Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Maxinne
“Man, that smells good.” Ashton leans over the pot I’m stirring, inhaling the scent of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and basil.
“Someone’s hungry,” I say.
“Oh yeah. This week’s been a rough one.” He gives my shoulder an appreciative pat.
“For you and me both,” I mutter under my breath.
“Well, I’m going to take a quick shower,” he announces before disappearing down the hallway of Dad’s cabin. I bite back a humorous laugh because rough doesn’t even begin to describe how my week has gone. The past few days have been an endless loop of chores and spiraling into loneliness.
Over the weekend, I told myself I’d try new things and shake off the heaviness from everything currently going on in my life.
I felt a glimmer of excitement after hanging out with Zane and Wren, but when the sun came up, so did the weight that had been settling over me like a damp blanket.
Instead of doing some self-discovery, I ended up curled up on the couch, reading one of Ashton’s books or falling asleep while watching trashy reality TV.
I’ve spent the week trying to keep myself busy. By day, I’m tending the garden, scrubbing floors, and tackling whatever daily checklist Ashton leaves for me. It’s easier to exhaust my body during the day than it is sitting alone with my own thoughts at night.
The silence between Dad and me during the day is heavy, and it’s not because of his usual quiet nature. It’s the weight of the years he missed, questions neither of us knows how to ask, and the strange uncertainty of learning how to be father and daughter again after so much time apart.
Still, the dirt caked onto my old sneakers is a badge of honor. I’m at least learning something new while I’m here. I’ve stopped ruining my good shoes, I can now feed the animals without spilling the grain everywhere, and I’ve even managed to cook dinner more than once.
Today might be the first day I’ve actually felt fully competent. The animals didn’t shy away from me. The garden rows look greener and fuller. Even though the moments with Dad are still wrapped in hushed awkwardness, I’m starting to find a strange sort of rhythm to my time here.
I glance through the wide doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Dad’s sunk back in his old lounge chair, a book balanced in his hands, his glasses low on his nose.
“The tomato soup and grilled cheese should be done soon,” I holler, my fingers still wrapped around the wooden spoon.
His dark eyes lift to mine briefly before he gives me a small nod and his gaze slides back to the page.
That’s about as much as I’ve gotten from him all week.
A nod here. A few fractured words there.
I’ve tried to bridge the distance between us with conversations over dinner, working in the garden together, even sitting beside him in comfortable silence, but every attempt seems to meet the same invisible wall.
Part of me wonders if it’ll always be this way.
The other part stubbornly refuses to give up hope.
Fifteen minutes later, I guide the immersion blender through the pot until it’s a thick, velvety soup.
By the time Ashton steps into the dining room, everything is ready.
I ladle the soup into bowls, letting the steam curl upward before scattering fresh basil from the garden on top.
The grilled cheese is stacked high on a platter, the sourdough crusts crisp, golden, and oozing with melted cheddar.
Ashton helps Dad up from his chair and steadies him as they make their way into the dining room.
Dad leans heavily on the back of the chair when he sits, adjusting his grip on the table like he’s reminding his hand how to work.
Ashton drops into the seat across from him and flashes me a tired but grateful smile.
“Mind if we bless the food?” he asks.
“Sure.” I nod and bow my head, though the movement feels unfamiliar.
Growing up, praying before meals was as normal as breathing. Mom used to insist on it, even when Ashton and I complained about our food getting cold. Somewhere along the way, that habit faded.
It’s been a long time since I’ve prayed with anyone, long enough that the gesture feels awkward. It’s not because I don’t believe in God, I do. At least, I think I do. It’s the rest of it I’m not so sure about.
Beside me, Ashton bows his head without hesitation, and the ease of it catches my attention. Since moving to Covewood, Ashton’s faith has strengthened. It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask him about.
When we’re finished, the room settles into a comfortable silence—the only sounds are the scrapes of Dad’s spoon circling through his soup and the low clink of Ashton’s against the bowl as he takes bite after bite, scarfing it down like he hasn’t eaten all day.
The quiet feels less like emptiness and more like something fragile waiting to grow.
A nervous flutter sweeps through my stomach, and I rush to fill the silence before it can settle any deeper.
“So it’s been a rough week?”
