He pats my knee, which causes me to jerk. The touch is affectionate—something I’m not used to from my father. Pops seems to notice as he removes his hand quickly and gives me an apologetic smile. “I’d like to take you tomorrow, if that’d be okay with you.”
I ponder for a moment, and since I have nothing better to do in a small town I know nothing about, I agree.
“Alright. I have to swing by my buddy Earl’s house in the morning and get some of my gear I lent to him. He has a granddaughter about your age. I have a feeling you and she could become good friends.”
I shrug my shoulders, not willing to tell him that I don’t want new friends, and keep my eyes on the lake in front of us. He makes an approving sound, pushes himself up, and begins walking back toward the cabins. He says over his shoulder, “I’m glad to have you all here.”
Chapter Three
Now
Ryland
My anxiety always spikes as I step foot onto the cemetery grounds. It feels like a shallow place for the living to be. Each puff of breath that escapes my dry lips seems to be inhaled by death as it lurks in the shadows, watching closely and waiting for my clock to finally stop ticking. I’m being dramatic, but it has always felt like this for me.
The rows of withering tombstones have witnessed the tears of many pained souls, mine included. I try to visit my grandparents’ graves at least once a week. Some days, I weep because I miss them so much. Some days, I sob thinking of life without them. And other days, I shed happy tears over stories that I share with them of my daughter, Annabelle.
My grandmother passed away before Annabelle was born. I wish they could have met and wonder often what type of bond they would have created together. She was blessed to have my Pops around for her first five years of life. He completely spoiled her, snuck her candy when I asked him not to, and from day one was smitten with her. We all are.
Life without them has been a lot harder than I could’ve ever imagined. I often wonder what kind of man I would have become if I hadn't spent so many years being angry with my father and had more of a childhood that included my grandparents.
I know that God always has a plan for everything, and I’m thankful that he brought my little brother, my mother, and me to Covewood, Kentucky, where we were blessed to spend some amazing years with Nan and Pops. I smile at the memory and look toward Pops’ grave.
“I’ve said this before, Pops, but I was such a little punk when I showed up on your doorstep all those years ago.” I close my eyes and can see the smile on his face, the twinkle in his light-brown eyes, and feel a ghost of a pat on my shoulder with his callused hands. “Thank God I had you to help shape me into a better man. I don’t think I ever told you that enough.”
Pops and I had our fair share of arguments, but he always showed me patience. He loved Zane and me in a way we never experienced before. It wasn’t long before I started to look forward to our bi-weekly fishing trips so we could have more time to bond. He was the greatest man I have ever known.
I check my watch and see that I’m a few minutes late and give my grandparents’ tombstone a pat goodbye before making my way over to the truck that I inherited from my Pops. The dark-orange Ford truck with its white pinstripping brings my heart joy. She’s got some life left in her as I turn the key, and she roars, still as loud as the first time I sat in her.
I drive through town and feel a sense of contentment as I pass the small place in Kentucky that quickly became my home. I watch as the small businesses turn into rolling green farmlands through my windshield as I make my way toward the Wiley Farm. As I turn right, the road becomes gravel, leading through a large green gate that’s always open.
Up ahead, I watch as the old farmhouse comes into view. Itsonce pearly white exterior has turned into a dusty yellow over the years, but I’m here to change that. The two-story home was built in the late ‘40s and is still standing firm. My favorite part of the home is the front porch, which also needs some work done to it, but when I’m finished, it will look brand new.
The Wiley Farm became my second home during my teenage years. After Earl’s granddaughter, Raine, and I became close friends, we were inseparable. On the weekends, I was either visiting her at the farm, or she came to the cabins, and we’d swim in the lake from sun-up until sun-down.
Anytime I’m here, something always reminds me of Raine, which then causes me to miss her. Even after I let her walk away ten years ago, my heart still carries a piece of her with me. It’s cheesy, I know, but the heart does what the heart wants—or however that saying goes.
Back in the fall, Johanna and Earl Wiley made the decision to renovate their house and requested that I personally help them with the process. After Pops passed away almost three years ago, I took over his construction company. We work mostly on renovating the older homes around the county as well as buildings and businesses. We do a little bit of everything, really, and business has been going really well.
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I’ve been working on the old farmhouse, and we have another month or two left until she is completed. I know Johanna has been more than ready for things to be done so she can have her home back to normal—or so she’s expressed a time or two. Although, for the past week, she hasn’t seemed like her normal, chipper self. Mom sent me with a new herbal tea she swears helps knock out any sickness to give to Johanna, and I pray it does the trick for her.
I put the truck in park and make my way toward the house. I see Earl leaning against the porch railing and hum in approval as I sniff the air. The scents of fresh grass, brewed coffee, and the slightest hint of hazelnut touch my nose. It’s a heavenly aroma.
“Is that hazelnut I smell today?”
“Yeah, I think that new fancy coffee maker is rubbing off on me.” Earl shrugs as he reaches down and grabs his mug, taking a sip to finish what’s left.
He hands me a mug, and I nod a thanks. I lift the mug to my lips, the liquid feeling lukewarm as it hits my tongue, reminding me that I’m late. “I’m sorry for running behind. I was visiting my grandparents.”
Earl waves me off. “Oh, that's okay.”
I watch him closely. For as long as I have been working on the renovations, if I was even just a few minutes late, Earl always made a comment. He appreciates punctuality, whereas my Pops was always late to everything. Somehow, they always made it work with their friendship. I secretly think they enjoyed having a reason to pick on one another.
I notice the way Earl’s brows are pulled together in concern, his lips are in a tight line, and his shoulders are tense. Something is bothering him. I take a sip of the semi-warm coffee, allowing the flavor to perk me up for the hard work ahead, and ask, “Everything okay this morning?”
Earl huffs and shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says and blinks away the thought he was trapped in. “Johanna is still feeling bad. I finally talked her into letting me take her to the doctor this morning.”
“The soup didn’t help?” I asked, remembering Olivia saying that she was bringing her famous bone broth concoction that she, too, swears fights illnesses away. Johanna Wiley has me convinced that she is superwoman. Anytime she is sick, she can be found up before dawn, prepping her animals and garden or painting away with a cup of coffee in her free hand. Nothing stands in her way, except whatever is going on with her now.
