“Selling it?” Mike asked as he led me toward the exit.
“That’s the plan. Nothing there worth saving now, anyway.”
Mike nodded thoughtfully but didn’t comment further. As we stepped outside, the setting sun cast long shadows across the damaged town. For a brief moment, I felt a pang of something like regret. Not for the ranch or for what I’d said to Brooks, but for the life I might have had if things had been different.
I pushed the feeling aside. No use dwelling on might-have-beens. I’d learned that lesson the hard way too. It seemed like my life was nothing but hard lessons.
“Parsonage is just over here,” Mike said, leading me across the church parking lot toward a modest white house with a small porch. “It’s not much, but it’s got a solid roof and running water, which is more than some folks have right now.”
I followed behind him, dragging my feet. The pastor’s house looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, white picket fence and all. It made my skin crawl with its perfection. The tornado had somehow missed it entirely, which seemed unfair given how many other homes had been destroyed.
“You got any stuff you need to bring in?” Mike asked, pausing at the front steps.
I patted my pocket where my wallet sat. “Just me. Everything else is scattered across three counties now.”
Mike’s face fell with genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry, Cash.”
“Save it,” I muttered. “I don’t need your pity.”
If my rudeness bothered him, he didn’t show it. He simply unlocked the front door and gestured for me to enter. “Make yourself at home. Kitchen’s stocked, bathroom’s down the hall, and towels are in the hall closet. Your room is the second door on the right.”
The inside of the house was clean but sparse. Not much in the way of decoration besides a cross on the wall and a few landscape paintings. It smelled like lemon cleaner and fresh coffee.
“You just move in?” I asked, noting the lack of personal touches.
“Little over a week ago,” Mike replied, setting his keys on a small table by the door. “Haven’t even finished unpacking my bags yet.”
I nodded, not really caring about his answer. I just wanted to be alone.
“Spare room’s this way,” he said, leading me down a narrow hallway.
The room was small but clean, with a twin bed, a dresser, and a small closet. A window looked out onto a backyard garden that was just starting to come into bloom as spring came on.
“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Mike lingered in the doorway. “I usually have breakfast around seven, but don’t feel like you need to join me if you’d rather sleep in.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress was firm but comfortable.
Mike seemed to sense my desire to be left alone. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. I need to head back to the church for a bit, anyway. Still a lot of folks who need help.” He paused. “You’re welcome to join us if you want. Extra hands are always appreciated. And Dolly’s cooking food for the volunteers.”
“I’ll pass,” I replied, not looking up. “Long day and all that.”
“Alright then. Make yourself at home. There’s a spare key on the kitchen counter if you need to go out.”
After he left, I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The events of the day crashed down on me all at once. The ranch was destroyed, I’d pretty much burned all my bridges with Brooks, and now I was stuck in the pastor’s spare room like some charity case. My chest felt tight, like an elephant was standing on it.
I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen. No messages, no missed calls. Not that I expected any. The only peoplewho had my number were employers or one-night stands, and neither were the type to check in.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. With a sigh, I hauled myself off the bed and made my way to the kitchen. The fridge was well-stocked with basics. There was milk, eggs, cheese, and vegetables that actually looked fresh. I settled for making a sandwich, not wanting to use up too much of the pastor’s food.
As I ate standing at the counter, I gazed out the window at the darkening sky. Tomorrow I’d need to contact an agent about selling the ranch. There had to be someone willing to buy the land, even with the house destroyed. The sooner I could get out of Sagebrush, the better.
A framed photo on the wall caught my eye. It was of a younger Mike, probably about sixteen, standing with an older couple, all of them smiling broadly. They had the same blue eyes and easy smile. His parents, most likely. They looked like the kind of family that had Sunday dinners together and actually enjoyed each other’s company.
I turned away, an unwelcome pang of jealousy twisting in my gut. What was the point of thinking about that kind of shit? Some people got lucky with their families, and others didn’t. End of story.
After finishing my sandwich, I washed my plate and retreated back to the spare room. I stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. Sleep seemed miles away, my mind too busy replaying the look on Brooks’s face when I’d unloaded on him.
Part of me felt guilty for what I’d said. It wasn’t entirely Brooks’s fault that my father had kicked me out. But another part, the larger, louder part, felt justified. Where had Brooks been all those years? Not once had he reached out, not once had he checked if I was okay.
