Chapter Twelve: Owen

The Sunday dinner with Aspen's family had been a tradition as long as I could remember. It was something I'd been envious of as a young boy. When I was in elementary school, I used to pretend I was invited to the soiree. Sometimes, I'd sneak over to their house and watch from a hiding spot behind their back deck. Other times, I would set up the table at my house for the three of us like they did theirs. We didn't have the fancy plates or utensils like the Easterlys did, but I still tried to wrap the plastic forks in paper towels like we were at a restaurant. Mom would join me sometimes, but mostly it was just me and whatever meal I could come up with.

It was different being on the inside and took all my willpower to not feel any resentment toward the large family. None of my family issues were their fault.

Leaning against their porch railing, I looked out over the expanse of their farm. Unlike the one I grew up on, the Easterlys didn't utilize all their land. A lot of it was sectioned off for other purposes. The main front fields were covered in wheat that swayed in the breeze with each gust. It was picturesque.

"Here you are."

My mind immediately calmed when Aspen stepped up beside me. I'd noticed over and over she had that effect on me. Knowing she had been avoiding me the last few days bothered me more than I told her.

"Everything okay?"

I had to think for a moment and remember I ducked out of dinner to answer a call from my trainer. He was sending someone local to help me work out my shoulder and verify I didn't have a rotator cuff injury. The therapy would be good during my downtime. They also sent me a list of exercises to focus on.

"Yeah. Everything is good."

I winced as I shrugged my shoulder in a circle, and Aspen's large brown eyes narrowed.

"I promise," I added. "My trainer is sending someone out next week to help me exercise it."

"You have a call with your coach next week too, right?"

"Sure do. He'll probably call me back soon. My agent said there are some new sponsorships on the table."

"That's good news," she chirped without a hint of malice. It was strange to hear someone's whole-hearted excitement for something related to my job without a single question related to pay or social media following.

"It is. I can't play the game forever, so it will be nice to add extra funds to the bank."

Aspen's sisters and the ranch hands began trickling out the front door toward their vehicles. I knew a few of the Sunny Brook Farms employees lived on site during this time of year with the harvest happening. Their families went on their own way while the workers strode toward their bunk houses.

My mom wasn't far behind. I picked her up from the bed-and-breakfast and intended on taking her home.

As I said goodbye to the Easterlys and thanked them for dinner, I pressed my lips to Aspen's cheek on the way out, telling her I'd message her later and making her promise she'd reply.

The ride back to the BB where my mom lived—something I still hadn't come to terms with—was awkward. I didn't know what to say, and Mom seemed just as conflicted. She practically jumped from my car when I pulled up to the front of the historic farmhouse.

I contemplated driving back to Sunny Brook Farms and spending the night with Aspen but opted to head to my rental.

Instead of going inside, I ventured to the fenced-in backyard and grabbed my bats from the small deck. I pulled a weight from my bag and slid it into position. Over and over again, I practiced my swing, grimacing with each pull of my shoulder.

I looked over toward the neighbor"s house when one particular swing left me seeing spots and met the eyes of a little boy who couldn't have been more than ten years old. He had stars in his eyes as they shimmered brightly in the dimming daylight.

"Wow. I want to be a ballplayer like you when I grow up," he said, awe filling every word.

"Yeah? Do you play?"

"Yep! I'm a shortstop, just like you. Well, when my coach lets me. He always wants me in the outfield, because I'm the only one who can throw far. But that's okay. Mom said he has to let everyone play all the spots."

"I remember playing like that. It helps you appreciate the role everyone plays in the game."

"My mom said something like that too."

The little boy looked eager as he leaned over the fence. I wondered if he stood on a chair or ladder to get a better view. I hoped it wasn't something dangerous.

Off in the distance, a stern voice hollered, "Roman Elias Spiegel, you better get your feet back on the ground!"

"Oops," the boy chuckled without moving an inch from his perch.

Walking toward the fence, I rested my arms on the top, my bat dangling from one hand.

"Ma'am!" I called out and waited until a frazzled woman with two babies in her arms came out to their porch. "Sorry to bother you. Do you think Roman could practice some swings with me? I can come over there."

"Are you sure, Mr. Ramsey?" she asked as one of the babies tugged at her brown hair. "I don't want him to be an imposition."

"It's no problem. I need to practice, and I heard he has quite the throwing arm."

The woman sighed with a growing smile as she glanced at her son. "That would be great. Thank you. His dad should be home soon. He got called out to an emergency."

"Cop?"

"Firefighter."

"That's some hard work."

She nodded, then looked to her son. "All right, Roman. Please listen to Mr. Ramsey and be on your best behavior."

The young boy dashed over to his mom, wrapping himself around her legs. She looked down at him with so much love I felt like I was imposing on the moment.

"All right, kid. Go grab your bat and a ball."

***

I gave Aspen a pass on dating lessons the next day, since I knew her family was launching the harvest of the corn. The large trucks for transport had been seen all over town. I still didn't know how they maneuvered the vehicles around the ninety-degree turn that gave most people difficulty in normal cars. But the drivers were skilled—that I knew for sure.

