Page 6 of Not Until I Found You

An ache settles in my gut. No matter how complicated my relationship is with my dad, hearing the word stroke still has the power to knock the wind out of me. Some days, it’s easy to forget how much has changed between me and him. Others, it can be impossible to ignore. A loud thud echoes through the phone, followed by the creak of hinges.

“Are you outside?” I ask, recognizing the unmistakable sound of a truck door shutting.

“Yeah, I just got off of work.”

“This late?”

“Yup. The summer season means longer hours. And I still need to get home and start on the chores. The homestead won’t take care of itself. Animals need to be fed, and fences still need repaired.”

“And you’re having to do all of that by yourself?”

“Mostly.”

My grip tightens around the phone. Once again, Ashton is having to carry more than his share. While he’s in Covewood, taking care of an entire homestead and our father, I’m standing here surrounded by crystal chandeliers and people arguing about quarterly earnings. It doesn’t seem fair.

“Ash, that’s too much.”

A tired laugh escapes him. “Tell that to Dad. He’s too stubborn to ask for some help.”

I stare out the window toward the city skyline glittering beyond the ballroom. I wish I could be with him to help shoulder some of the burden, but Covewood isn’t my home. Hearing the exhaustion in my brother’s voice makes the distance between us feel a whole lot longer.

“I wish I could help.” The words slip out.

“I know,” Ashton says softly.

I swallow around the sudden ache in my throat. “I know it’s late. Maybe you can finish the chores quickly tonight and get some much-needed rest.”

“I’ll try, but please check in later. Remember to call the landline since there’s no cell service out at Dad’s place. I don’t care if I’m asleep; you can wake me up.”

I won’t be taking the chance of waking him up, but I agree with him anyway. “Okay.”

“Love you, Maxie.”

“Love you too.”

The call ends, and I stare down at the dark screen for a moment, my chest feeling heavier than before. The strain in Ashton’s voice made one thing painfully clear to me. He can’t keep doing this alone. While he’s juggling doctor’s appointments and taking care of livestock, on top of his long work hours, I’m stuck here worrying about seating charts and whether the floral arrangements for my wedding are the right shade of pink. The comparison makes my stomach churn.

Another burst of laughter erupts from the ballroom behind me, followed by the clink of champagne glasses. The sound snaps me back to the present, and I tuck my phone into my clutch, forcing myself to take a steady breath. These kinds of events always set me on edge.

On a good night, I can last an hour. Maybe ninety minutes if the food is good and the crowd isn’t too unbearable. I glance at the large clock on the wall, seeing that it’s been nearly two hours. No wonder I feel like I’m drowning.

I had stepped away for some air, which is why I’m standing in this corner instead of amongst the crowd. I only needed a few stolen minutes away from all the fake conversations, before my face cracked under the strain. And that’s when I saw it.

Tucked behind an overgrown ficus, beneath a dusty window, is a forgotten pothos plant. Its leaves are droopy, with the edges curling yellow and long vines in a tangled mess. It’s not dead, but it’s barely holding on.

Surviving. Not thriving. Just as I’ve felt lately.

I crouch down, the emerald fabric of my gown folding around me in glittering layers, each movement catching the light like dew on leaves. I check the soil with a light touch. It’s dry, as I expected.

“You just need a bit of water, sunlight, and someone to care about you.” I give a defeated shrug, my shoulders falling as I whisper. “I know exactly how you feel.”

It’s silly, but talking to plants has always made more sense to me than talking to humans. Luckily, I still have a glass of water in my hand. I pour the liquid onto the dirt and then reach into my clutch to pull out a small pair of pruning shears I always carry with me, just in case. Some women carry lipstick or perfume. I carry fancy plant scissors.

Snip. Tuck. Twist.

I cut away the dead leaves, one by one, smoothing the healthy ones out a bit. My hands move without thought, clearing away the decay and encouraging life back into my little friend. The tight knot that’s been sitting between my shoulder blades all evening starts to ease.

“There.” I sit back on my heels. “That should help.”