4. Lia

As I tossand turn in my childhood bed, I can't seem to get the covers wrapped all the way around my adult body. I can't handle the light streaming in through the side of the curtain by 8 each morning, like a laser pointed directly at my eyeballs.

Eventually I give up on sleeping in and drag myself slowly, painfully out of bed. My condition comes with a fun bonus reel of symptoms like arthritis and stabbing abdominal pain, particularly in the morning. Thankfully, my brother gave me full rein of the hall bathroom for the duration of my stay, so I don't have to worry about crossing paths with him for my numerous and unpredictable urges to explode.

I down my meds and look around Asher's fridge for something I can eat that won't irritate the fragile, damaged lining of my digestive tract.

"I've got bean burritos in the freezer." Asher's voice appears behind me, and I shriek, slamming the fridge door shut and clutching at my chest.

"I didn't know you were up. I didn't hear you come in. Sorry." I bite my lip as I assess my brother. Loud noises typically upset him as much as beans tear up my guts.

He blinks a few times and shakes his head. "It's fine. I have a soft tread."

I laugh and glance at his slipper-clad feet. "You definitely do. And sorry again, but I can't enjoy your bean burritos. I have things to do today outside the bathroom."

Asher snorts out a "huh" sound and reaches past me to grab one of his frozen fart-makers, muttering his apology for forgetting about the beans. He pops his breakfast in the microwave and leans against the counter, arms crossed. "I take it you saw them, then?"

Asher and I grew up next-door to the Bedd family. Next-door feels like the wrong word, considering their property is a sprawling soybean farm and ours is just a few acres of trees. But nevertheless, theirs is the next-closest door to the house Asher now inhabits.

I nod, opening the fridge yet again and finding a few eggs I think I can scramble and cook in some olive oil. "Things are emotional, understandably. Ethan seems … reluctant to talk to me."

"Mm." Asher stares at the microwave and grabs the door handle just before it begins to beep, pulling out his breakfast without further comment. Asher used to be close with Ethan. I never asked if they kept in touch, but I also know Asher prefers his solitude. I don't think he actually leaves the house much at all.

"I'll be out of your hair as soon as I help them get situated." I didn't reveal any private financial information to my brother, but I did tell him my company sent me here to help manage the estate after Eugene passed. Asher either didn't care about the particulars or formed his own assumptions, because he never asked me for any details. I like to think he used up all his questions in the time it took to get me my diagnosis.

"You're not in my hair at all. This is your house, too." He leans a hip against the counter, chewing his burrito.

I frown at him. "You bought it from Mom and Dad when they moved. It's your house."

He rolls his eyes. "You're not some stranger off the street, Lia. It's nice having you here for a change."

I crack an egg into Asher's nonstick pan and listen to it crackle. "I never feel like I thank you enough, for how much you came to the city when I first got …" My voice drifts off. We both know I had been getting sick long before I moved to New York, but we also both know my diagnosis came from the brilliant young doctor Asher always mistrusted.

My brother grunts around a mouthful of food. "Someone has to keep an eye on you. And your vitals."

I snap off the flame of the gas burner and glare at my brother. "You know Richard is perfectly qualified to monitor my numbers, Asher. Do you have to be like this? It's been years."

I brace myself for him to tell me a doctor should never, ever become romantically involved with his patient. Again. But he just sighs. "Stay as long as you need to, sis." He drops the burrito wrapper into his trashcan and wipes his hands on a towel. Almost like an afterthought, he leans in for a stiff hug—more of a pat—before walking into his cave-like office. He'll be in there building top-secret websites long after I get back from my day's work.

I decide to walk over to the Bedds' house, enjoying the sunshine on my face. The winter air is much less aggressive here without the wind whipping up the length of Manhattan. The tall buildings always seem to create a vortex of icy breeze that stabs right to the painful points of all my joints. Here, I'm able to stroll through the trees and frosty fields comfortably with just a coat and gloves to keep me warm.

I tap on the kitchen door after waving at Baabara, out in her tiny garden, and I smile when Ethel shouts for me to come on in. The entire Bedd crew is seated around the kitchen table, finishing an impressive breakfast for a weekday. "Come and sit, dear," Ethel coos. "Don't be shy about fixing a plate."

A glance around the table tells me there's nothing here I can safely consume, so I smile and pat my stomach as I hang my coat on a peg inside the door. "Asher fed me, thank you. He sends his love."

Samuel puffs out a laugh. "I'm sure he phrased it just like that, too."

Alexander elbows his brother. "You send our love right on back. Please say it exactly like that and record Asher's face when you do." Everyone knows my brother is gruff, but of course he loves the Bedd family, just like I know they love him. And they used to love me. Fork Lick is like that when you're from here.

I take the empty seat at the table, next to Ethel, and brave a glance at Ethan. I expect more of yesterday's ice blue rage, but I'm surprised when his face appears calm, expectant. I tuck my hair behind my ears and reach for my bag, where I have an identical set of papers to what I left with them yesterday. "So, uh, should we just dive in?"