I messaged her that night, just to check in, though I wanted nothing more than to see her face. She had quickly become someone I looked forward to seeing.

Me: How did things go today?

Cricket: Good. Tiring. I'm ready for a bath.

Me: Can I come wash your back?

Cricket: deadpan emoji>

Me: I met with Coach Rudicell at the high school today. The kids seemed excited.

Cricket: I bet they were. They look up to you.

There was a long pause in the texts where bubbles would pop up and then disappear. After ten minutes, I finally caved and sent one first.

Me: Can I see you tomorrow?

Cricket: It's my turn to pick up sandwiches for lunch. You can take me, if you want.

Me: Sounds like a plan. Pick you up at 11?

Cricket: Sure. I'm heading to bed. Exhausted.

Me: Night, cricket.

Cricket: Are you ever going to tell me why you gave me that ridiculous nickname?

Me: Maybe one day, but that day isn't today.

Cricket: G'night, Owen.

Now here I was the next morning as I laid in bed, scrolling through our messages one more time, the sun casting the entire bedroom in a yellowish hue. I'd always enjoyed talking with Aspen, even when it was something cruel she was spewing at me. It was the only time I ever saw her with a backbone.

Dinner Sunday night was eye-opening. Though she continued to chime in on conversations, Aspen was usually ignored. I was sure they weren't doing it on purpose, but by the end of dinner, Aspen's face was one of dejection. It wasn't until she asked her father something directly that anyone paid her any mind.

I'd never experienced living in the shadows of anyone. Not only because I was an only child, but I'd always been a leader. My personality surpassed others'. I wasn't being egotistical; it's just how things were.

It also helped me understand why Aspen was so willing to take the role her family assigned her. She was paid so little attention that if things failed, there was a chance they'd barely notice until it was catastrophic.

Tossing my phone aside, I made my way toward the bathroom for a shower. Just as I stepped out of the warm spray, a knock sounded on the front door. Quickly, I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to answer. My mom stood on the other side with a cardboard box in her hands.

"Hey, Mom," I said as she stood across from me, looking as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Hi. Can I come in?"

"Sure." I ushered her inside and gestured for her to take a seat while I changed into some clothes. I hoped she didn't plan on staying long. I wanted to get as much time with Aspen as I could. I also had a stop to make on the way to Sunny Brook Farms.

In the five minutes it took me to change, Mom hadn't moved an inch on the sofa. Her eyes were trained on the images hanging on the opposite wall. Seeing her with her shoulders hunched, I realized how small and frail she truly was. Nothing like the mother I remembered when I was little. Even though she'd been going through her own hell, she still did her best to fight my father off whenever he focused his anger on me.

"Would you like a drink? Water?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you though."

I grabbed myself a glass, because I was purposely prolonging whatever brought my mom here. I surmised it was related to the ongoing drama with the house and my father.

"What's in the box?" I asked as I took the empty seat next to her. My large frame sank into the cushion, nearly causing Mom to slide into me.

"Just a few things from the old house I thought you might want. Trophies, certificates, pictures."

"Cool. Thanks." I grabbed the box and flipped one pane open to explore inside. The first item I grabbed was my trophy from winning the National Championship when I was a senior in high school.

"I've been working with the kid next door, Roman. He's pretty good."

Mom nodded and gnawed on her bottom lip, but she didn't reply.

"I know this isn't the only reason you came by."

"You're right. You've always been very perceptive."

"Well, might as well rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with. That's what you used to tell me."

Mom pushed up from the couch and stood, then walked toward the sliding glass doors leading to the back deck and yard. Her back was to me as she said, "You know, you were born at twenty-eight weeks. The tiniest little thing. I was so worried about you, thinking I'd done something wrong. Every day was a challenge. Every day, I was worried when I visited you that they'd have something heartbreaking to tell me.

"But now, here you are. No one would ever know how much you struggled that first year of life."

I listened intently, even though her story was one I'd heard numerous times. Usually, it accompanied a milestone event, like graduating to the next grade in school.

"That was when everything changed with your father."

My ears perked up. That was not her typical statement made after the flashback. Normally, it was the level of pride she felt for me that followed it.

Mom had my complete attention.

"He wasn't a bad man before. Never raised a hand. Now, I don't want you to believe you were the cause of his anger. It was never you. He was angry at me, because he thought I couldn't give him a healthy son."

Her sniffles echoed around the room.

"I let it go on for so long. Too long. The day he left was the happiest in my life… until I learned how devilish he truly was.

"Your father had a whole other family on the side. A wife, stepchildren, two dogs. The sad part was she knew about us the entire time. She relished the weeks he didn't return to her."

"He… he hit her too? And the kids?"

"She and I never went into the details, but I assume so."

"Do I have siblings?" I choked out the words.

"No. They were hers from a previous relationship."

"Wow," I whispered, leaning my elbows on my knees as I ran my hands through my hair. Talk about an overload of information.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. That's not even the worst of it."

