SIX. #2
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” I murmur. I look down at the worn linoleum between my feet and shift my toes back and forth, watching the light catch on the scuffed toes of my boots.
“Would it be easier to leave if Mr. Macho Man wasn’t so… macho and manly?” she asks, a teasing lilt creeping back into her voice.
I laugh out loud, but the sound fades fast when I actually think about it.
Maybe she’s not entirely wrong. Maybe part of why I’m still standing here, still fighting to keep this place, has something to do with the way Tobias fills up every space he walks into.
The way his presence pulls at me even when I want to shove him away.
“Ever,” she says, voice dropping into that warning tone she saves for when she thinks I’m about to do something reckless. “Please tell me you’re not staying there because of the asshole sculpted by the gods.”
“I’m not—”
“Ever!”
“I’m not! I promise, it’s just…” I trail off, searching for the right words and coming up empty.
She throws her hands up, staring at me through the screen like she already knows exactly where my mind has gone.
“You know I told you about that boy who said we should run away together. I’ve never stopped thinking about it.
I still feel like there was something there. ”
“You were twelve,” she reminds me, not unkindly. “And he was fourteen. He was trying to kidnap you.”
“He was not.” I shake my head, the memory rushing back so clearly I can almost smell the cut grass and feel the summer heat on my skin. “I could see it in his eyes—he meant it. Like he wanted to protect me, shield me from all the bullshit my mom was putting me through. He wasn’t joking.”
“You didn’t even know him.”
“Then why do I still think about him?” The question comes out rushed, almost desperate, and for once Marissa doesn’t have a quick comeback. She just stares at me, mouth slightly open, like she’s trying to find the words to argue. “I feel like there was something.”
“So you think that was Tobias?” she asks slowly. “Or are you trying to make Tobias into that kid?”
My shoulders sag. I don’t know. Every time I look into Tobias’s eyes, something in me tugs—some deep, buried recognition that feels too big to ignore.
But if it really was him, wouldn’t he have said something by now?
Wouldn’t he have smiled, or at least softened, instead of treating me like an intruder he wants gone?
“Ever,” she says, voice firm. “I love you. And I know you’ve been holding onto that story your whole life because it was the first time—outside of Aunt Linda and Uncle Ray—that someone gave a damn about you.
But you have to try not to project that onto the people on this ranch if it’s not there, okay?
People change. Even if Tobias is T.J., he’s an asshole now.
And if it’s not, you don’t know who this guy is. He could be in jail, for all you know.”
I hear what she’s saying, and I understand the logic.
But it’s not that easy. That summer memory has lived inside me for so long it’s practically part of my heartbeat.
Letting go of the possibility that Tobias might be him feels like letting go of something I didn’t even realize I was still carrying.
“If Tobias is a jerk, he’s a jerk,” she continues, gentler now. “Let him be one. If he does his job well, great. But don’t make him into something he’s not just because of your childhood fantasy.”
“But what if it is him?”
“What if it’s not?” she counters, and I close my eyes against the headache blooming behind them. “Isn’t his name in the files? Wouldn’t you be able to see the initial of his middle name? It should start with a J, right?”
“It’s not in there,” I say, shaking my head. “I already looked.”
“His employee file doesn’t have his middle name?” She sounds skeptical.
“He started working there when he was in high school,” I explain. “They paid him under the table. Aunt Linda and Uncle Ray never did formal paperwork with him. No W-4, no background check, nothing official. Just cash and a handshake, probably.”
“For twenty years?”
“I think it’s like fourteen,” I say with a shrug.
“Ever, seriously?” Marissa’s voice rises as she shakes her head slowly on the screen.
“I don’t know, Riss. The lawyer seemed fine with it. The banker didn’t question it. They all know each other out here, so I’m sure it’s fine.” The words come out too fast, almost defensive, and I can hear the edge in my own voice.
“What kind of backwater country did you land in?”
“Don’t talk like that about this place,” I say, sharper than I mean to. The defensiveness surprises me—I didn’t realize I’d already started claiming it. “I do still like it here.”
“Sorry,” she says quickly, softening. “It’s just… unusual.”
It is. I know it is. Nothing about this move has gone the way I pictured when I packed up and drove south. I expected quiet, sure, but not this kind of tangled, small-town machinery where paperwork is more handshake than signature and everyone seems to operate on a different set of rules.
“Are you safe there, though?” she asks, concern threading back into her tone. “Out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing toward the hallway where Uncle Ray’s old shotgun leans against the wall. “I found my uncle’s shotgun.”
“And it still works? Do you know how to use it?”
“I’m sure it works. I looked up a YouTube video.”
“You’re putting your safety in the hands of a YouTube instructor?” She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, so I give her a hard glare. “Okay, okay. I trust you. I just don’t want to get a call one day that something happened out there.”
“I don’t think anything’s going to happen. It’s pretty quiet living here.” Then I remember the cabin next door. “And I guess there’s a neighbor. It looks like someone redid the cabin I used to hide in. There’s someone living there now.”
“Have you met them yet?”
“No. I’ll probably wait a little while before introducing myself. I don’t want to come off like I’m intruding.” The real reason sits heavier: I’m afraid they’ll look at me the way Tobias does—like I don’t belong here, like I’m a temporary nuisance who’ll eventually leave.
“Okay,” she says, “but definitely let me know when you’re headed over there. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” I echo, and she pushes her face closer to the camera, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to read my thoughts through the screen.
“Ever. I’m going to say this because I love you.” She pauses, waiting until I meet her gaze. “If you don’t hook up with this dreamy cowboy you’ve spent an hour ranting about, I will come out there and expose all your secrets to figure out if he’s T.J. or not.”
I laugh out loud, and the sound loosens something tight in my chest. “When you come here and meet him, you’ll understand exactly why I am the way I am right now. I promise.”
She smiles wide. “Then I can’t wait to come see you.”
“Talk soon?” I ask.
“Yes, definitely.” She leans forward toward the phone. “And please, pretty please, try to get a picture of Tobias. I’m dying to see what you think the most handsome man in the world looks like.”
“I’ll try,” I say, “but don’t hold your breath.”
She chuckles, then blows me an exaggerated kiss, so I blow one back. “I love you, Riss. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Love you too, my little cowgirl.” I laugh one last time as the video clicks off, and then I’m alone again.
The kitchen falls silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirp of crickets outside the window. I stare at the dark screen, half hoping someone else will appear and fill the quiet, but no one does.
So I pick up the phone, open YouTube, and type in “opera.” I don’t care what it is or who’s singing.
As long as it’s better than Marissa’s gloriously terrible rendition, I’ll take it.
Anything to drown out the silence and remind myself that there are still people who know me, even if they’re hundreds of miles away.