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Living on the farm has been an adjustment. I miss the coast, and although I’ve spent many years away from it in the past, I was still closer than I am now. Out here on the farm, I’ve never felt so far from home. I try to write and fulfill the assignments that Adam sends to me, but I’m struggling more than I ever have with writing.
J.R. has postponed touring for a while, as I expected he would. It was hard enough staying behind on the island while he was gone, but I’m not sure I could handle being here on the farm with him away. He spends his time tending the farm with his dad, and he comes in most every night exhausted. I think J.R. misses home, too; but he’s dedicated, and I know that there’s no turning back. Not now, anyway.
Knox is adjusting well. Better than I thought she would, but then I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Her life has always been full of adjustments. Still, I fear therapy is in her future.
Roger isn’t getting any better. With every week that passes, he’s able to do less and less. In fact, most of the farm responsibilities have fallen to J.R. Roger forgets things quickly, and he’s losing his strength. It’s a hard thing to watch someone die. I admire Roger’s spirit, though. He wakes up every morning with a death sentence quite literally in his head, but he never stops smiling. Sometimes, I forget that J.R. has spent the last fifteen years without his parents. Being here feels like something we’ve always known.
Tonight, J.R. looks sad. He’s come home after a long day working on the farm, and I watch him take Knox in his arms and kiss her cheek. He looks at me, a weak smile on his face, and then he kisses me, too. I know that all he wants to do is go to bed, but he doesn’t want to forget us either.
“How are my girls today?” he asks, sitting down at the table, ready to eat dinner.
I’m not much of a cook, but tonight, I managed to make scrambled eggs, fry some bacon, and not burn the toast.
“Just fine,” I tell him. “You look tired.”
“I’m okay,” he says, but I know he’s not being truthful. We’ll talk about it later, I guess.
We sit down to eat, and we’re all quiet. I’m not sure why. Maybe there’s nothing to say. The mood is solemn. Even Knox just pokes at her eggs with a fork.
“Daddy, is there anything I can do to help you and Grandpa with the animals?” Knox asks, looking up from her plate.
I look at Knox, and I realize she’s serious. Her arms are folded across the table, and she looks at J.R. with concerned eyes.
J.R. looks at her tenderly. “You don’t have to do that, Knox. I want you to be a kid. It’s a lot of responsibility.”
He speaks from experience. I don’t think he would ever want to put the things on her that his dad put on him. He’s scared it will break her like it broke him, and Knox is too good to be broken.
“It’s okay. I want to,” she says.
J.R. looks at me. He’s unsure. I shrug. He glances back at Knox. “Okay, then. Well, how do you feel about the chickens? You can feed them and collect their eggs in the morning before school.”
Knox thinks about this. “I have to wake up early.”
“Yep, it’s the farm life,” he says.
“Knox, you don’t have to take care of the chickens,” I tell her. I know that J.R. could use the help, but I’m not sure if I could stand having both sides of my heart drag into the house exhausted every day. Besides, what if she doesn’t get enough sleep, and then her grades begin to drop?
“I want to,” she says. “I’ll take care of the chickens.” Knox smiles, and I see pride in her decision.
“Okay,” J.R. says. “Tomorrow is your first day on the job.”
“I should hurry and eat so that I can get into bed,” Knox says, beginning to shovel eggs into her mouth quicker.
“Not so fast, Knox. You’ll choke,” I say.
J.R. glances at me, and he smiles a tired smile. I think he’s proud of his girl, and maybe he’s proud of me for raising a great kid, too.
“What’s going to happen to this place when Dad goes?” J.R. asks me later.
We’re in bed, J.R.’s head resting just above my belly. He’s waiting to feel the baby kick.
“I don’t know,” I say, and I hope he’s not thinking we should stay any longer than we have to. He promised we wouldn’t.
“I can’t stay here. We can’t stay here.”
I’m instantly relieved. “No. We can’t.”
“It’s just as terrible as I knew it would be. This isn’t me.”
