“Holden.” She stops to face me. “You said she feels responsible for everyone, right?”
I nod, preparing for a lecture.
She folds her arms, watching me the way only a sister can, with equal parts love and exasperation.
“Then be that person for her. You’ve got your work cut out for you while she unlearns that—and believe me—I think you’re the perfect man for the job. But you need to thinkbigon this one.”
Be her home base, Holden. The one she can always find, even when she loses the trail.
“I’m not trying to fix her, Kenna?—”
“I know you’re not. But don’t let her wear herself out before she realizes she’s home. Be her soft spot to land, Holden.”
“I thought you were mad about the pumpkin kolaches.”
“I was,” she says with a lift of her shoulder. “But clearly I need to cut you a little slack.”
I chuckle. “Thanks.”
She chews her lip quietly. McKenna never says things just to say them, so whatever she’s considering holds someweight. Selfishly, I hope she’s not going to try to discourage me from seeing Laila.
“Keep showing up, Holden. She’s lucky to have you. I need to meet her, though. Make sure she’s who you think she is.”
“Kenna, don’t you?—”
“Come on—let’s go get in the house before Mom yells at us.”
Right on cue, Mom’s voice bellows across the land, calling us in to wash our hands. It reminds me of our childhood, when we’d be out in the fields planting crops or pulling corn—covered in dirt head to toe—and we’d race to get back to the house. The loser always had to do extra the next day.
As if she’s walking the same memory road, she glances at me, then gets a head start as she bolts toward the house.
“You’re going to owe me big, loser!”
“Not a chance,” I call, racing after her.
Dirt flies under our boots, laughter fills the air, and for a moment, everything feels exactly right. The sun sinks low, casting the fields in that soft golden light Laila loves so much. For one heartbeat, it’s easy to believe we’ll stay caught in this moment, before the world starts spinning again.
twelve
HOLDEN
“You were quiet at dinner.”
“Just tired, Mom.”
She follows me out to my truck, something she usually only does when she’s got something on her mind. And since she’s never been one tonotspeak her mind, the silence makes me uneasy.
“Are you happy, lásko?”
Mom doesn’t use that endearment often anymore—love—but it still makes me smile. You’re never too old for comfort.
“Yes, Mom. I’m happy. Don’t worry about me.”
She’s where McKenna gets her small stature, so when she glances up at me, she’s got to crane her neck. I surpassed her in height and had to bend to hug her around ten. Her face screams ‘you’re full of it’as she presses a stack of Tupperware into my arms.
“You mightthinkyou’re happy.”
“IknowI’m happy.” The lie tastes a little like cinnamon left too long in the pan—sweet, but bitter around the edges.
