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But I didn’t want the farm right now, not yet. Not until I had a chance to say goodbye.
This time, I couldn’t stop the surge of tears. I couldn’t ease the twist in my chest or the vise of my throat. I couldn’t temper the sting of my nose or the unfurling pain as it filled up my ribs.
Because my grandfather was gone. He was gone, and I was alone again.
I only remembered my parents in wisps and snapshots. In memories I couldn’t be sure were real or pieced together from stories and photos. But I remembered every night Pop had tucked me in, every book he read me. Every scrap of homework he struggled through on my account and every night counting fireflies on the porch. It came to me in a fierce rush, and my pain dug up every loss to use as fuel for my tears.
I couldn’t see for the shimmering curtain, so I closed my eyes. Held my breath, stifling the hitch of my lungs as best I could. Which wasn’t very well.
“It’s going to be okay, Livi,” Jake said, his voice rough as gravel. “If Frank taught me one thing, it was that there is always hope. In the darkest night, at the lowest low, there is always hope.”
A sob broke loose, my hand moving to my lips to stop the rest. And without thought, I slid across the bench and into his side, hanging on to his arm like an anchor.
He stiffened in surprise, leaving his hands on the wheel while he sorted out what to do with me. When I didn’t let go, when my tears soaked his sleeve, he softened, shifting to pull me to his chest, holding me to him with his massive arm and that square hand on my shoulder. And I cried. I shuddered, face buried in his chest, his shirt fisted in my hand. For that one moment, I was stripped to the studs, exposed and frayed after two days of trying to keep it all contained.
Because no one in this world understood like Jake. That fact was as comforting as it was painful.
When I finally caught my breath, I shifted away, swiping at my cheeks and nose.
“I-I’m sorry,” I blubbered, moving back to my side of the bench.
“Don’t ever apologize to me for missing him,” he said.
And when our gazes met, I decided I wouldn’t.
2
If You Don't Mind
OLIVIA
The second Jake turned onto the long dirt driveway of the farm, the vision of home overwhelmed me.
For a breathless moment, I took it in, my cheeks smudged with color and my eyes pricked with tears I’d only just put away. Ancient oaks lined the drive, reaching overhead to thread together, a hundred years of growing just so they could touch branches in a whisper. Rolling hills spread in every direction of the valley beyond, green and lush—every direction but one. In the distance behind me, beyond the sharp cliff face, the Pacific Ocean surged, the salt and brine mingling with the loamy earth, kissing my skin, feathering through my hair.
Beyond the canopy of trees was a slice of the farmhouse, white and crisp, proud and solid.
Two years had changed nothing, and I doubted another twenty would. It was the first view I’d had as a little girl, turning up this drive with my grandfather after my parents died. As we drew closer, the house grew, the trees falling away to reveal the farmhouse in all its glory. The wraparound porch set with rocking chairs and a bench swing that shifted in the breeze. The eaves faced with gingerbread scallops, the porthole window in the attic. The ancient door in need of a new coat of paint. Pop’s truck in its spot at the side of the house, like he was waiting inside to see me.
The second Jake’s hand touched the shifter to park, Kit shot out of the house with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes as she marched straight to me. I’d barely gotten out of the truck before I was wrapped in a hug that smelled like Christmas and felt like I’d been swallowed by a marshmallow.
She rocked me, holding me to her. “Oh, baby. Oh, honey.” Her voice cracked, her arms squeezing tighter. “You’re here. You’re here, and it’s all gonna be okay, I promise. I promise,” she rambled, crying into my hair as I cried into her chest.
It took a minute for us to pull ourselves together, but when we did, she leaned back, hands on my arms so she could get a good look at me.
“So grown up. I barely recognize you. If I’d seen you in passing, I’d swear you were your mother.”
I tried to smile, but everything hurt. “How are you, Kit?”
“Oh, I’m here and whiskey exists. Was your flight all right?”
