Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Now
Ryland
T he strong aroma of ground coffee beans drifts in the air, soaking into my clothes as I close the front door behind me and make my way toward the front counter. The smell of coffee always brings me a sense of calm, and that is exactly what I need this morning.
The usual gentle murmur of voices can be heard above the stomach-churning sound of the coffee machine as it struggles to produce the hot steaming liquid beloved by the customers, and the soft sounds of Fleetwood Mac flowing from the speakers immediately remind me of Johanna and her love for the band.
If I close my eyes, I can envision her swaying to the beat of the music, a mug of fresh coffee in her left hand, a paintbrush in the right, as she squints at a blank canvas in her art studio. She always said Stevie Nicks helped her to see the art before she was able to paint it.
I look around the coffee shop, taking in the late-‘60s style with the collection of warm earthy colors and antique-style furniture that create an inviting feel. Anyone who steps inside The Groovy Bean feels as if they have stepped into a time machine that serves amazing coffee. It’s become one of my favorite places in Covewood.
In front of me, I recognize August Banks’ long dark-brown hair worn in her usual low ponytail. She catches sight of me and waves. “Hey, Ryland. How are you?”
“As good as I can be,” I reply with a shrug.
She gives me a look that’s a mixture between understanding and pity. She opens her mouth to say something but is cut off by the sound of a bell and Grayson Topkins, the coffee shop owner, letting her know that her order is ready.
“How’s Jessie been? I haven’t seen him around lately.” I take a step toward the counter and wait for Grayson to return to take my order.
“He’s good. He went to stay with my sister, Samaira, last week during spring break. He’s back at the farm today, helping Dad with the goats.” She grabs a drink carrier, and I reach out a helping hand with the four drinks she ordered. She mutters, “Thanks,” as she balances the carrier in her arms.
“Farm work is always a good way of teaching kids responsibility,” I say, and she hums in approval. “We’ll have to get the kids together sometime. Annabelle has been wanting to play with Jessie, and your husband owes me some barbecue.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, about that. I’m pretty sure he mentioned something about you hosting a cookout soon. He must think that it’s your turn. And I’ve been wanting some of your famous smoked brisket.”
I grin and shake my head, knowing that Thomas is trying to get out of having to cook but not minding an excuse to host a gathering. It’s getting warm enough outside that cookout season can begin. “I do have a brisket in the freezer. I’ll check my schedule and see what I can throw together sometime soon.”
“Alright, that sounds like a plan, then. Maybe you could invite Raine Wiley to join us?” She gives me a knowing smile.
Of course the small-town gossip has made its way around. Earl called me late last night to inform me of Raine’s decision to take over the farmhouse renovations for him. I tried to ignore the jolt of excitement I felt at his words. I could hardly sleep last night and felt the tightness of nerves this morning with the anticipation of seeing her at the farm this morning.
“News travels fast around this town.”
“It does.” August nods in agreement. “How has she been?”
I shrug my shoulders for a second time, not sure how to answer her question since I haven’t seen Raine since the funeral. “I’ll find out in a few minutes.”
“Oh,” she replies with a sympathetic smile. “You should grab her a coffee, then. Coffee makes the day a little brighter.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but that would be nice. A peace offering. A let's-have-a-fresh-start coffee—if that’s even a thing. An idea strikes me, and I’m thankful to have a female friend to confide in right now.
“Yeah, okay. Do you think I should get her a muffin too? Maybe a gift card to use while she’s in town?” I’m rambling like an idiot. August’s smile spreads across her tanned skin, and she reaches out with her free hand to point at me.
“I have an idea!”
When I pull up to the farm an hour later, I see Raine’s white car in the driveway. There is a buzz of anticipation building inside my gut as I shut the truck door and do my best to cradle the gift basket in my hands.
August and I ventured to different small shops that line the downtown streets. She had the bright idea to put together a basket of things to show Raine what Covewood has to offer these days and to focus on items that could bring her some comfort during this time of grief. The town has grown a lot over the last ten years, and this basket will be a way to welcome her back, even though it’s only temporary.
