Chapter 13

thirteen

LUKE

I’m not happy.

Exhaustion is pressing on me from all sides, leaving me feeling claustrophobic. Like everything we have left to do is suffocating the air right out of my lungs. Opening day is this weekend, and as usual, Murphy’s Law is working overtime.

A storm came up out of nowhere last night, creating a muddy mess in the fields. The wind gusts from the front knocked over a tent that covers some of our activities, since the heat can be relentless until fall weather shows up. As of our last check-in early this morning, our overdue goat, Poppy, is still holding her kids hostage, like she’s waiting until the most chaotic moment possible to give birth.

Stinkin’ goats.

The strangest thing though, is an entire section of tiger stripe pumpkins that are misshapen. Their vines are gnarly and wild looking and that patch looks like it’s been copied and pasted from a Tim Burton movie.

They should be thriving like the rest of our varieties, but they’re not. I’ve gotten down in the dirt, examined leaves, stems, dirt pH—you name it. There’s no rot, no blight, no out-of-control insect infestation. Nothing out of the ordinary that can point me to why they look this way, or a solution to show me what to fix.

A small area of pumpkins being unusable isn’t ideal. We can reach out to neighboring farms to help us out to keep our varieties plentiful for when people are shopping. But if whatever it is spreads further in the patch, we might be in trouble.

Everything but the pumpkins is easily fixable, but it’s frustrating when the to-do list to get everything operational is already a mile long.

We lit up the farm as soon as we came out to check the aftereffects of the weather, and the bulbs of the string lights are losing their impact as the sun climbs higher in the sky. I’ll yell at Dean to go shut everything down once I finally get some coffee.

Five minutes of quiet to collect my thoughts. That’s all I need.

But as soon as I take my first sip of fresh (not reheated) coffee, I burn my lip. I’m not sure how this stupid stoneware cup with the hotspot on the rim somehow made it back into the rotation. Last I checked, it was shoved in the back of a cabinet. It’s one of the last remnants of my ex-wife, Aubrey, who left it behind when she walked out the door when our daughter wasn’t even quite a year old.

She bought it at a farmer’s market out of town one weekend, insistent that she had to have it. But it mattered to her about as much as our family did in the end. When I finish this coffee, it needs to find its way to the round storage basket that’s emptied every Wednesday morning.

The wind rustles the leaves outside my porch and I shove my ex out of my thoughts to focus on the way the sky is a beautiful blend of blue and orange. I think about what a bright spot my eight-year-old daughter Lucy is in my life; how much I look forward to movie nights outside the barn, the film playing on a sheet hung on the side of it.

I rotate the mug to drink out of the opposite side; the one without a hotspot. The cacophony of bleats and clucks and neighs float on the air like my personal soundtrack and I’ve gotta admit, there’s no better sound.

My sister Rosie tells me to shift my focus when things are going south, when I need to ground myself.

“Take some deep breaths and think about all the good in your life. Maybe you’ll be less grumpy,” she says.

I’ll never tell her it actually works.

Then Gran comes along and obliterates everything with bombshell news.

“They want to do what?” My hand jerks and sloshes hot liquid all over my hand and I bite back a curse, knowing my daughter is somewhere nearby. She’s part parrot, repeating back everything she hears, whether or not she should.

“Luke Jackson, you watch that mouth,” she admonishes me. The look she gives me could wither the rest of the pumpkin patch. I switch my mug to my other hand so I can wipe off the scalded one while she continues.

“I didn’t actually say it,” I grunt. “Go on.”

“Holly Everheart wants to get married here in about two weeks.”

That’s exactly what I thought she said.

Her grin could light up a room, but I’m not falling for it.

This spells disaster. Autumn Enchantment, our annual fall festival, is extensive as it is. I know Holly will have security handled, but that alone will be a logistical nightmare. Then you factor in vendors, guests—there’s no way to have both events happening simultaneously.

“How big of a wedding are we talking? ”

Gran shakes her head. “I don’t know those details yet, but I’m sure it’ll be big and beautiful.”

I groan. Holly stayed with us for part of the summer, when she came here seeking a place to hunker down from some fallout with her step-mother. She’s seen the farm in the throes of a festival, and the flower festival at the start of summer is nothing compared to what we do in the fall. I don’t know what she’s thinking.

Cade and I played highschool football together, before I decided it wasn’t for me, and then had a stint as a bodyguard for a bit. That’s how he knew Holly. During his offseason, he likes to come back and volunteer around here, and they ran back into each other when she was using our farm as a refuge.

The rest is social media history. Their story would be one that feels straight out of a fairytale, if I believed in those. Which I don’t.

I made that mistake once, and it ended in disaster.

“You told them no, right? This isn’t a concert. There are a lot of spokes to this wheel, a lot of people’s livelihoods are on the line.”

“We have time to plan.” Gran swats the air in my direction. “And there’s a top notch planner coming to coordinate all this, so it’ll all be fine.”

