Page 7 of Pick Me This Time

“Yeah, I know. I haven’t slept.”

“Or you’ve just been working too hard,” he suggested knowingly, glancing at me over his shoulder as he led me to his nifty little machine.

I laughed when I saw it. “You know, I was expecting swill, but I used to have this exact same one until last year.”

“You did?” He grinned. “Great minds, I guess. You upgraded?”

I shrugged. “I was in the mood for something new.”

He chuckled. “Some things never change.”

Hitting a few buttons, he fixed our coffees and I accepted mine gratefully, wishing I could add a splash of whiskey but also knowing that I needed to stay up long enough to drive myself to the farm. I made my way over to the car parts on his floor and arched an eyebrow at the chaos.

“What is all this?”

He winced. “Yeah. Sorry. I was going to tidy up before you came, but I got caught up. I was combing through these to see if I could help a client out faster.”

“How many weeks ago?” I asked.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Two.”

I laughed. “I guess you haven’t changed much either. You never did let anything or anyone rush you.”

“Perfection takes time,” he said, winking as he made his way to his chair behind his desk. “Where are you staying while you’re here? I live in a house out back. Got a spare room if you need it.”

“Thanks, man, but I’m heading up to the farm. If the old man kicks me out at some point, I might take you up on it, though.”

“No problem. Just thought I’d offer. How’s life treating ya? You really do look beat. I’m not just busting your balls.” He skimmed his eyes across my face again, knowing me well enough even after all these years to know that this was about more than just not getting any sleep last night.

I shrugged. Opening up hadn’t been part of my DNA for at least ten years. Not since I left here actually. Even before then, I’d played things pretty close to the chest. Eric had been one of the few people who had really known me then, but that had been a long time ago.

“It’s alright, man,” I said, answering but also deflecting. “It hasn’t been exactly what I thought it would be, but I guess that’s just growing up. How about you?”

He chuckled. “About the same. Good, but not exactly the life I imagined. How’s work?”

“It’s fine. Nothing but self-centered ruthless assholes around me, so at least nothing has changed on that front.” I chuckled and shrugged.

Eric laughed. “The way I remember it, you were the self-centered, ruthless asshole. The rest of us were simply following in your footsteps.”

I scoffed. “I think your age has affected your memory.”

“Yeah? What does that say about you then? You’re three months older than I am.”

“Sure, but age has brought me wisdom.” I tapped my temple. “I’ve been keeping this in tip-top shape. You, on the other hand, may have inhaled too many fumes in here.”

He chuckled. “Maybe, but at least I don’t sit behind a desk all day. I’ve heard sitting is the new smoking. Besides, isn’t the air in Manhattan ninety percent fumes and ten percent oxygen?”

As we bantered back and forth, the familiarity of speaking to Eric was weirdly comforting. It’d been years since we’d last talked before he’d reached out about the reunion, and yet somehow, it was like our friendship had remained unchanged.

When our coffee was done though, he had to get back to work and I was about to drop, so he showed me to the truck he’d gotten ready for me to use and we said our goodbyes. The drive up to Northfield Farm brought back the melancholy I’d been feeling recently, but when I finally arrived, I was shocked to the see the state the place was in.

The main house rose up between overgrown hedges, and the branches that used to form a neat canopy over the driveway were broken and jagged edged. Old leaves crunched under my feet when I climbed out, blinking hard at the patches of paint peeling off the exterior walls of the house and the crooked gutters.

This was where I’d grown up, the old, sprawling double-story farmhouse my castle and the land my kingdom. Mom used to have potted flowers on the porch, but only the broken pots remained now. There wasn’t a pop of color in sight.

The white paint that wasn’t peeling was dirty, splashed with mud at the bottom and spots of dirt clinging to the window frames above. Our roof was tiled, but I could barely see it for the dry, old leaves covering it like a carpet.

Pain seared through me as I stared. Mom would’ve hated seeing what had become of her beloved home. I hated it myself, unable to believe my dad had let it fall to pieces like this.

Northfield Farm was an institution in this town.

We provided the people with eggs and pumpkins and sometimes flowers in the spring. In the fall, the whole farm became the local pumpkin patch and people came from all over to visit it. It was the best in three counties. Mom also used to run our family bakery at the lower edge of the property and she’d put on the fall festival every year.

I’d had no idea this was how much it had deteriorated since her death. Shaking my head, I hoisted my luggage and made my way up the cracked steps to the front porch, knocking and waiting for a response but not getting one.

Eventually, I tried the door and it swung open, immediately reminding me that my mother was no longer here. She always used to be baking, and the scent of her treats would pour out of the house as soon as the door opened.

Now, however, it was just dusty and dark inside, the lights all off and everything quiet. I dropped my bags at the door, figuring I’d go find my dad before I settled into my bedroom. Thankfully, I knew exactly where the old man would be and that was where I found him—the pumpkin patch out back.

I’d told him I was coming today, but obviously, he’d had better things to do than welcoming home his only child. I watched him for a moment, wearing his worn-out jeans and a plaid shirt, bent over his precious pumpkins with a threadbare ballcap on his head. Disappointment combined with simmering rage inside me.

At the last moment before I called out to him, I changed my mind. I went for a drive around the property to check things out instead. Clearly, the old man had given up on his family’s land, his child, and everything else he’d once held dear.

I’d been expecting a fight at some point after I got here, but I hadn’t been expecting this. Indifference. Brokenness. Disrepair.

It made me wonder how bad things had really gotten, and as I climbed back into Eric’s truck, I was hellbent on finding out.