I hope this will be a way that I can brighten her day, as I can only imagine how hard it has to be for her to be back at the farm without her grandparents living here. It still breaks my heart, remembering what Earl explained to me the night before about why he didn’t want to stay at the house any longer.
I make my way up the porch steps, and Raine turns to look at me, taking me in with her wide grayish-blue eyes. I do my best to contain my own expression as I refuse to admit the hurricane of emotions that is currently giving me whiplash as I take her in as well.
It’s weird seeing her here again. It was easier to be around her at the hospital, but being here on the farm, where so many of our past memories were created, has my head spinning with a weird sensation of deja vu.
She seems to be feeling the same way with how her light brows pinch together and her eyes dance around my face, searching for an answer to an unspoken question that is hidden within her stare. We stay silent for a long moment, both looking like we want to say something, but neither of us knowing where to go from here.
“Hi,” I finally say to break the deafening silence, taking in just how familiar her eyes are, yet reminding my brain that everything else about her is unfamiliar.
Proceed with caution, my heart warns me.
“Hi,” she repeats back to me suspiciously and looks at the basket in my hands.
I take the few steps between us and set the basket on top of the table she’s sitting at. I hold up a finger before she can say something and jog back to my truck to retrieve the coffees that I picked up before I drove here. I’m thankful I decided to wait so that the coffee would still be hot by the time I arrived.
I make my way back to her, giving her a nervous smile as I place the coffee into her hands and attempt to ignore the way my skin buzzes at the feel of her fingertips grazing my own. I take a step back to give us some space and bring my cup of coffee toward my lips, giving my shaking hands something to do.
“What’s all this?” she asks and sorts through the basket. She pulls out a bar of soap that August helped me pick out from her family’s store, Soap and Hope. Raine brings it to her nose, inhales the scent, humming in approval, and a grin tugs at my lips.
“That’s handmade lavender goat's milk soap from a little shop downtown.” My free hand finds the back of my neck, giving it a quick squeeze to help release some of the tension I feel.
She smiles brightly while she sorts through more of the items in the basket. I know I should give her some space, but I can’t ignore the pull I’m feeling, so I take the seat across from her.
“This basket is from a store called Preloved Finds. It’s a small thrift shop downtown. The jar of honey is from a locally owned apiary. This tea blend is supposed to help support your sleep. And?—”
“All of these things came from small businesses from town?” she questions, something unknown flickering behind her eyes that I really want to ask questions about. Instead, I nod, my smile falling as I see hers do the same.
“Is it too much?” My voice betrays me, giving away my self-consciousness.
“No, it’s not that. I love this so much. It’s just…” She eyes the items again, picking up a handmade mug from Potter’s Art Studio. “How did you know?”
My brow arches in confusion. “Know what?”
She exhales before looking up at me with a skeptical expression, like she doesn’t believe that I didn’t know whatever it is that she is coming to a conclusion about. After examining me for another second, she shakes her thoughts away .
“Back in Rockdale, I recently suggested to my bosses that we should focus on promoting the small businesses that are in the city. It’s a little passion of mine—discovering the family-owned businesses and supporting them when I can. I saw an opportunity to help the community with my work; however, my bosses turned down my idea, wanting to highlight the bigger popular businesses that bring more tourists there instead. It seems like they are more worried about the dollar signs that it would bring to the company.”
I take another sip of my coffee, allowing her words to sink in, and put the pieces together. “So you enjoy supporting small businesses?”
Her expression lights up. “Absolutely! I made it my mission to try to only shop from locally owned businesses in Rockdale. I love being able to know where my money is going and the opportunity to help support a person’s dream instead of a corporate-owned business with hundreds of employees and locations all over the United States.”
I look down at the cup in my hands, reading the logo for The Groovy Bean, understanding where she is coming from. “There are a million Starbucks. However, there is only one The Groovy Bean. I get it. I'd much rather support a friend.”
She looks at me and a bright, dazzling smile crests over her face like a sunrise, and causes my chest to constrict. I never thought I would feel this way again, and yet, somehow, it’s like my heart has been preserved to react this way only for her.
