81. Marnie

I turn the next page. We’ve read Dune a dozen times and I still want to know what happens next. I glance up at my dad and notice that he’s drifted off. His chest rises and falls. Quietly setting the book on the nightstand, I climb to my feet and press a kiss to his forehead.

His hospital bed replaces Uncle Gus’s. The hospice nurse should be by in an hour or so, but I think he’s pretty comfortable for now.

Turning, I draw the thin curtains but leave the window open so the soft breeze can filter in. There’s a wood thrush singing outside his window.

Ed squeezes in as I’m leaving. He likes to lay on the rug at the base of dad’s bed. Turns out he can be an excellent guard dog if the mood strikes him.

It’s a quiet summer morning. The cicadas haven’t started up their droning symphony just yet, but the occasional crack of a hammer punctuates the air.

I walk over to the barn, watching Bo and Skyler install fittings above the barn door.

Skyler catches sight of me and gestures with his chin. “What do you think? They just dropped it off.”

I follow his gaze, catching sight of the sign leaning against the side of the barn.

Mimi’s on the Farm

My heart squeezes, and a little shiver passes through me. My mom always said those shivers were a ghost touching you, and I wonder if it was her hand that brushed my shoulder.

“It’s perfect.”

Bo snaps his measuring tape shut. “Does that placement look good?”

I can see where they intend to hang the sign. “Yes. It’s going to look great. Thanks again for helping out, guys.”

Skyler laughs. “Thanks for putting up with Dusty.”

Bo pats my shoulder. “You’re doing the Lord’s work.”

I roll my eyes, pushing past the two of them.

I stop just inside the barn. It’s hard to believe this space was ever anything but Mimi’s. We moved all of Sienna and Dusty’s things into our house.

Our house. I can’t get over how good that sounds.

In place of Dusty’s couch and table, we’ve set up shelves. Pretty jars of honey line one display. An illustrated version of Ed graces the label. Sienna made them. She’s too good to be an intern. Turns out, she’s amazingly talented at graphic design, but she’s just thrilled to quit her summer job at the ice cream stand.

I smile at the lovely display of honey. This row is infused with lavender. That row is infused with cinnamon. My fingers trail across their labels as I walk towards the counter.

Sienna looks up as I approach. She holds up a stack of stickers. “They came today.”

I glance over them. Thank you for supporting the Songbird Foundation.

I smile. A percentage of each and every purchase goes to Andy’s Songbird Foundation. It all goes hand in hand out here. Life is a cycle and we need balance.

We need pollinators and flowers, birdsong and soft breeze.

“They look beautiful.”

I hand them back. “Where’s your brother?”

“Upstairs.”

I pass through the tables, glancing at the gleaming white kitchen. Maybe someday we’ll open a little café. Between the internet sales of our honey and the growing bakery business, I don’t have time. But I’m not short on ideas. It’s been a long time since I felt this inspired.

I find Dusty in his old bedroom. It’s been turned into an office space for me.

He’s sitting on the floor assembling a desk, cussing because the pre-drilled holes don’t line up.

I stand in the doorway, sneaking in a moment to just look before he notices me.

The sight of him still gives me butterflies.

He is the kind of guy who will knock a man out for touching you.

He’s the kind of guy who’s on your side, no questions asked. Ride or die.

The kind of man who will throw in all his chips, betting the house on you.

He’s worth getting in trouble for.

A rebel.

A prankster.

A good man. My man.

He’s the best kind of bad.