I feel bad that my little sister is taking care of me like this, but what else am I supposed to do?
I'm terrified that her search for truth will uncover something none of us want to hear—that Savannah is already being honest. All there is to do now is wait and see, I guess. If anyone can find something to save me from this, it's Oakley.
Hope is all I have.
Chapter Thirteen
KENZIE
Boand I aren't talking, I guess.
I have done little to reach out to him, but he’s been similarly silent. It leaves me to wonder if this is how a lifelong friendship and budding relationship dies. Just… fizzling out until the flames become embers and eventually sizzle into nothingness beneath the next rainfall.
Should I be the one to give those embers some fresh kindling, or should I stand my ground and risk everything?
I risk losing everything no matter what I do. Even if I look past all of this, there’s no running from it. I can decide not to care that Bo is going to have a child with another woman, but that doesn’t mean that the child magically disappears. It doesn’t mean Savannah disappears, either. I can find it in myself to forgive Bo—I could probably forgive him for anything, given enough time.
But still, things are going to change.
They already have.
No matter what I decide, I’m only one part of this equation. At the end of the day, Bo’s the type to do what’s expected ofhim. I know better than anyone that David and Hailey aren’t pushovers, and they’ll expect him to take responsibility for his actions.
Ultimately, it’s up to Bo to decide how important I am to him, but I can’t bring myself to believe that he’ll go against everything he’s been raised to believe just because he loves me.Ifhe loves me. We hadn’t exactly gotten around to saying that before all of this came up, but I thought I saw it swimming around in his eyes a few times.
I wish Oakley was still in town, but she can only afford to abandon school to take care of me for so long. We’ve talked on the phone a couple times in the past few weeks, but I just keep telling her that I’m fine. It’s harder to spill my guts and sob all my fear into open air when she’s not here to hold me close and comfort me.
In the past, I’ve always gone to Hailey for advice when my head was this muddled. She’s good at sorting through the overwhelming thoughts and fixing issues one by one, methodical and pragmatic. I’ve always been more prone to drowning as worry after worry piles up and suffocates me. This time, going to Hailey isn’t an option. I have to sort this one out on my own.
It’s closer to avoidance than a real coping mechanism, but I’ve been burying myself in work to hide from it all. I can’t mourn a broken heart if I have a million new projects to spearhead, now can I?
This week’s proposal is something that’s been near and dear to me for a long time, and maybe that’s why it’s been so difficult to put together. I actuallycareabout getting Mrs. Arthur to sign off on this after-school program. I modelled it after my own weekends in high school; all the time I spent on the farm paid off in ways I never expected as an adult. So few people understand how easy it is to grow your own vegetables and herbs, even on an apartment balcony. I know how to pick the freshest fruits fromthe markets, and how to barter my sewing skills for a discount on the Jameson family’s local honey.
This world is leaning closer and closer to the tipping point, and these kids are going to need to know how to keep themselves alive through it. We’re going to need farmers and beekeepers just as much as we need engineers, and only one of those fields generates interest in the younger crowd.
I’ll be a little early to my scheduled meeting with the principal, but a little time to soothe my nerves will do me good. I’ve been frantically rearranging the designs on these flyers and adjusting my pitch for the past several hours since school let out. If I go in there right now, I’ll just word vomit at her, and that won’t get me anywhere.
I purposefully slow my steps walking down the hall, taking a deep breath and listening to the rhythmic click of my shoes against the worn linoleum floors. The steady beat of my own footsteps soothes my nerves, some of the tension in my shoulders draining away. I just need to go in there and give her my pitch, get the ball rolling. Keeping my thoughts away from my own memories—and stopping them from straying to my own issues with Bo—is going to be easy.
I’m aprofessional.
I square my shoulders firmly, turn the corner, and run right smack into David Montgomery’s chest.
He's a sturdy man, thick in the belly from good home cooking, with well muscled arms and rugged hands. He steadies me as I stumble backward, ensuring I don't fall.
“Hoo, there, Miss Kenzie,” he says with a chuckle. “You alright?”
I readjust the pamphlets in my arms and paste on a bright smile.
“David, hi! Sorry, wasn't watching where I was going. Head in the clouds, you know how I am.”
He smiles down at me, warm brown eyes crinkling fondly at the corners as he pats my shoulder.
“You're overworking yourself again, aren't you?” He always used to get on my case when I was still in school, insisting that I cut loose and have fun occasionally. It's nice to know he's still keeping an eye out for me. “We haven't seen you down at the farm in a while now. You best not be avoiding us.”
He winks at me teasingly, and I force a laugh. I feel guilty keeping anything from him, but I don't know what all Bo has explained to his parents. I'm definitely not interested in dropping the news about Savannah myself.
That's Bo’s problem.
