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“Do you want to stop and see how they’re settling in?” I ask.
Finally, she stops fussing with the radio. Her fingers tap against her thigh; she glances in the rear-view mirror, and then there’s a sigh.
“Yeah.”
The gate is open when we reach my family’s farm, so I continue right up the drive. This is the first time I’ve been back to my family’s Landry estate since I came to get my suit for Earl’s funeral. It looks the exact same as always: pristine. This property was my grandfather’s pride and joy. Out of obligation more than anything, my father has made sure it’s kept up to the same standards.
I stop by the stable rather than driving all the way up to the house.
My mother’s Range Rover is parked in the roundabout. I’m surprised to see it. We haven’t spoken since she called me about the money missing from my trust fund, but I wasn’t expecting her to still be in Landry. The Cup—and all the social events that are all my mother cares about—have passed.
Lennon leaps out of the truck as soon as it stops. I smile as she makes a beeline for the barn.
“I’m going to go get a coffee for the road. Want anything?” I call after her.
“No, I’m good,” she says over her shoulder before disappearing inside the main stable.
Landry’s solitary coffee shop is quiet and empty when I arrive. It’s long past the usual morning rush.
I order my coffee from a high school-aged kid who first gapes at me and then peppers me with baseball questions.
What was meant to be a brief stop quickly stretches into fifteen minutes. The arrival of another customer finally ends our conversation.
Halfway to my truck, I run into Tom Stradwell on the sidewalk.
“Hello, Mr. Stradwell,” I greet.
“Caleb! I thought that was you! How are you?”
“I’m good, sir. How are you?”
“Good, good. What brings you to town?”
“Uh, Lennon. I’m helping her move everything to campus.”
A smile forms before I’ve fully finished my response. “I had a feeling,” he tells me. “I can only imagine how proud Earl would be if he were still here with us. That young lady was his moon and his stars.”
“I know,” I reply.
Lennon’s bond with her grandfather is one I was always a bit jealous of. God knows Richard Winters never held me in the same high regard. He considered baseball a waste of time.
“I’m sure she’ll excel at Clarkson. I hope she’ll give theGazettethe time of day after the offers pour in.” Mr. Stradwell smiles.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Lennon is the best research assistant we’ve ever had at the paper. Hell of a writer, too. I offered her a full-time job after graduation.”
“Oh.” I do a poor job of masking my surprise.
Mr. Stradwell peers at me. “Lennon was born here. Raised here.”
“I know.”
“The Winters name runs just as deeply in the Landry archives as the Matthews one does.”
“I know,” I repeat, trying to figure out what the hell he’s trying to tell me.
“I never met a man more loyal than Earl Matthews.” He pauses meaningfully. “Some things skip a generation.”
