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Daryl Hall
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I smiled. For years our families had been slinging insults at each other. Somewhere along the way, aloof Sylvie King had becomefun.
I couldn’t wait to do it again.
THREE
DUKE
Eight MonthsLater
It had been an endless loop of unremarkable days melting into one another.
Wake up. Tend the fields. Check on Dad. Watch the sun sink below the tree line. Some nights I let my brothers talk me into grabbing a beer at the Grudge.
I leave when I realize she’s not there.
As one day folded into another, only subtle differences changed the endless loop of my life. Earlier in the day, while walking the fields, I found an abandoned duckling. His mother was nowhere to be found, and the pathetic little squeaks were kind of cute. Ed was standing guard as I figured out what I was going to do with the thing.
It was early for most, but I woke up before the sun and was settling in with a cup of coffee and Ed at my feet. I needed to check in with my field manager, Cisco.
Migrant workers were common in Michigan, and without them Sullivan Farms wouldn’t have been the operation it was. Cisco acted as a liaison between me and the migrant workers employed at Sullivan Farms. Not all farmers felt the same way, but it was my duty to ensure they were treatedwith the respect and dignity they deserved. I supplied housing and transportation for the workers, along with state-mandated schooling for any children in their families, while they lived and worked on the farm.
It was a relationship I took seriously.
Already June, there was a lot of work to be done before the U-pick season started in a few weeks, and we needed to be sure the fields were prepped and ready to go. We also needed to be sure that, come July, harvest could go on without a hitch—and one of our blueberry pickers had been acting up again.
The crunch of tires on gravel pulled my attention from my phone.
I recognized Wyatt’s car a split second before Three-Legged Ed ran off to circle his car as it meandered down the driveway.
While Ed took off, I didn’t bother to leave my chair. I had already put in a long-ass morning, walking the fields and dealing with the duckling, and I could tell it was gearing up to be an insufferable June afternoon. Enjoying my coffee felt like the only fifteen minutes of solace I got in the day.
That, and getting a message fromher.
My brother exited his car, draping an arm across the open driver’s-side door. “Morning,” he shouted across the yard.
I lifted my mug in salute.
Wyatt shook his head and slammed his door closed as he walked across the yard and up the steps to my porch. He was dressed in slacks and a Midwest Michigan University–branded polo, which meant he was likely on his way to the campus in St. Fowler, where he worked.
I looked him over. “What do you know?”
“Not much. I’ve got a wide receiver camp coming up, so I’m going in to make sure everything’s ready to go. Thought I’d swing by on my way out of town.”
I frowned down into my cup. I loved having my brother back in town, but the years of him being gone and our strained relationship often left me feeling unsure of what to say to him, how to connect.
I tilted my black coffee toward him. “Want a cup?”
“Nah, man, I have to hit the road.” Wyatt grinned and my stomach tightened.He’s up to something.“But I wanted to tell you, we’re going out tonight.”
I didn’t hide my annoyed sigh and eye roll.
Wyatt pointed at me. “I’m serious. You need to get out of that house, off this farm. Live a little bit.”
My deep sigh was laced with a grunt as I slowly released my breath. I didn’t need my little brother telling me how to live my life, but I also hated to admit that he was partially correct.
