Page 51

Misty stopped abruptly and wiped her eyes daintily. “It is true. Em doesn’t want to visit, and I get it. Dad brought him last week. Did he tell you that?”

“Uh…no.”

“I’m not surprised.” She sob-laughed. “It wasn’t good. Em’s face was red and his eyes were puffy. He must have cried all the way here.”

“Misty…”

“I made him a peanut butter sandwich and cut the crust like Mama always did for us, but I guess he likes the crust now, and I didn’t know it. He didn’t make a fuss. He’s a good boy, but…” Sniff sniff. “I should know these things.”

I inhaled deeply and glanced skyward. “Hey, kids are always changing their minds. ’Member when you asked Dad to paint one wall in your room purple and the other one Pepto Bismol pink ’cause you couldn’t decide which was better?”

“It was fuchsia,” she corrected with a weepy huff.

“It was ugly as fuck.”

Her laughter was more convincing this time. “You have no taste.”

“Maybe not.” I nudged her elbow and continued along the flower-lined path, stopping at the first free bench I spotted. “Hey, Mis, you gotta take it one day at a time. Em’s a great kid, and he loves you. Next time, offer to remake the sandwich or put extra peanut butter on the bits you cut off. Just don’t give up, ya hear?”

“This…isn’t easy.”

“I know, but you’ll get through it.”

I hoped so. I hoped she’d choose sobriety and her child over the demons that had sent her on a wicked freefall for nearly a decade. Misty was practically a stranger to her son. Someone he was forced to visit in strange houses. Not a mother. A year ago, she hadn’t even been someone he could trust. I was glad she at least recognized that yelling at him to just eat the fucking sandwich wouldn’t do any good.

“Yeah.” She dried her tears and leaned on my shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“As his godfather, you’ll take him for me if he needs you, right?”

I froze, then gently pushed her away. “Misty…”

She stared, refusing to meet my gaze. “I’m trying. I am. But…I need to know he’ll be okay.”

I nodded slowly. “He’ll always be taken care of, Mis.”

Misty worked her jaw and pointed at a figure in the distance. “See that girl with the polka dot sweater? Her name’s Lani. Her daughter came by yesterday. She’s thirteen, and she hates her mom. She told her so…right to her face. She didn’t scream or cry, and that was worse. She just looked at Lani and said, ‘I hate you.’ Broke my heart. And all I could think was that’s gonna be me one day.”

“No, it’s not,” I snapped. “You’re not gonna let it happen. You do the work, you put in the time, you⁠—”

“I know. I fucking know. But time moves so fast. Emmett’s seven already, and my God, Mom and Dad are old. Did Dad tell you about his arthritis? He was limping last week. Dad can barely keep up with Em. Who’s gonna look after him when⁠—”

“You.” I put an arm around her. “That’s who. I’m here and he knows he can count on me, but you’re getting better.”

“I am. I will. I just worry.”

Me too.

We sat in silence, lost in our thoughts. I should have been sympathetic, and to a degree, I was, but part of me was so angry with my sister. The girl who’d thought a kid would solve her problems had realized too late that it wasn’t the case. And now…what?

Instead of fighting like mad, she was planning her escape. Same as fucking always. And I was really no better.

The thirty-minute drive back to Clearwater provided a mini reset. Holding on to negative energy wouldn’t do me any good, and it certainly wasn’t fair to dump my bad mood on my parents or Emmett. I took the scenic route through the mountain side where ninety-foot-tall Virginia pines grew on ridges overlooking the expansive valley. The leaves were just beginning to turn gold and orange, and damn, it was beautiful. Prettier than Wood Hollow, I mused.

No. Not true. It was different. Wood Hollow was a little forest, and this was a fucking national park. They couldn’t be compared. One stretched on for miles and had peaks that crested the sky and pierced the clouds; the other was tucked in a quiet corner of a small state with a little lake surrounded by trees.

Wood Hollow’s lore was based on woodpeckers and fur trappers, while my mountain home had rocks that were a billion years old. Billion with a capital B. People had lived here for over nine thousand years and had dealt with more than a few annoying woodpeckers and entrepreneurial invaders. There was important history here that shaped farming and agricultural practices throughout the region and beyond…farther north than Vermont. Wood Hollow was like a teeny ecosystem, or a cute cousin to a fierce and powerful leader.