A planner?

I groan, despite the look Gran gives me. The last thing I need is another person to be in the mix, telling me what to do or what not to do. With seven siblings, two parents, my Gran, and my daughter—I’m stuffed to the brim with opinions.

Besides, our family has run this festival for the last fifty years and we’ve got it down to science at this point. There’s no way an outsider could pick up on everything in such a short time frame.

“Dad, you need to come see this!” A blur of brown braids, bright colors and a small cloud of dust skids to a stop in front of me.

“What’s going on, Lucy?”

“Poppy had her kids! Come on, please dad!”

Finally . Something is going my way this morning.

We’ll be late if we don’t pull out of the driveway in about ten minutes, but I’m the worst kind of sucker for those big green eyes pleading with me.

With a sigh, I take one last sip of coffee from my broken mug, then toss the rest over the railing. So much for fresh coffee.

“Lead the way,” I gesture toward the barn. Lucy is already running full speed ahead, down an imaginary path she’s followed since she could walk.

By the time I enter the barn, Lucy is clinging to the wire surrounding the goat pen, cooing at Poppy’s fresh additions. It’s no wonder her waddle was so painful to watch for the last couple of weeks: three sets of eyes blink back at me. One is mostly black with white accents, like Poppy. The second is white and tan, and the third is a mix of the three.

The tri-color takes a few steps forward and lets out a few bleats in succession. I’m not sure how Lucy always seems to know about the babies before we do, but I pull my phone out of my pocket to text the vet in case Dean hasn’t already noticed our new additions. They can’t be more than an hour old.

“I want to play with them. Can I? Please?” Her voice escalates by several octaves as she balances on the fencing in excitement.

“You know the rules.” I shake my head. “I’ve got to get the vet out here and make sure Poppy and her babies are doing just fine. Maybe when you get home from school.”

“I have to go to school?” She tips her chin in the air and lets out a dramatic sigh. Memories of a fussy toddler, her chin quivering before a big cry, flash through my mind. Mom was right: babies don’t keep. “But they need names!”

I scrub my hands down my face. “This is not the first time, nor will it be the last time we have a baby goat on this farm.”

“Come on, dad. Let her play with the kids.” Dean approaches from within the barn, ruffling Lucy’s hair before crouching down beside her.

Fun uncle Dean. They look like two peas in a pod as he stretches his fingers through the fencing to scratch a kid’s nose.

I tug my baseball cap down tighter on my head. “You’re not helping.”

“Somebody has to take her side.” Dean grins back at me.

“Keep messing up her hair and you’re re-braiding it,” I grumble.

Dean sits back on his heels as he holds his hands up and watches Lucy. There will be a few more kids born before the week is out, since Poppy wasn’t the only pregnant goat. Hopefully, they don’t hold on to theirs as long as she did.

It’s a good thing for the petting zoo, though. People love baby goats, and I enjoy educating visitors about them. Most of the time.

She’s shouting out name suggestions excitedly, with no rhyme or reason to connect them all. I consider telling her to run inside and change, but opt not to. Her sparkly cowboy boots don’t match a single thing she has on: a polka dot skirt with cheetah print leggings. But one day, she’ll know that. She’s still at an age where she dresses for her mood, not to impress other people, and I want her to stay that way as long as she can.

I only insist on different outfits when I have to, like when she’s going on a field trip or to church. Otherwise, I let her little eclectic personality shine.

“Luce,” I say gently, interrupting her deep conversation with my brother. “We’re going to be late.”

“Miss Ward won’t care if I miss school because I’m helping with baby goats. That’s not like skipping to watch tv. I’m learning .” She peers up at me with big rounded eyes, and if I wasn’t still recovering from the morning we’ve had, I’d cave.

“Tell you what. If you let this go right now, I’ll take you to Once Upon a Brew in the morning for a Saturday morning treat before the farm gets busy.”

She shoots a glance over at Dean, who immediately whispers, “Do it.”

“Pumpkin cinnamon roll?” She turns back to me while jutting her chin out and tipping her head just so.

“You got it.”

“Fine. Deal.” She shoves her dirty little hand out to shake mine to seal the verbal contract.

I chuckle as we shake. “Go wash your hands and get your backpack, please.”

“Love you!” She tosses back over her shoulder as she runs toward the old farmhouse.

“Don’t ever let her know that’s a legally binding contract in Texas.” Dean rises to his feet before adjusting his baseball cap. “She’ll use it against you every chance she gets. Even if she’s the coolest kid I know.”

“She’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Don’t let her fool you.” I watch her wrench open the screen door, the creak of the door shrieking through the quiet before she disappears inside. The clap of it closing behind her echoes across the farm like a gunshot.

“I know that. But she’s pretty awesome, anyway. You’ve done a good job.”

“Thanks. You all help though, more than I could ever pay back.” I toe the dirt with my boot, my hands shoved deep into my pockets.

