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“Hi, Dennis,” I said.
“I haven’t seen you in so long!” he cried. “Are you back in town?” he asked. “Because you’re a sight for sore eyes. Still just as pretty as a picture.”
I sidestepped his hug, pretending like I had to juggle the groceries in my arms, reaching out to grab a bag of potatoes. This store always had shitty selection. I’d have to make the trip 45 minutes into a bigger town to make some decent meals.
“I’m here to fix up my grandpa’s old place,” I said. “Maybe do some baking.”
His eyes brightened. “Maybe you could sell stuff here,” he said. “People are always complaining I don’t have anything fresh.”
The same complaint your father had for decades when he ran this store, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“That would be great,” I said instead. “Once we get settled.”
“Do you want to meet up for coffee sometime?” he asked eagerly. “The diner still has coffee. Barely.”
I opened my mouth to say that that was an epically, catastrophically bad idea, when I heard the door open behind me and Dennis’ face dropped like a souffle.
“Your brother is with you?” he hissed in an undertone, scuttling hastily away from me.
I turned to see Torin enter the store, broad shoulders blocking out the sunlight, big shitkicker boots, huge quadruple-murdering asshole, his eyes locked on me, a frown line between his eyebrows. And my traitorous cunt gave a little throb, that insistent pull that always tied me to my brother.
“Is something wrong here?” he asked harshly.
“No, just trying to find something good,” I returned. “Dennis suggested I could sell my baked goods here if I want.”
Dennis had already scuttled back behind the counter, his eyes warily on Torin.
“I thought you were in jail,” he said.
“I got out,” said Torin, coming up beside me and taking all the groceries from my arms, his other hand skimming down my thin T-shirt, fingers brushing my bare skin in a way that made me shiver.
I grabbed anything that looked remotely edible, and we piled it on the counter.
Dennis rang us up and my brother grabbed both bags in his arms.
“What a good idea you had to put your baking here, Lele,” he said.
I bit my lip. Not only was it pointless trying to talk my brother out of thinking I was extremely clever, but Dennis was shaking his head vigorously at me in the background, not wanting me to mention him.
“After we get more settled,” I said.
“Whatever you want, Lele,” he replied, boosting me up into the truck and we took off down the road for my grandfather’s cabin. It was even further out of town, down long, winding roads, dark with the tangled trees that grew overhead.
“There it is,” I cried, pointing at the big, jagged rock that was the sign to turn to the left, and my brother pulled into the driveway.
The tiny, dark-wood cabin looked so familiar that my stomach gave a flip. Grandpa had been a mean SOB, but he had been negligent with us, and we had been allowed to roam all around the fields and woods when we visited. All the memories came back to me. Shucking the sweet corn in the fall, roaming the woods in the winter, our feet making soft sounds as we walked through the thick snow, the spring flowers I wound into a crown, and the sticky summer heat when I dipped my toes into the creek and Torin picked blackberries for me because I was too tired and hot to move.
We got out and walked toward the cabin, and I craned my neck to see the mountain loom over us, heavy woods pressed in close to the house. I had had awful visions of the cabin falling down around our ears, but when Torin removed the key from where it still hung beside the front door, it was better than I had feared. Everything looked structurally sound, if run-down and poorly maintained. The house still needed a lot of work, of course, and the porch was sagging, barely walkable, but this was all doable.
“We’ll get the power and lights turned on tomorrow,” Torin said. “We’ll have to sleep in the back of the truck again tonight.”
I stretched my sore legs and arms, leaning back against the truck door, and Torin came up in front of me, his big legs on either side of mine.
“We’re home, Lele,” he said, and I was surprised at the rush of truth.
It felt like home, the cornfield wild and untamed, this year’s crop dried out on the stalk. But next year’s crop wouldn’t be. The dense woods stretched out far into the distance. My grandpa had owned acres and acres of woods.
And now, so did we.
