find nothing. I begin CPR while instructing Earl to call an ambulance. Time seems to move slowly. I am thankful for the CPR course I took when Annabelle was a toddler and focus on my pushes to her chest and air breathed into her mouth. Minutes flow by, and I don’t hear the ambulance, or the sound of stomping footsteps, or feel the hands pulling me away from Johanna.
Earl hops into the back of the ambulance and as Luke rushes down the driveway in his police cruiser, I jump into the passenger seat. We chase the loud sirens all the way to the hospital.