I nudge her cup toward her. “Try it. It beats Starbucks any day. I hope it’s still warm for you.”
The buzz inside my veins grows as her eyes light up after she takes a sip. I feel a satisfied smile take over my face, knowing how amazing Grayson’s coffee is.
“Oh, wow,” she says and looks at the cup in her hands and studies the logo. “Olivia was telling me about this place, and she wasn’t lying about it being the best coffee she’s ever had.”
“It’s groovy, right?”
She chuckles softly. “If Jesus had turned water into coffee, I think this is what it would’ve tasted like.” I share a laugh. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do any of this, but I appreciate it. It’s exactly what I needed,” she says softly before taking another sip from her cup.
“You’re welcome.” I feel the swell of pride fill my chest.
She tips her cup back for a third time, and my eyes betray me as they study the way her black dress pants hug her hips and long legs, the loose strands of her hair framing her face, the small coffee stain on her white silk blouse. I notice that her neck is bare, the rainbow necklace no longer there.
There’s a pause, a moment where our eyes lock on each other, the gray flecks bright and welcoming, but there’s a speck of something I don’t recognize. Maybe it’s because as familiar as Raine might feel, she’s a stranger now.
“Wait, I don’t know how I didn’t put this together.” She sets her cup down and places a hand onto her forehead. “You’re the boy.” She waves her hands in the air as the realization hits.
I’m confused. I point to my chest. “Boy? I thought twenty-nine meant I was a man?”
She faces me, and her eyes travel down my face, to my chest, up my arms, until they land back on my face again. I can see from her expression that she’s agreeing with me and is quick to turn her attention back to the basket in front of her. She exhales in defeat and starts bouncing her knee in nervousness.
“Papaw didn’t tell me it is you that’s helping him. He would refer to ‘the boy’ whenever we talked about it. I feel silly for not even thinking of you as an option. My head has been so…” She stumbles over her words, running a hand through her hair, messing up her perfectly pinned-back style. “I need to make a phone call.”
She stands up, cell phone in hand, and walks swiftly toward the stairs past me. I can see the city version of Raine written in the way she walks confidently. It makes me wonder if the Raine from my past is still in there somewhere .
I turn, watching her hips sway for a moment before asking, “Is it a problem that I’m here?”
She twists around to face me. “No,” she stutters, pink tinting her cheeks, and she shifts on her heels. “I just can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”
“And is it an issue?”
Her lips part, and momentarily, I’m frozen in place, studying their pink shade and every crevice that lines them. I think I’m asking the question more for myself, because it has only been a few minutes and my brain is flustered from being around Raine again. However, I hate the idea of not being around her more.
So much unknown is etched on her face as her mind ponders my question until she finally answers, “No.”
There it is, the slightest twitch around her eye that always gave away her lie. It’s a good thing her grandparents never figured it out when we were teens, because we would have been busted on plenty of occasions when doing something we weren’t supposed to do. But I picked up on it when I was fifteen.
I decide not to call her out on it. Instead, I enjoy the fact that I just witnessed a piece of the old Raine underneath her professional exterior. Maybe pieces of her are still there after all.
She looks down at her phone and then back up at me before exhaling in defeat. Her heels click as she makes her way back up the steps and sits back down at the table across from me. Her eyes return to mine, a silent question behind them.
I need to stop staring at her, so instead, I scan the table, noticing a few notebooks, pens, an appointment book, and a laptop sitting to the side of her. “Working remotely?” I ask.
“Yeah, at least until the renovations are complete. I’ve felt guilty for not being much help to Papaw and Mamaw over the years, and when Papaw explained how he couldn’t be here anymore, I knew I had to help somehow, and before I knew what I was doing, I volunteered to take over the renovations. ”
“Like Katniss,” I proclaim, remembering how much she loved reading The Hunger Games books in high school.
She chuckles, her nose crinkling just like I remember. “Yeah, I volunteered as tribute.” She smiles, a sense of nostalgia hitting me before she takes another sip of her coffee. “Thankfully, my boss is okay with letting me work remotely starting Monday.”