"What?"

How was the man causing all this devastation from the grave? Did he make a deal with the devil?

Unable to process what she told me so far, I stood, chugged my glass of water, and walked back to the kitchen. I needed something stronger. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I cracked it open and gulped it down, then followed it with another. I didn't care it was early in the morning.

"Owen?" Mom questioned as she stood in the opening between the living area and the kitchen. I rested back against the closed fridge, craving the distance.

"Just… get it out, Mom."

"When your father died, I thought it was the best thing that could have ever happened. By the time you left for college, he was never around, so I lived in peace for those few years. Then the first letters and calls started up right before you were drafted by the Coyotes."

The letter and calls she told me about when I first got to Ashfield, the conversation that sent me storming off to the bar that night. Collections, banks, pretty much anyone my father owed money to. All those years he tried to do something with the farm, he'd taken out loans in my mother's name.

She continued, "Now, Jim never gave me access to any of the bank statements. Anytime I asked or questioned where the money was coming and going, he would blow up. It was easier to stay quiet.

"I told you he had two mortgages against the house and some personal loans. But what I didn't get the chance to tell you, because your reaction to only those was bad enough, was he also had two more on the land alone, and he put the farm as collateral on a business loan."

The bottle of beer nearly slipped from my fingers as I stared at my mother in shock.

"He…? That bastard! How much money? Why didn't you use the money I sent you? How much do I need, in order to get us out of this hole?"

"None." My mother smiled sweetly, as if she were in on some secret. Then my entire world exploded as it all hit me like an asteroid.

"It was the Easterlys. They bailed us out, didn't they? I should have fucking known."

"They did, and it was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, Owen. They paid far more than that land was worth, and the house isn't even inhabitable."

Pushing past my mother, I brushed her shoulder harder than I intended in my anger, but she stood there stoically, like the rock she was. The sliding glass door banged against its frame as I made my way outside.

I didn't care that the worn wood of the deck might leave splinters in my bare feet or that the morning sun was blazing down on me. I'd sat through worse.

Lifting the bottle to my lips, I stewed over the knowledge that Aspen knew about my family farm all along and said nothing. She'd had so much time to tell me. I'd been home for less than two weeks, but we'd spent a lot of that time together.

Less than two weeks, and everything had changed.

A friend would have told me. A true friend wouldn't have kept the secret this long.

"I told Aspen not to tell you. She'd been begging me since the sale went through to say something," my mom said, as if reading my thoughts as she sat beside me with her own beer in hand. Neither of us seemed to care that it was barely nine in the morning. "That's on me, not her. I also can't say I expected y'all to form a friendship, much less so quickly after your return. So don't hold it against her or the Easterlys. This was a decision I made when your father died."

I wondered what would've happened if my father hadn't died. Would my mother have continued working odd jobs to try to pay back all the loans? My father put them all in her name. Did he do this to his other family too? I was riddled with questions that would never be answered. The bastard died and took it all to hell with him.

I'd bring him back to life one more time just to send him to the grave myself.

"I hate him." My words faltered, and a took a breath, looking up to the sky through a glassy view. "I hate him so much."

"I do too. The only good thing that man did in my life was give me you."

Finishing my beer, I spun the bottle back and forth between my palms, watching as my forearm flexed with each turn. The veins made the mountains and trees of my tattoo look like they were moving.

"Why didn't you use any of the money I sent you every month?"

Instead of answering, she repeated what she told me the day I got home. "I put it in a trust in your name at the bank. You're the only one who can access it."

Nodding, I wished she kept the money for herself. My mother had been through too much to be living in a bed-and-breakfast where she worked. A job she didn't even need to have.

"You should renew your nursing license. Maybe you can take over this rental when I leave."

"I'm happy, Owen. I enjoy working at the BB. And I'm the only one living there full-time. It's like living in my dream home. Entertaining the guests is one of my favorite things. I always wanted to host Tupperware parties like those moms on television. When we moved out here, I thought that would've been be my chance. Never occurred to me we moved here because your father was out-schemed and needed to hide.

"Anyway… I'm perfectly happy with how my life is right now."

Turning my head to stare at my mother, I could see she was telling the truth. Even after everything she told me, this was the happiest I'd ever seen her. The healthiest too. I was no longer afraid I'd find her ankles covered in rope burns or a boot mark along her stomach. Her brown hair was soft and shiny, not the dull, lifeless strands I remembered growing up.

"I… I don't know what to do with all this information," I confessed. "I don't know how to process it all."

"I understand," Beverly replied. "I need to run a few errands, but if it's all right with you, maybe you could join me for lunch tomorrow."

"Sure. That sounds nice."

"I love you, sweet boy," she said as she stood up, and then she made her way back through the house.

I sat there for a moment longer, and then something inside me snapped.

I darted around the outside of the home, flung open the fence gate, and made my way toward her car. I met her there just as she stepped off the front porch, her face one of surprise. And then my arms wrapped around her tightly, her breath leaving her body in a whoosh.

"I love you too, Mom."