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I manage an “Okay.”
“What canIdo, Lennon?”
I roll, so I’m half-lying on him. We woke up in a similar position just a few hours ago, but it feels like days have passed. “You’re doing it,” I tell him.
And then…the tears come.
* * *
The next five days pass in a daze of wandering around the farmhouse wearing cut-off jean shorts and a ratty tank top while fielding endless phone calls with the funeral home, church, and cemetery.
Kentucky is experiencing a record heat wave, and the farmhouse only has one wheezing window unit. It’s almost as miserable inside as it is out in the barn.
I watched Gramps do this twice, for each of my parents. But in many—most—ways, he was more a parent to me than either of my actual ones. Their deaths were defined by the mistakes they made while living. Gramps’s is just…sad. The farmhouse is too quiet and empty without his work boots clomping up and down the stairs or his baseball games blaring from the living room.
Caleb has barely left my side since we returned from the lake. He’s worried about me. And he feels guilty. Guilty I wasn’t here. Guilty he wasn’t here. But the coroner confirmed Gramps’s death was quick and painless and there’s nothing anyone could have done, even if he hadn’t been alone.
And as much I wish I’d been here for Gramps’s final moments, I’m equally glad I wasn’t. He knew I loved him, and I know he loved me. I wish he could have been here for more of my life. But there was nothing left unsaid between us. No regrets are haunting me now.
“Can I help?”
I don’t glance up from the old jackets I’m sorting through, just keeping making piles of wool and denim to donate to charity.
“I’m almost finished.”
There’s a pause as Caleb decides how to respond. I’ve spent the past week doing an accurate imitation of a zombie. Barely eating. Hardly sleeping, though that’s partly because of the heat.
I wouldn’t blame Caleb if he left to go stay at his family’s estate. It has air conditioning and a private chef. But every morning he’s asleep on the couch when I come downstairs, since neither of us want to sleep in Gramps’s bedroom. Every meal, he makes food he knows I probably won’t eat more than three bites of.
It’s so tempting to sink. To stop thinking and stop caring and just ignore everything around me. Gramps’s friends keep coming over to help with the barn chores, so I’ve barely had to do anything lately.
Caleb is keeping me afloat. And that scares me, because he’s leaving soon. He should have already left. If I let myself lean on him now, I’ll fall over once he’s gone.
“The horses are all set,” he tells me. “Tim Wilson came over and helped.”
I look up and nod.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Len…”
“I know, Caleb,” I cut him off. “Today, right?”
He sighs. “I pushed it back as far as I could.”
“I know. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I finally glance up at him.
“You could come with me.”
It’s a relief he’s finally saying the words. The strongest string tying me to Landry has been snipped.
I’m no longer tethered to this farm. To this town. But the lack of a link only makes me want to hold on tighter.
I stayed here with the horses I helped Gramps raise and train after my mother died. After my father died. After Caleb left for college. It feels right I remain here after Gramps is gone, too.
“My place off-campus is nice. The guys won’t mind if you stay with us for a while. And if you liked it, we could get our own place.”
Anxiety tightens in my chest. Not at the thought of living with Caleb. That part sounds wonderful. But about leaving Landry. It feels like losing what little I have left.
“I can’t.” I want to shove the words back in my mouth when I watch Caleb’s face fall, but I can’t bring myself to take them back. Or to explain them.
