“Yeah, well.” I kicked at a loose stone, suddenly fascinated by the gravel. “Seemed like the right time for a change.”
The right time. That's what we call getting dumped and realizing your entire life plan was built on someone else's foundation. Just a change. Not a total life implosion that sends you running to the mountains with your uncle's goats as your new roommates.
“Something special about this place. Gave me forty good years. Figure it's got plenty more to give.”
“No pressure or anything.”
“You'll figure it out. You always do.” He squeezed my shoulder. “And Rosie? I'm proud of you.”
My eyes stung, and I blinked hard against the sudden pressure. I wasn't sure he should be proud. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever, depending on how the next few months went.
But it felt good to hear someone say it. Someone who believed I could actually do this, when most days I wasn't entirely convinced myself.
September. That was the deadline I'd given myself. Four months until the farmers market season ended and reality would catch up. Four months to prove I could turn childhood summers into an actual life. Before I'd have to look at the numbers and admit if this was all a beautiful disaster.
Before I'd have to slink back to Seattle with my tail between my legs if I failed.
Mom had already lined up an assistant job at her office.Just in case, she'd said, like she knew exactly how this would end. Filing. Scheduling. Answering phones and fetching coffee. Nothing creative, nothingmine. A safety net that felt more like a cage.
No. I'm going to make this work. I have to.
Because I'd said yes to this place, to Walt's faith in me, and I wasn't ready to let either of us down.
I finally met Walt's gaze, the corners of my lips tugging up despite everything. “Go meet your girlfriend before I start crying and scare all the animals.”
Walt's smile could've powered the whole valley. “Barbara's expecting me in North Carolina by Friday. Got the whole route mapped out. I'm stopping at the Grand Canyon, Memphis, the Smoky Mountains...”
I snorted. “That's a lot of driving.”
“That's the point.” He winked at me before climbing into the RV. Settling into the driver's seat, he looked as excited as a teenager who'd just gotten his license. “Haven't had an adventure in years. About time I started living a little.”
Through the windshield, I could see the GPS already mounted on the dash, a thermos in the cup holder, and what looked like a new pair of aviator sunglasses hanging from the visor. Walt hadprepared. This wasn't a man having second thoughts.
“Tell Barbara I said hi,” I called up. “And that she's got great taste in farmers.”
“Will do.” He started the engine, and the RV rumbled to life. “Remember, Buddy gets hay twice a day, but watch his portions. He'll act like he's starving, but he's a con artist.”
“Got it. Buddy's a liar.”
“And check the coop latch every night. Snickers knows how to?—”
“Walt.Go.”
He laughed, shifting into gear. “All right, all right. I'm going.”
I stepped back as the RV rolled down the long driveway. Walt honked twice, our old signal from when he'd dropped me at the bus station after summer visits, and then he was turning onto the main road, headed east toward his grand cross-country adventure.
The dust settled.
The RV disappeared around the bend.
And I was alone.
Completely, utterly, spectacularly alone on a farm I barely knew how to run.
The silence felt enormous. No engine rumbling, no Walt calling out instructions, just the rustle of leaves and the distant clucking of hens who were probably plotting their daily rebellion against laying eggs.
I stood there like an idiot, watching the empty road as if Walt might change his mind and come back.
