31. Sage #2
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “She looks happy.”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “She always was.”
The corners of his eyes pinch, and I place my hand on his arm. “I should have asked you about putting photos of your family up. I just got excited thinking about it. Do you mind?”
He takes the picture back from me and studies it for a moment. “I think that if she were here, she’d be the first to offer to help you go through these.”
“I would’ve liked that,” I say softly.
He places the snapshot back in the box and puts the lid back on. “Let’s get them downstairs, then.”
Ridiculously, the backs of my eyes sting. It takes a moment before I’ve collected myself enough to help him load small boxes into the plastic tub that River left behind.
Because it feels like he just let me into a whole new part of himself.
And I’m not sure how much more my heart can take before it tumbles.
By the time we get all the boxes downstairs, the dining table has almost disappeared.
Taryn, who promises she’s finished her homework, drops into the chair beside me. “Okay, embarrassing photos of Holden first.”
“Traitor,” her brother mutters from the kitchen doorway.
Quinn looks up from the fridge, where he’s scrounging for leftovers. “What did you find?”
Taryn holds the picture up, and Quinn nearly chokes on his laughter.
Sterling walks in behind him, takes one look at the photo, and says, “Jesus Christ.”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry. I won’t include that one on the wall.”
Holden watches me, the half smile on his lips sending butterflies winging around my stomach.
While Taryn shuffles through the stacks, pulling out one photo after another for us to laugh at, I hunt for those that tell the story of the ranch and sort them into piles across the table.
Family photos, landscapes, weathered old buildings, and livestock.
From faded black-and-white to color, generations of change laid out for us to see.
The men drift in and out of the kitchen as the afternoon passes, sometimes sitting for a few minutes, sometimes just glancing over our shoulders. At one stage, Holden places a cup of coffee in front of me, his hand skimming my back. The brief contact sends awareness flickering through me.
River picks up a picture and snorts. “Oh man. Chance is gonna hate this one.”
“Ooh, what is it?” Taryn leans over the table.
He flips the photo over. Teenage Chance is soaked from head to toe, standing beside a broken water trough while Holden and Quinn are bent over in laughter in the background. Even Holden chuckles at that one.
Harrison joins us later, and once we explain what we’re doing, he dives in enthusiastically. He provides far more context for the older photos than Taryn has been able to offer.
Not long after that, a sepia photo with faded edges catches my eye. A young, dark-haired woman stands in front of a building I don’t recognize, cradling a swaddled baby. She’s beautiful, but the sadness in her eyes tugs at my heart.
By now, I’ve become familiar with the faces of generations of McBrides who’ve lived at Wild Ember, but I don’t recognize her. I turn the photo over, noting the cursive label. Ellie and son. “Huh,” I murmur.
Taryn glances up. “What?”
I hold up the picture. “Do you know who this is?”
She takes the photo from me and studies it before turning it over to read the back. She shakes her head. “Dad, who’s Ellie?”
Harrison takes the picture next, frowning down at it. “I don’t know any Ellies. Could’ve belonged to one of the old ranch hands, I suppose.”
He hands it back to me, and I inspect it again. “Why would it have been packed away with the family photos?”
Before he can respond, the back door creaks, and Holden and Sterling wander in.
Taryn takes the image and waves it over her head. “Either of you know of an Ellie who used to live here?”
Sterling takes it from her, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen her before.”
Holden, who’s looking over his brother’s shoulder, shrugs. “No idea.”
I take the photo back from Sterling, studying the woman one last time before adding it to the pile we’re keeping. I don’t know who Ellie was, but something about her sad eyes makes me reluctant to pack her away again.
I’m in the middle of sorting the remaining photos back into their boxes when my phone buzzes.
Absentmindedly, I pull it from my pocket. The second I see the email notification on the lock screen, I freeze, my breath stalling.
Milan Contemporary Arts Residency Program.
For a second, my brain can’t process the words. Then I tap the screen with a shaky hand, my pulse suddenly hammering in my throat.
Thank you for your submission—
Distinctive body of work—
Strong proposed project—
We are pleased to inform you—
My stomach flips. Oh my god. They’re offering me a place.
I sink into my chair. I’ve barely thought about the residency applications I submitted during my first week here. I hadn’t expected anything to come of it, not really. And then I got… distracted.
With a shake of my head, I reread the email. Then read it again.
Twelve months in Milan. Twelve months photographing alongside some of the world’s best contemporary artists. Gallery exposure. Publications. Industry connections most photographers would die for.
Connections I’d earn all on my own.
This should be a dream come true. The kind of opportunity I’ve wanted since college. Since before Graham.
The air rushes out of my lungs.
I should be ecstatic. I should want to scream the news from the rooftops. Instead, my thoughts go straight to Wild Ember—the ranch, the family.
Holden.
A confusing mix of excitement and something dangerously close to sadness floods through me as I stare at the glowing screen in my hand.
I have three weeks to accept before they offer it to someone else.
A few months ago, this would have been a no-brainer.
Now, I’m not so sure.