Colleen nods and the boys—men—I need to get used to them all being grown now—grunt into the remains of their coffee mugs. Ethan surprises me yet again, saying, "please do." He rests his hands on the edge of the table, and I stare at them, at the strong fingers and prominent veins. I can see the calluses on his fingers where his hands have adapted to frequent friction and pressure. I remember how gentle those hands were, and I find myself wondering how the thick, resilient skin would feel now.

It is not okay that I'm having these thoughts. For so many reasons. I cough to hide my distraction and open my folder.

"I thought it could be useful to summarize how we got to this point. Eugene began seeking loans with my firm about five years ago when seed and fertilizer expenses increased more than the price of the crops." The Bedd siblings shift uncomfortably as I outline recent trends in the area where soybean farmers have been shipping their crops by rail to New Jersey and then onward to Europe and Asia. "Eugene's expenses continued to rise without any increase in revenue."

I pause to see how they're handling the information. A look around the table shows a lot of stoic nods and clenched jaws, but Ethan continues to look right at me, intensely studying my face almost like he's waiting for me to tell him how to feel about what I'm saying. I lick my lips and take a sip of water from a glass I'm not entirely sure is mine.

"I have a few ideas to map out with you. For starters, there's been a lot of research about exploiting new markets and crops. Hemp, for example, has shown a lot of promise in?—"

"Hey, now you're speaking my language." Samuel's face brightens at the mention of the versatile crop, but Ethan growls.

"Absolutely not. We are a soybean farm. Bedd Fellows Farm has always been a soybean farm. We are not getting into that hemp shit. Sorry, Gran."

Ethel waves a hand at him and then gestures for me to continue. "Okay, so that was just one of the options. I've also got contacts with a few exciting startup companies using soybeans for biodiesel and construction materials."

Samuel sighs. "If you really need to stick with soy, there are good options. New York City uses biodiesel in the city's fleet and switched to soy-based tires for the city-owned cars and trucks. Not that anyone cares about my opinion."

I nod, smiling tightly. "Many of our clients are investing heavily in these companies. I really think you could make a lot of headway with some local partner businesses."

"Local?" Ethan crosses his arms, his expression skeptical.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I glance down to see an incoming text from Richard. I quickly thumb the screen to put my phone in airplane mode and shrug at Ethan. "Well, domestic anyway. Some as close as Ithaca." I pull out a fact sheet describing an in-state granary that's producing soybean oil. "Selling the next year's crop yield to one of these types of companies would be more profitable for you and make you eligible for state and federal grants supporting sustainable farming practices."

Samuel frowns. "Can I take a look at those papers about the grants? I'm wary about a few things." Ethan emits a low grumble. Samuel adds, "Half the time these projects are pork barrel ideas that get cut the minute a different politician is in office." I can tell Ethan wants to flip the table over at the thought of changing anything at all. I can feel the tension between the brothers seeping from their pores. I dearly wish Eugene had at least told the family a little about what was going on, so this hadn't come as a shock for them all at once. I start to see how the idea of changing anything about the business feels like they're turning their backs on Eugene…but it's not my place to point out that he didn't do them any favors leaving them in the dark.

"Even if we consider that—which I'm not—we're ten months from the next harvest and getting that income from a sale. What else you got?" Ethan looks like he hopes I have a purse full of magic beans to offer him, a solution that lets him keep things the way they are on the farm and somehow erases the mountains of debt threatening to toss them all out on their ears.

I sigh and flip to the final set of pages in my folder. "One thing we can do right away is apply for one of the governor's new grant programs." I hold up a colorful flyer about impact agriculture. "There is a program for farms looking to establish markets or food cooperatives, with even more funds for those supporting under-resourced communities."

Alexander and Jackson lean forward. "Grants sound like a good thing," Jackson says, reaching for the flyer.

I hand it to him and nod. "Yes. Definitely." I briefly wonder why a famous rockstar is bothering with all these legal hoops, but I figure if Jackson was going to cover the debt, they would have mentioned it by now.

Samuel frowns deeper and shakes his head, but Alex interrupts him. "That's like free money. We've gotten a few for Udderly Creamy in recent years." Ethan snorts at the mention of the dairy farm, which I'd heard from Lionel that Alex works for now. Alex ignores him and continues. "We had to use the money for the intended purposes, such as an energy audit or health checks for the cows." Alexander leans over his brother's shoulder to study the information. "But you guys don't grow food crops here."

I suck air through my teeth. "There is that."

Colleen taps her nails on the table and I glance over at her when I hear the sound. "How much food would we need to grow? Gran has her garden."

I perk up at this. "How big is your garden, Ethel? We can work with this."

Ethel stops clearing the table and waves a hand. "Just a little kitchen garden, dear. Nothing like you're talking about."

Colleen scoffs. "Gran. You're propagating–"

Ethel waves a spoon at Colleen. "Don't you have lessons to plan, dear?" She turns her spoon to the younger Bedd brothers. "And you three told me you'd turn the mattresses. Lia and Ethan should go someplace quieter where they can concentrate." Ethel starts cramming leftovers into old plastic food containers as if that settled the matter. "Why don't you two head into the diner for a nice lunch?"

I glance around the room, stunned that anyone could consider eating more food so soon, but I hear Ethan's stomach rumble. Or was that him growling at the thought of spending time alone with me?