“We love her, bro. It’s not like she’s a chore—Lucy is going places. Aubrey is missing out.”

At the mention of my ex, my jaw tightens and I simply nod. I don’t need another reminder of her today, or how Lucy deserves two people that love each other to raise her. She’s got plenty of people willing to step up for all those made-up school holidays like Muffins for Moms and what not. Lucy won’t know what it’s like to be left behind; I won’t let her.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad Aubrey didn’t stay, because she clearly wasn’t happy. But she not only never looked back at me, she never looked back at her own daughter. Sometimes, I’m thankful Lucy was too young to really remember her, but it hurts all the same. I can’t imagine life without Lucy in it.

How can she do it?

“I’ve got to run Luce to school.” I crack my knuckles, eager to change the subject. “Can you go around and check everything? See if there’s anything we missed?”

“We’ve combed the farm, and we’re good to move forward.” He frowns, like he can read my mood. “But if it’ll ease your mind, I’ll do it one more time.”

“It would. I’ll bring back a giant coffee for you.”

Maybe I can finally get some caffeine down before I do more around here.

“Consider it already done.” Dean grins and heads straight for the four-wheeler.

Mentions of Aubrey always make me feel guilty, like I should’ve known she’d abandon us somehow. In the beginning, I hoped she’d come to her senses. Then divorce papers showed up about a year later.

I hurry up the steps to the house, my eyes catching on that awful coffee mug. Before I can give it another thought, I stomp to the trash can on the opposite side of the porch and hurl it inside, the sound of it shattering uncomfortably satisfying.

“Lucy!” I wrench open the door.

Her breakfast plate is still on the table, and I move it to the sink out of habit. As I go to grab her backpack off the back of her chair, a drawing grabs my attention. A princess with a pretty large tiara on her head poses next to a pumpkin, the intricate details of the curling vines along the dirt startlingly realistic.

“Dad, quit snooping in my stuff,” Lucy replies matter-of-factly, reappearing in the kitchen. She swipes the paper out of my hand and shoves it in a folder.

“It’s not snooping if it’s in plain sight, kid.” I gesture to the table. “You left it out in the open. Want to tell me about it?”

“It’s a project for school,” she sighs, and I swear I can hear her inner teenager begging to come out.

“Fairy tales?”

Her green eyes raise to mine, and her cheeks redden. “We’re doing a unit on them in school. Miss Ward has been reading us all the different versions of them, and today we’re reading about a Cinder-fella!”

I might not be as up to date as I could be with fairy tales, but I thought it was Cinder ella .

And there it is.

Ella sneaks into my thoughts at the oddest times. If she still lived here, I imagine both she and Gaby would both be dressed up in the fields playing and reading with the kids. There’s not a fall season that goes by that I don’t think about her.

I’m not young and na?ve anymore, but every once in a while, I wonder if she’s the one that got away. This thought drags a heaving sigh from deep in my lungs. It’s too early in the morning to go from being irritated about my ex to nostalgic about something that never really was .

Gaby mentioned once that she’s in Colorado now, and I genuinely hope she’s happy there. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.

I clear my throat. “A cinder what?”

“Cinderella, but where the girl is the princess , Dad. Keep up.” She yanks her backpack over her shoulder–I think she just rolled her eyes–and pushes back out the front door.

That teenage girl inside isn’t even waiting for an invitation at this point. I can deal with teenage boys–it’s familiar–but the idea of a teenage girl scares me half to death. I’m supposed to have longer before this kicks in, right?

Because I believe modeling is important, I swing her door open for her. It’s a long way off—I hope—but if she ever brings home a guy that doesn’t open a door for her, he’ll regret walking onto the farm.

My daughter will know chivalry isn’t dead.

“Got it. Cinder-fella. Hop in the truck.”

She scurries up in her seat, and I shake my head as I close the door behind her. I start the truck, half-listening as she chatters while she buckles up. This is when I feel the most lost, when I’m not sure what to say to Lucy, or when I’m not sure what’s normal for an eight-year-old.

There’s no handbook, nothing laid out for me to navigate as we enter each new stage. I guess I could ask my sisters more, but generally, they tease me about what’s coming. Can’t say that I’m a fan.

“Do you have a favorite fairy tale?” Lucy’s voice cuts through my thoughts with a tone that says it’s not the first time she’s asked the question.

I wince. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. What?”

“Favorite fairy tale, Dad.”

“Arthur,” I answer proudly .

Lucy scrunches up her nose like we hit a skunk. “That’s not a fairy tale.”

“It’s got magic. There’s a wizard named Merlin. Why isn’t it a fairy tale?”

“But—” she pauses, puffing her cheeks out as she thinks about it. “I’m going to have to ask my teacher about that.”

“You do that.” I feel a smile coming on when I realize she’s going to probably chew on this for most of the way to school, and I’ll have a little bit of quiet on the way.

Which gives me way too much time to think about Ella and what might have been.