She’s staying.
Relief fills my lungs, helping me to inhale a little deeper. My stupid smile betrays me, and I try to hide it by looking away. I turn my attention toward the barn and see that the chickens are already out and scratching the ground, the sheep are loose in the field, and Daisy is barking and guiding them.
“Are you staying here?” I ask.
“I’ve been at Olivia’s, but I probably need to. It would make doing the chores a lot easier. I just… I haven’t gone inside yet,” she admits, and for a second time her leg bounces nervously.
I wonder if she needs a little encouragement to go inside. The place doesn’t look like the same home, and maybe the changes will bring her some comfort—I hope, anyway. I point behind me toward the house.
“Would you like me to come with you? I can show you some of the changes we’ve made.”
You’d think I asked her to hit a beehive like a pinata with the expression she gives me. She fights through her discomfort and pushes to stand, giving me a nod of approval. I do the same and make my way to the front door. I catch the smell of vanilla drifting off her as she walks inside before me, and I take a deep breath, hoping she doesn’t notice, before following her.
What was once a small hallway leading into the living room is now completely open. Raine inhales quickly, and a shocked expression washes over her face. She places a hand on the walls, which haven’t been painted yet, and walks into the living room.
“It’s been months since I've come to visit. Before the renovations started.” Her words are laced with embarrassment, and I can see a hint of pink forming on her neck. Her eyes are traveling over every change that’s been made. “It doesn’t even look the same.”
The living room and kitchen furniture were covered in protective plastic and carried off to the barn for temporary storage a few weeks ago. The carpet was ripped up recently, revealing hardwood floors underneath that I haven’t had the time to refinish just yet. There was once a wall separating the living room from the kitchen, but that has been removed, revealing one giant living space that allows for more natural light to filter in.
“Ryland,” she whispers, and I can hear the emotion that she’s trying to hide. She coughs, regaining her composure before continuing. “I can’t believe this is the same house. It looks like something Chip and Johanna would design.”
I beam proudly as she walks over to the built-in bookshelves and the shiplap that lines that wall as well as the fireplace. Everything is primed for paint. “It’s beautiful. You’re amazing. Who would've thought that you would take over the family business?”
My smile doesn’t reach my eyes, and I know there’s a trace of sadness in them that she catches onto when she returns her gaze to mine. “Pops did.”
“Yeah, I guess he did, didn’t he? He would be very proud of you.”
The sting of grief is familiar. The fact that it’ll never end is exhausting to comprehend. It may become softer over time, more gentle, but some days feel sharp. Grief lasts as long as love does. Forever .
“Yeah, he was,” I reply.
She walks into the kitchen and places her hands onto the newly installed granite countertops, shaking her head softly as she studies the white farmhouse sink Earl and I installed a few weeks before.
“I wish she could enjoy this.”
I come up behind her and lift my hand to place on her arm but pull away. How does it feel so natural to want to reach out and touch her even after all this time?
Keeping my hands to myself, I stand next to her and follow her gaze toward the small window that sits above the sink. Outside, we can see the white fence that lines the forest area, the sheep are grazing softly, the sun beginning to touch the top of the trees. It’s breathtaking.
“I wish she could too,” I add, feeling the ache in my chest, longing for the ones we’ve lost. “But she’d be thrilled to know that you’re here and able to enjoy it.”
Raine looks at me, her eyes growing larger, taking my words in. “Maybe so,” she whispers before turning and making her way toward the sunroom.
I try to stop her, at least give her a warning, but I’m too late. Raine sucks in a breath as she looks around the untouched room. Originally, Earl and Johanna requested that the only room that we wouldn’t renovate was Raine’s old bedroom. However, since Johanna passed, I can’t bring myself to even think about touching the sunroom.
Raine takes a step inside, the sunrays coming in through the windows casting golden light against her fair skin as she walks over to the easel holding an unfinished painting. It’s a piece that Johanna was working on slowly, before she got sick. Raine’s fingers reach out and trace the swirls of paint that form what I think is the start of an iris flower.
