Chapter Thirteen - Diane

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DIANE

It's the haying season before I realize it.

I'm stuck in the kitchen, cooking for all the men working the farm. Our busiest times are when hay comes due. David is gone from dawn to dusk, and he expects me to run everything while he's away.

I get up early for the last full harvesting day of the summer. It's still dark out, and the world is blessedly cool. Back and hands aching, I pull on a simple cotton sundress that reaches my ankles. It's light and flows around my body—perfect for working in the kitchen.

The stairs creak. I make my way to the kitchen and find David sitting at the breakfast bar. He glances up from his phone, black eyes distant.

"I'm heading out," he says. "Make sure lunch is ready by twelve."

I stay quiet as I turn the coffee machine on and go to the fridge. Inside sits a fresh jug of orange juice I made before bed last night. I take it out, pouring a glass.

"Thomas Garrison wants to speak with you," David says.

I glance up, freezing.

He stands, pushing his phone in his back pocket. His plate stays on the table. He won't clean it up—that's my job as the designated maid .

"We're having some issues," he says. "I need you to quit being a bitch to him."

There's something in his voice that makes my stomach churn.

"What issues?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Apparently, we're in the path of the highway that's being put in next summer."

I frown, recalling reading about the project. "That's ten miles southwest of here."

"The state wants to put in an access road," he says. "To cut building costs."

"Where?"

He takes the cup of juice from my hand and drains it. "Through the west side of Carter Farms, through the willow grove."

My blood goes ice cold. The grove is where the cemetery sits. Where everyone I love lies sleeping.

"That's illegal," I say. "They can't do that."

He slams the glass into the sink. "By law, they can do whatever the fuck they want if the state approves it."

My lower lip trembles. I hate when he's angry; it makes me want to curl up and hide. "But it's…our family. They can't build a highway over it."

He walks to the hallway, pausing to look back. "I already spoke with the councilman. The state is offering to exhume all bodies in the path and put them in a government burial ground west of us."

"No," I burst out. "Nana asked to be buried on our family's land. I won't let them touch her."

A crease appears between his brows. "Well, you take your ass to the office of Mr. Corbin Buchanan and see if you can't convince him. Maybe it's the one time you being a girl will be of some use. You're old enough."

My jaw drops. Tears sting my eyes.

"That's disgusting," I manage.

He shrugs. "I'm fine with using any means I can to keep the farm from being destroyed. It's all I have. "

My stomach sinks. He didn't say it was all we had. In his mind, the farm is his, and he isn't wrong. Right before Nana died, she told him the land was in his name.

It's so unfair, I want to scream.

He leaves, boots clipping angrily. The door slams, and his engine starts and dies away. My hands shake as I put the orange juice away and gather up his dirty dishes.

What did he mean by that comment?

Is he going to force Thomas Garrison on me to get in good with their family? Does he think that'll save us somehow?

I'm a little sick all morning. Tears a breath from falling, I make lunch and lay it out, taking bread and butter to the back porch while the men eat.

After a while, the back door bangs open. David steps out and takes a cigarette from his pocket and puts it in his lip. He flicks his old metal lighter and sinks down to sit on the stairs beside me.

My body tenses. His bad mood hangs like a rain cloud over his head.

"The councilman is a cousin to the Garrison family by marriage. Second cousin, but they're close," he says. "That's how they get preferential treatment."

His voice is as dry as the dust at our feet.

"So…what?" I manage.

"So get on Thomas Garrison's good side. Better yet, get in Avery's good books."

I shudder. My stomach is too upset to eat. I toss the bread into the yard, and the chickens fight loudly over it.

"Avery is a horrible person," I whisper.

He blows a cloud of smoke out. "So stick with Thomas. He's the one who wants you anyway. He's been nagging me about getting with you for years."

"I don't know that he's any better."

He stands abruptly, brushing past me. David didn't get my blonde hair; he's got dark curls and eyes that are almost black. He's handsome on the surface but ugly underneath. I hope I get a chance to warn any potential girlfriends that he's not above slamming them into the wall if he's angry enough.

I scramble to my feet. He glances over me and takes a drag off his cigarette.

"I've been sacrificing for this farm for years," he says. "It's time you did the same."

"What are you asking me to do?" I snap.

