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An older man in an apron with the words “Schist Happens” printed on it waved to us and began talking about the new design. This one had eight diamond wheels, a splash guard, a submersible water pump, and a few pre- and post-polishing options. I wasn’t an expert like Lauryn, but I knew enough to understand that this machine was amazing. It would cut down the time she spent doing all this manual work by hours.

“It’s available on Amazon to preorder for a great deal of just twenty-five hundred bucks,” the man said, beaming.

Lauryn coughed like she choked on something and quickly walked away from the display table.

“You good?” I asked her after we cleared the group.

“Yeah.” She flipped her braids over her shoulder. “I knew it was going to be pricey, but over two grand? Jesus. I’ll never have that kind of money.”

“Sure you will.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “You’re going to make some new pieces, sell them at the Fourth of July Festival and on Marketplace and—”

“That money will barely cover the cost of my supplies, E.”

“Oh.” My stomach dropped.

I chewed the inside of my cheek while trying to think of what I could say to make it better, but everything I thought of made Lauryn sound like a charity case. And she was far from that.

Lauryn could turn any obstacle into something that drove her forward, fueling her fire. Her designs became more unique and creative every year, and I figured it was because she was determined to never let the money side of things take away her joy.

That was kind of how I felt about holding on to things that belonged to Grandma. Her Jeep and the ties she had to the Lyric reminded me that it wasn’t about how much something costs. What mattered was how much love and care you put into it.

“Well, you’ve been doing amazing work without that stupidly expensive machine,” I finally said. “But if you really want it, I’ll help you find more vendor shows and places to sell everything.”

She beamed. “Thanks, E.”

My best friend looked taller in that moment, her face brighter, and I couldn’t help but be in awe of her optimism and hope.

“I think you’re amazing, you know that?” I looped my arm through hers.

“I do.” She pulled me closer. “But you can still tell me so as often as you like.”

I smiled. “Deal.”

Chapter Sixteen

Reed

“Baseball is also a game of balance.”

—Stephen King, Blockade Billy

Bees buzzed around Nana’s big hydrangea bush near the barn door. Mickey lay a few feet away with his paws propped on either side of a bone he busily chewed. I used Granddad’s mortises to attach another seat support underneath Dad’s rocking chair. After making sure each mortise fit the support, I grabbed a rag and wiped my forehead. The glue would have to set for the day.

I took a seat in one of the tractors outside of the barn and watched the sky turn from deep purple to pink to burnt orange as the sun rose over the tall corn. Amelia Earhart, Nana’s dominant and confused hen, gave her usual gargled-sounding crow, stirring the rest of the chickens in the coop. Granddad was already up and had taken the Gator to the South Five this morning. When I came outside about an hour ago, Nana was busy fixing coffee and making biscuits in the kitchen. The guest bedroom where Ben used to sleep, however, still stayed dark and still. No sound came through his open window.

He didn’t speak to me on the drive home after Cattail Creek, and he all but rolled out of the truck the moment I pulled into the driveway. Brett’s host family called Nana and let them know Ben would be staying with them. I hadn’t heard anything about him since.

“Shit,” I mumbled under my breath. This was all my fault.

The guy practically picked me up off the ground time and time again after Dad’s deployments, dropped everything, including an opportunity to play in the showcase again, to follow me to my grandparents’ this summer, and this was how I repaid him?

What the fuck had gotten into me?

Way to go, Reed. You not only lost your best friend but you possibly also lost the championship and the farm.

“Reed? Can you grab the eggs from the coop for me?” Nana called from the open kitchen window.

I hopped off the tractor. “You got it.”