6. Move-In & The Town Sees
Move-In & The Town Sees
Bo
The military doesn’t understand the concept of sleeping in.
Even now, with nowhere to be except to walk around the block, I still wake at the crack of dawn, if not before.
I’m as quiet as I can be while I get ready for the day, just in case Pearl is still sleeping or if David is bunking on the couch after last night’s long movie night.
I think they are onto the Harry Potter series now, and a double header makes a long night.
If I knew I could get away with it without Pearl tanning my hide, I’d just leave and come back through the bedroom window on nights like these.
Most of my friends have either moved out of town or are in relationships, so alone is my best company.
After my morning workout, which includes a morning run and a few PT workouts, I showered and got ready for the day, and was headed out for breakfast when I heard Pearl on the phone.
“I know. I tried to tell him, but if you were in his shoes, what would you do?” There was a silence in which I assumed the other person was talking.
“It’s not that. I love that boy as if he were my own, Melodie. He’s been so lost lately, and when I heard what happened to his CO and that he was coming home, I was so happy. I was too afraid to tell him about David. He may have decided not to come home.” There was another silence.
“Really, she wouldn’t mind? I know she’s been renovating the old Anderson home.
” This time, the silence was so long I almost left the room when I heard her hmmm in agreement.
“Ok, if you’re sure it was her idea, I’ll bring it up to him when he gets out of the shower.
Okay, but it’s his decision. He can stay as long as he wants.
Alright. Bye.” I was sure she hung up this time when I heard her put the receiver down.
She had one of the old ones that had a cord that was like eight feet long and hung on the wall.
When I walk into the kitchen, Pearl is making coffee and humming along to Michael Bublé singing, “Haven’t Met You Yet,” when she spots me.
“Hey, how’d you sleep?” She seemed to be forcing casual.
“Good, did you want me to fix the leak under the sink today?” She mentioned it yesterday before David came over.
“Actually, David fixed it before the movie. It was a quick tighten, nothing big.”
“Huh, okay, well I guess I’ll just…” I motioned to the back door.
“Actually, before you disappear, can I ask you a question?” She sat down next to me and placed a plate of eggs, pancakes, and bacon that she was making when I walked in on the table in front of me.
I dug in. I missed her cooking so much. The military wasn’t bad, but in general, you ate now and tasted it later.
Here, I could eat at half speed and still taste it.
“Sure, what’s up?”
"So, Melodie called this morning while you were in the shower," she says, digging into her own plate. Her tone was as casual as anything, like she was commenting on the weather.
I look up from my eggs. "Yeah?"
"Mm-hmm." She pours two mugs, slides one across the table. "She mentioned that Falon suggested that she has a guest house on her property. Needs some utilities like a stove, washer, and dryer, but it's livable."
My heart beats double-time, making my morning run feel like butterflies rather than a workout.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Now, David and I are fine, you know. He really likes you, and it pains me that you feel the need to leave and give us privacy every time he comes over. I mean, how many times are you going to walk around the block?" Pearl continues, stirring cream into her coffee.
Heat crawls up my neck. "I'm not?—"
"Bo." She gives me that look. The one that says she's known me since I was ten and can spot a lie from three counties away. "It's sweet. But unnecessary."
I take a long drink of coffee.
My phone buzzes on the table.
Falon: Hope you don’t mind me texting so early.
I spoke to Mom yesterday, and she mentioned you were staying with Pearl.
I know Pearl and David are dating, and I’ve seen you walking the block.
Now, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I have a good-sized guest house just out back.
It needs a few things, like an oven and a fridge, but you're welcome to it. Let me know, and I'll grab you a key.
I stare at the message, feeling a little exposed.
Pearl watches me over the rim of her mug. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, it’s Falon. She asked me about the guest house.”
"And? You going to answer?"
I should say no. I should tell Falon I'm fine at Pearl's, that I don't want to intrude, that living thirty yards from her is a spectacularly bad idea given the promise I made to Tyler and the fact that I've been half in love with her since I was sixteen.
Instead, I type: That'd be great. Thanks.
Her reply comes fast. Perfect. I'll leave the key under the mat. Move in whenever.
Pearl's smiling when I look up.
"What?"