His eyes crackle. "If Thomas Garrison wants you, I don't give a fuck what your excuses are. You say yes to him. You get in that family's good graces. Then I'll see what I can do."

Tears spill over. "Please don't make me do this."

His hand shoots out and he grabs my upper arm. I gasp—God, he's strong. He yanks me closer, and the desperation in his eyes flashes like a thunderclap.

"I was there when she died too," he snaps. "I heard what Nana said. She said bury me here on this land. So you be agreeable for one fucking minute, and you say yes to whatever Thomas Garrison asks. You hear me?"

I shudder. He's got the same expression he had when he slammed me into the hallway wall.

"Yes," I breathe.

"You swear?" His fingers tighten.

"I swear," I sob.

"Good. I'm going to talk to him."

He releases my arm, shoving me back. For a second, I think I've caught my balance. Then, my heel hooks on my skirt. My body plummets. I have a fleeting image of the porch railing hurtling towards my face before pain explodes in my temple.

I hit the ground like a sack of rocks.

The world spins.

Quick as a flash, I roll over, suddenly sick enough to throw up. The dirty floor presses to my face, grit stuck to my lips.

The door slams .

I lay there dazed. Then, a wave of shame moves through me that's stronger. I ease myself onto my hands and knees. I graze my fingertips over my temple, and they come away bloody.

I need to get upstairs before anyone sees.

Holding my hand over my face, I run inside past the dining room door. The men will be done eating soon. I scramble as fast as my spinning head will allow upstairs to my room. There, I dart into my half bath and lock the door, sinking against it.

I lower my hand.

It's not as bad as I feared. There's a cut that broke the skin, but once I get it cleaned up, I can hide it with a bandage. I fumble under the sink and come up with a rag, which I wet with cold water and press to the wound.

My heart pounds, but stronger is the shame.

Why?

Why do I feel so ashamed when someone else hurts me? I should be burning with rage. Instead, I'm trying to figure out how I can conceal what David did.

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

No one can know. I hate when my pain is exposed. It feels like rolling over and showing my belly to the world. I need it to be secret so I can lick my wounds in peace.

Downstairs, boots sound in the hall. The trucks start up again and fade away. I wash myself in the sink and dab the blood until it stops. Then, I cover it with a bandage and brush my hair over it.

My eyes are swollen, but otherwise, I look alright.

This complicates everything. I'll have to conceal this from Westin, because if he sees a bruise on me, put there by David… Well, I don't know what he'll do. The darkness I hear in his voice sometimes promises he's capable of violence.

I'm caught between two awful choices. I can tell Westin and accept whatever he decides to do, or I can make the responsible choice to hide this and help David save the farm from being bulldozed and paved over.

My heart aches .

I've never met anyone like Westin. Since Nana died, I've spent my life rusting away at Carter Farms. At first, I thought he was my way out, but after knowing him longer, I think what I feel is more complex and serious than I expected.

Yes, he could be my freedom. He could also be the first and last man I fall for.

I have to choose, but I'm not ready to.

Responsibility, or Westin?

Miserable, I go to the window and lean my forehead against the glass. Outside, the fields stretch out in a sea of gold. I grew up in this room. I know every knot and chip on the floorboards. I know exactly how the clouds form over the hills before a storm and how they form when they're just rolling through.

I know the farm belongs to David legally, but I always saw myself raising my family here. I saw myself being carried over the front door by my husband. I saw years of breakfasts at the kitchen table and dinners on the back porch, faceless children running in the fields. A faceless man kisses me, smelling like sunshine and horses.

I'm dying to live like that—in charge of my own destiny. I want a home filled with only people I love. I want to sit at my own table come dinnertime.

But there's no hope of that if we lose Carter Farms. It will be pavement, and no one will ever know how much I wanted to be happy here. All the love I want so badly will be just an echo, never brought to life.

There's more hope if I do as David says.

That night, I lay on my side and let the tears flow until they soak my pillow. I hate everything, everything except Westin, and that makes me cry harder. In the dark, I decide I'm going to wait until I'm not bruised anymore and tell him about the access road. Maybe, by some miracle, he'll pull a blank check out of his wallet.

There has to be a hope.

If I don't have hope, I have nothing .

But I'll wait until he can't see what David did. He might be Westin, but he's still a man. I don't want to see what kind of violence he's capable of.