Chapter 18
Kayla
Castlebrook Town Crier Text Chain
Sue Cruthkins
Popsicles are on sale at the grocery store. Gwendolyn ordered too many boxes and now they are all melting.
About a week or so after the bonfire, the house is quiet—a complete contrast to the night sitting around the fire.
The house isn’t eerie when quiet, it’s not unsettling like the way the old trailer from my childhood creaked and sighed in the night like it was holding its breath.
No, this quiet is warm. Lived-in. The kind of silence that comes after a long day of working hard, where the only sound is the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional gust of wind outside.
I’m curled at the kitchen table in one of Colter’s stiff-backed chairs, cross-legged in sweats and a hoodie, grading reading response journals while sipping reheated coffee.
There’s a pink Post-it stuck to my thigh from one of the kids’ art projects, and I’ve already stabbed myself twice with a rogue staple. Productivity at its finest.
Ben spent the night with his moms, before they dropped him off to sleep here.
Normally, Colt is home in time before Ben gets dropped off, but not tonight.
It’s the first night I’ve been alone with Ben.
I thought it would be weird, but it was oddly routine.
I got him in the shower, made sure he brushed his teeth, and then read him a book, goodnight.
He’s been out like a light since eight, which means it’s been a blissful hour and a half of pure, uninterrupted quiet. It should be peaceful.
But I’m waiting.
I haven’t heard from Colt all day, and while Mandy and Sylvie insist it’s normal for him to lose service, it rubs me the wrong way. Colt isn’t one to leave Ben without a plan. Not unless he has no other choice.
I hear the front door creak open. Boots thud against the shoe shelf. A soft string of muttered curses follows—low, gravelly, and entirely Colter.
Here we go.
I don’t look up. Not yet. I finish scribbling an encouraging note on Emily’s two-sentence journal entry about her weekend before I shove the paper in its proper pile and look at Colt.
He looks like hell.
Dust streaks his shirt. There’s a rip in the thigh of his jeans. His ball cap’s in his hand, and his hair is a chaotic mess of layers and sweat.
He doesn’t look at me. Just grabs a glass from the cupboard, fills it from the tap, and drains half of it in one go.
“Everything okay?” I ask casually, clicking my pen shut.
He shrugs, setting the glass down with a dull thunk. “The fence line collapsed. Lost two of our heifers for a bit. Took Scott and me ‘til damn near dark to get them back.”
He doesn’t sit. He just stands there, bristling like a sandpaper wall.
“You hungry?” I offer. “I made chicken. I put yours in the fridge.”
“I’m good.”
Silence again.
I turn back to my grading, trying to ignore the tension crawling up my spine. But he doesn’t leave the room. Just stands there, half in shadow, arms crossed.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
My head lifts. “Do what?”
“Taking Ben, getting him ready for bed. You’re not a damn babysitter.”
Oh. I set my pen down slowly. “That’s not what I thought I was doing.”
“You’re a guest here, Kayla.” A guest. Not a part of whatever this is. Not on the same level as the ranch hands. Certainly not on the same level as Mandy or Sylvie. I don’t know when I’d even started to think of this place as home. It was only ever meant to be temporary.
The thought stings more than I want it to. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”
He winces, rubs a hand over his stubble. “That’s not what I meant.” He finally meets my eyes. There’s heat there, but it’s not anger. It’s frustration. At me, at himself, at something he doesn’t have words for.
“It’s fine. I’m his teacher. We should have those boundaries.
Next time, I’ll send him back home with Mandy.
I just thought you would want to see him in the morning.
I thought I was helping.” Just like I thought I was helping Fletch all those times I tried to make dinner for him and burned it—before I finally learned how to cook.
“Kayla,” he sighs, like I’m being unreasonable. As if he didn’t just stand there and call me a guest in a place I’ve made a home in.
I push my papers aside and stand. “It’s okay, Colter. I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.” I shuffle all of my marking into a pile, probably mixing marked with unmarked in my haste. I can organize it tomorrow. Colt steps closer, and my hands move faster.
“I should get to bed, I have to go in early tomorrow to get a science experiment set up.” I don’t.
The experiment is already set up, but maybe Colt is right.
Maybe I’ve made myself too comfortable here.
It shouldn’t feel natural putting his son to bed, even if I’ve watched the process dozens of times since moving in here over a month ago.