"Nothing," she says. "Absolutely nothing. Just nice to have you home, is all." She’s smiling behind the rim of her coffee, and I know that smile. She’s up to something.
After breakfast and after David comes over to pick Pearl up for lunch, I decide that there is no time like the present.
I pack my duffel and a few small things and drive out to the Anderson place.
The drive only takes twelve minutes. I know because the Anderson place butts right up against the back of the Williams ranch.
Tyler and I used to help Mrs. Anderson before we enlisted, and everything changed.
I stand in the guest house doorway with my duffel bag and a box of books, trying to figure out how I ended up here. What part of this was in the promise I made to Tyler?
On the other hand, the place has good bones. I’m actually impressed. Two bedrooms, refinished floors, windows that let the afternoon light come through. It’s a little unfinished around the edges, but solid.
Falon was already inside, opening windows to let the April air through.
She's already been in the barn, based on the dirt on her work jeans, and her flannel has the sleeves pushed up and hay on her shoulder. Hazards of ranch life. It’s not if, but when you’ll start wearing the ranch.
Her hair was pulled back in her signature ponytail and already coming loose on one side.
“So, quick tour?” She’s pointing out where the bedrooms and bathrooms are, completely at ease.
"So, here’s the thing.” She looks a little unsure before she shakes it off. “I told Mom and Pearl already, but there’s no stove yet," she says, tapping the empty space where one should be. "Mini fridge barely keeps things cold. Sinks not hooked up right, so you can't really use it."
"Got it."
"Laundry's at the main house. Mudroom off the kitchen." She moves to the loft stairs, gripping the railing. "Loft gets a little warm, so leave a window open, but it’s my favorite spot in the house. The windows,” she said wistfully, “need I say more?" She shrugs and then heads back into the kitchen.
I nod, taking it all in. The space is bigger than my room at Pearl's. More importantly, it's quiet and only a few feet away from Falon, give or take.
Falon turns to face me, tucks that loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not much right now, but it's yours for as long as you want."
She says it so easily. For as long as you want. There's no condition attached, and she means it.
My heart flips.
"I appreciate it. Really."
She waves it off. "Don’t worry about it. Just get settled in, and since there's no stove, I’ll see you for dinner at the main house later." She heads for the door. "I've got to check on the chickens before it gets dark."
"Falon."
She stops, hand on the doorframe.
"Thanks," I say. "For this."
She looks at me, and something passes between us. There’s been eighteen months of silence, and there is still something underneath it that was there long before that.
"You would have done it for me," she says quietly. "That's what family does."
I'm still unpacking when I hear it.
A sound that can only be described as utter chaos. Squawking, a sharp bark, and what I'm fairly certain was a braying donkey. Does Falon have a donkey?
I set down the stack of books in my hand and step out onto the porch.
The scene in the yard takes a second to fully process.
Falon is in the middle of the chicken run, arms out, attempting to redirect approximately 15 chickens who have decided they want to be somewhere else besides where they should be.
A young blue heeler is sitting three feet away, looking deeply ashamed.
The goat has found a length of rope near the fence post and is working his way through it.
There are two feathers in Falon's hair, and she’s looking way too cute to be in such a mess.
She squares her shoulders and stares down an uncooperative hen.
I jog down the porch steps and step into the chicken run.
"Need a hand?"
She looks up, takes in the situation from my perspective, and starts laughing.
"Atlas got into the run," she says, looking at the poor dog. "Which he does, from time to time. He’s still in training."
"What do you need me to do?"
She points to the far corner. "Block that gap so they stop escaping through it. Don't let Hank near you, or he'll have your shoelaces."
“Hank?” I’m almost afraid to ask. She points to the goat. I nod.
Ten minutes later, the chickens are back in the run, Atlas has slinked off, and feathers are everywhere.
"Maybe I should introduce you to everyone,” Falon says, laughing at the absurdity of what just happened. She points to the goat. “That's Hank, he’ll eat anything in reach, including your backpack pocket."
"Does he approve of anyone?"
"Jury's still out on most people." She watches him for a moment. "He likes Millie. And the mailman, for reasons nobody understands."
Hank holds my gaze for a few more seconds, then turns and walks away. I choose to take that as neutral.