I turn and grip the old man’s arms with gentleness. “Ralph, I’m going to help y’all. I swear. I don’t know what it looks like, but I’ll devise a plan. I’m already working on how to let my boss know you’re not interested in selling. I just need something convincing to tell him, something more than your change of heart, if that makes any sense.”
“It does,” he replies. “I’m grateful for your honesty in trying.”
“I’ll continue to do my best. I promise.”
“Well… I have an idea that’s been percolating in my noggin.” He pauses before the words exit his mouth. “You could always marry George.”
Dumbstruck, I step back from him as another rumble of thunder reverberates through the valley. “Pardon me?”
“You and George. You could get married. I’ve seen the way you two have gotten closer this last week. George is totally smitten with you. Y’all are a good match, too, just like me and my Rosie were back in the day. And if you did get married, you’d have direct access to the land deed and legally be a part of any decisions concerning the farm.”
I hold my breath for a beat, my eyes locked on Ralph’s face. Was he serious?
His forced laugh startles me, the lines around his kind eyes crinkling with humor. “I’m just wishful thinkin’. But truth be told, having you for a daughter-in-law would be mighty fine. Even if I was only around for a short amount of time to enjoy you.”
My mind reels; the thought of Ralph dying and me being married to George and living on a farm a foreign concept.
“You’re very sweet to say that.”
Ralph changes the subject and points in the distance. “See that strip of uncultivated land by the fence?”
I follow his finger to the fencerow and nod. “Yes?”
“If you turn right and go straight into that cluster of tall pines, you’ll stumble upon the fort. My guess is he’s in there stewing over something. If he’s not there, keep going, and you’ll run straight into the pond.”
The wind gusts, and Ralph looks up into the moody sky. “Some say heavy storms can be a good time to fish becausethe changing air pressure makes them more active. It’d be just like George to go fishing right about now. He loves to catch bluegill. But I think it’s best for you to wait out the storm on the front porch before you investigate. Wouldn’t want you to ruin your nice boots.”
The last thing on my mind is my footwear.
Chapter Eighteen
George
A series of low rumbling sounds echo through the valley for several seconds. I remain undeterred, scrolling through my phone for answers. I always come to the old fort and treehouse when I’m anxious, the canopy of leafy branches arching over my head, sealing me in like a cocoon.
The roof of the old fort my grandfather and I built as a child had rotted through and collapsed several years ago. Only the four rudimentary walls were left standing, the rough edges of the ancient wooden planks ready to give you a splinter if you weren’t careful. And the treehouse was inaccessible, with only a few broken boards left dangling high in the mighty oak. It’s hard to believe I used to sit way up there, scouting the horizon with the wind blowing through my hair.
With the afternoon summer thunderstorm rolling in, I know I don’t have much time before taking proper cover. The clouds above have turned iron gray and angry. I sit on an old stump in the center of what used to be my imaginary castle and read through my findings.
I quickly learned that Gulfstream Dynamics is a major manufacturer of business jets located in Savannah. Confused, I shake my head when I remember Madison telling me she was from Atlanta, not Savannah.
“In addition to the manufacturing plant, Gulfstream Dynamics has a fifty-acre campus that includes a research and development center and their corporate offices,” I read out loud.
Scratching my chin as the thunder overhead grows louder, I stay focused and squint at the tiny phone screen in front of me. The phrase “land acquisitions” suddenly jumps out at me.
“Gulfstream Dynamics is pleased to announce they are in the negotiation phase with plans for expansion. The development site is located in the growing I-75 South corridor extending into Pike County. This will include a new half-a-million-square-foot service center, paint hanger, and fuel distribution center. The county commissioners approved a rezoning request for four hundred acres on the outskirts of…”
My eyes grow wide as I read those words illuminated on my phone, the last sentence coming out of my mouth in a hot breath. "…on the outskirts of Heartsboro, Georgia.”
A sharp crack followed by a resounding boom startles me. Or maybe the unimaginable words I’ve just read out loud are shocking me back to reality.
All at once, a sizzle of raindrops strike the leaves overhead, the sky opening up with a deluge of precipitation. I angle my head and look up through the branches, the sting of waterimmediately hitting my face as it bounces off the trees toward the ground.
I slowly slip my phone into my back pocket, out of the elements. I’ve read all I need and sit there in a daze, not budging. I want the rain to drench me. To cover me up and hide me.
To drown me.
Rain pools on the rim of my cowboy hat. I tilt my head forward, catching the water in my cupped hands. I watch it sluice through my fingers as the earthy scent of petrichor hits my nostrils, the rain soaking into the dry soil.