Maybe a little space away will remind me that this isn’t my family.
He looks away. The muscle in his jaw ticks. “I’ve just had a really bad day,” he tells me, suddenly sounding exhausted.
“Okay,” I nod. “I’ll get out of your way then. There’s some popsicles in the freezer, by the way. I gave one to Ben before his shower. I hope that’s okay. Have a good sleep, Colt.”
“Kayla,” he calls after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t want him to see me cry.
I feel absolutely ridiculous, like a chastised child. This feeling of family had snuck up on me so unexpectedly, I hadn’t even realized I’d carved out a space for myself here, without making sure it was okay with everyone else.
How fucking stupid of me.
I go to work early. Early enough that I don’t see Ben or Colt. I pin a note to the fridge, telling them I won’t be home for dinner either. It’s the coward's way out, but sometimes the coward's way is the best way.
I work into the evening, finishing up all my marking and the lesson plans for the rest of the school year. Realistically, there’s not much left to plan. We’re at the end of the road, but it keeps me from going home, back to the ranch, so I do it just because I can.
And then, when I run out of things to do and I see that it’s only half past five, I pull out my phone and dial my brother.
“Kayla! Hold on, let me put you on speaker. I feel like we haven’t talked to you in so long,” Fletch calls into the phone, louder than needed. “Okay, there.”
“Hi, Kayla!” Faith’s sweet voice fills the speakers, and apparently, that’s all I need to finally break.
I try to sniff away the tears, but I’m unsuccessful.
The other end of the line is deadly silent.
I haven’t cried in front of my brother since the day my adoption went through, so I’m sure he’s thinking the worst.
Faith and Fletcher met during his first year of university, and when Fletch had to take me in, she could have run for the hills.
But she didn’t. She took on the role of my big sister without batting an eye, did my hair when Fletch couldn’t, sat through meetings with my teachers when Fletch had to work, and made sure we were both properly fed after I burned all our food.
It was never just Fletch and me. It was Fletch, me, and Faith.
Maybe that’s why hearing her voice now makes me break down. I drop my head into the hand that’s not holding my phone, and let the exhaustion take over.
“Kayla? What’s going on?” The panic is clear as day in Fletcher’s voice, and any other day I’d feel guilty for freaking him out, but not today. Today, I’m too exhausted to muster up anything for anyone but myself. “Come on, Kay. You’re scaring us.”
“I’m fine,” I sniffle through the snot, but the tears keep on coming.
“Sounds like it.” The displeasure in his voice rings through the phone. I can imagine him now, sitting at the kitchen table, having another silent conversation with Faith that I’m not privy to.
“Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just having an off day.”
“Break it down for us, Kayla.” Faith’s gentle voice takes over.
“It’s nothing, really.”
“It’s obviously something, Hun,” she presses, but in the gentle way that only Faith can manage. She leaves no room for argument, but she also makes you feel like you want to share. Maybe that’s why she’s such a good psychiatrist.
“I’m just feeling a little lonely today. I mean, I haven’t really explored Castlebrook, so I haven’t made many friends.” And the ones I thought were slowly inviting me into their fold were just being polite.
“Then come home,” Fletcher all but begs.
I want to remind him that I didn’t really have friends in Chicago either—I was a shy and broken child who never learned how to make friends, and that followed me through the rest of my life.
Sure, I had him and Faith, but I had to let them live their own lives eventually.
They’ve spent the duration of their relationship taking care of me, the third wheel. It’s not fair to them.
“I can’t leave them high and dry, Fletcher.” I mean what I say, but my heart still pangs at the idea of going home.
“Then come for the weekend? We’ll buy you a plane ticket and pick you up from the airport.”
“Fletcher.”
“I’m already booking it. You leave Friday at 9 pm from Billings, will that work?”
“Fletcher.”
“Perfect, I’ll book that now. You’ll be back in Montana in time for school Monday morning.”
“Just accept your fate, Kayla. He’s not changing his mind,” Faith giggles.
“Okay. Fine. Thank you.” It feels like a weight has been lifted, knowing that in a few days' time, I’ll be with people who know me and accept me. In a few days, I’ll be back where I belong, and maybe it will remind me why Montana just isn’t meant for me.
No matter how much I want to convince myself otherwise.