Raine’s fingers are trembling as she brings them to her lips. She bows her head, and a sob escapes. I rush to her, ignoring the warning bells in my brain telling me to give her space and, instead, follow my heart that’s desperate to comfort her. She turns away from the painting and buries her face into my chest. We stand there in the memorial room, clutching each other for support until her crying slows.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, coughing away the emotion lodged in her throat, and pulls away from me.
My body reacts naturally to her as my hand reaches over and wipes the tears away from her cheek. Since I’m already touching her, I place my fingers onto her chin and urge her to look up at me. “You don’t have to be sorry for your grief, Rainbow.”
Her eyes widen at the sound of my old nickname for her. I clear my throat, reminding myself that I need to move away from her. But it’s hard. Even with all of the years separating us, I still find myself feeling as if I’m right back where she and I once were, especially standing here in this home together.
“Come on, want to see your old room?” I add, hoping she’ll take the bait for a distraction, and motion for her to follow me.
We walk up the stairs, through the hallway, past the guest room and bathroom, until she stops in the doorway. “They refused to change my room.”
“Yup, that was their one rule,” I add as I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, watching her closely.
She sits down on her old pink comforter, patting its softness, and studies the posters and collages of photos that line the walls. “I’m glad they didn’t.”
I reach over and point to an old photograph of her and me sitting on the boat dock by my house.
“That was a good day,” I say. Her eyes drift to where I’m pointing, and a small smile pulls against her lips. I move my finger to another photo of Olivia with a chicken sitting on top of her head, a look of terror sculpted onto her face. “And this was when Olivia knew she wasn’t cut out for the farm lifestyle.”
She chuckles and adds, “Especially after the hen pooped in her hair. I never heard her scream so loud in my life.” She points to a photo that’s close to her bed. I study it, seeing that it’s a photo of me standing next to my grandparents’ cabin. I feel like that photo was taken a lifetime ago. Maybe it was. “It’s hard to believe this kid has a kid of his own.”
“Yeah, I can’t grasp it some days either.” I grin and scan her room.
Twice in one day, I feel like I’ve stepped into a time machine. Johanna and Earl kept everything the same in Raine’s old bedroom, from the white dresser to the matching vanity that’s covered with her old notebooks and makeup bags. Her fingers reach over and trace a line of dust that sits on top of its surface before her eyes find mine again.
“Olivia told me everything.”
“Everything?” I ask and take a seat next to her on the bed. It’s a bad idea. I forgot how small this bed is, and I’m sitting so close that I can see the hint of freckles lining the bridge of her nose, and our knees press together. I don’t feel uncomfortable, but it’s hard to not want to reach out and hold her hand like this.
“I guess not everything, but she told me when you became a father. It sounds like Mamaw was pretty smitten with your daughter too, and I know Papaw is too. It’s sweet, knowing there’s a miniature you in the world.”
I smile at her words. “Maybe you can meet her while you’re here.”
She shifts on the bed and reaches down to pull out an old shoebox that I know is full of Polaroid photos. “Yeah, maybe,” she adds, returning her eyes to mine for a brief moment before sorting through the stack of photographs.
I see the ghosts appear in her eyes as she sifts through the memories. I’m reminded of a hazy gray morning, a storm rolling in on the other side of the lake, sinking to my knees as I realized she is gone. I shake my head, willing the memory to fade.
“We could talk about that night…if you want to.”
She nods her head, but I can tell she doesn’t want to—not yet, anyway. There are two reasons why people don’t talk about things: either it doesn’t mean anything to them, or it means everything. And by the way she has been looking at me, I know the past is still everything to her.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I quickly add, and relief washes over her with my words.
We sit in silence for a moment, and I feel the uncomfortable shift in the air between us. I rub the pads of my fingers through my beard and say, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to get started on those floors.”
“Yeah, okay,” she replies, keeping her eyes down on the box of memories in her hands. It’s the lock of hair that keeps slipping from behind her ear, the hue of pink on her cheeks, the weight of her knee that’s been pressed against mine that has my heart warning me that I still care for Raine. I always have. I always will.