Ashton exhales, dragging a piece of grilled cheese through his soup. “Just a lot of deadlines hitting all at once. We’re finishing up that big renovation on Sycamore Street, plus a couple of emergency repair jobs came in. Everyone’s been putting in extra hours.”
“Even Zane?” The question leaves my mouth before I realize how curious I sound.
Ashton smirks faintly. “Especially Zane. He’s been pulling doubles right alongside me. He keeps saying he doesn’t mind, but I can tell he’s running on fumes.”
I glance down at my soup, swirling it with my spoon.
The thought of Zane worn out tugs at me more than I expect.
Maybe it’s because I see the same exhaustion written on Ashton.
The dark crescents under his eyes, the new lines at the corners, the way he chews as if he’s too tired to even taste the food.
My brother carries the weight of two people these days, and I’m glad to be here, even if all I can do is a few farm chores and serve him soup and grilled cheese.
I might even bring a bowl over to Zane later, to return the kindness he’s shown me.
Ashton keeps talking about job schedules, but my mind drifts, until his voice softens. “Hey.”
I look up.
“You okay?” He studies me with that big-brother gaze that always seems to cut through my defenses.
I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Mm.” He doesn’t buy it. He tears his grilled cheese in half and sets one piece back down, eyes trained on me. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
I shrug, spooning at the basil floating in my soup. “I’m fine, Ashton, really.”
“Hey, have you talked to Mom? She’s been blowing up my phone.”
A laugh huffs out of me. “She called me three times this morning, and I’m sure I’ll have some voicemails from her to pop through when I get service on my way to town.
I don’t even have the energy to listen to her tell me about some jobs she thinks I’d enjoy there or how much fun we’re going to have when I move back in before the fall semester starts. ”
“Now you understand why I like not having service out here. She means well, at least.”
“I know.” My voice softens, guilt creeping in. “I just… I didn’t tell her everything at first because I wanted to figure things out for myself. But she’s worried.”
“Yeah, she stays that way,” Ashton murmurs, dunking his sandwich into the soup. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly grateful for Mom and everything she’s done for us. But I think her constant meddling is why I moved out here. I needed a little space to live my own life.”
Before I can reply, a low, gravelly sound rises from the other side of the table.
“How…” Dad pauses, his lips working around the words, “is Sarah?”
Ashton and I both freeze, stunned because Dad hasn’t asked about Mom once since I’ve arrived. Hearing him mention her in his slow, halting voice sends a ripple of shock through the air.
I swallow hard. “She’s okay.” I turn toward him. “All she does is work, it seems, and constantly check in on Ash and me. But she’s good, though.”
His eyes linger on mine for the briefest moment before they drift back to his bowl.
The corners of his mouth pull tight, and he gives a small nod.
Across from me, Ashton clears his throat.
The kitchen falls silent again except for the faint clink of spoons against ceramic.
After a moment, Ashton sets his utensil down and glances at me.
“Thanks for dinner, Maxie. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
“You’re both welcome,” I reply, looking at Dad. He doesn’t look up, but his jaw shifts, a small movement that lets me know he’s heard me.
Ashton’s cabin is quiet, except for the low hum of the fridge and the buzzing of cicadas outside. In need of something to keep my mind busy, I grab a book and decide to read on the porch. When I step outside, book in hand, the bright glow of a fire catches my eye.
And there, silhouetted against the light, is Zane. And there’s that tug again, the one that’s been growing stronger lately. I’ve felt it when he’s made me laugh when I least expected it and during our conversations that somehow leave me feeling lighter than before.
It’s unsettling...and comforting all at once. I hesitate because it’d be easier to stay here and read alone. Yet the thought of another lonely evening presses heavily against my ribs.
I let out a sigh and turn back inside, grabbing the container of leftover soup, deciding to at least give it to him. Sven spots me before Zane does. The golden retriever runs across the grass, his fur gleaming like molten copper in the firelight.
“Hey, boy.” I crouch down to scratch behind his ears. He leans into my touch with a happy whine, his tail thumping against my leg.
When I straighten, Zane turns toward me in his chair. The fire’s glow highlights the edges of his face, softening his lines a bit but not quite hiding the weariness I see there. He isn’t perfect from a technical standpoint, but he still has a rugged handsomeness to him.