"Figured it was time,” I say. Someone opens the barn doors, and the horses run out into the fenced area.
I walk over to the fence and lean my hands on it. “Your father said you got hurt."
"Yeah." I don’t look at him because being here with him is strange. Standing beside this man who helped make me who I am, I can’t explain this feeling that creeps into me. "I’ll be okay."
"So why did you come?" I can see him in my peripheral vision as he watches the horses run. “If you don’t want to be here …”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here, Grandpa,” I say softly. “It’s just …"
"Oh, I know," he says, pushing off the fence. “I know,” he says softly. “Why don’t you take your horse out for a bit?"
"I was going to say hi to Grandma,” I say. He puts his hands in his back pockets, and I wonder if my dad ever got compared to my grandfather.
"You say hi to her when you bring back the horse and stay for dinner." He turns and starts walking to the barn. “And I’m not asking you, Reed Barnes,” he says over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir,” I say, walking into the fenced area and going to my horse.
He comes to me, not sure. "It’s me,” I say, holding out my hand while his tail flips one way and then the other. I rub his neck. “Let's go for a ride,” I say, getting onto his back without a saddle. Grabbing his reins, I kick his sides, and he starts slow. “You got lazy,” I say, and he huffs back.
Eventually, he takes off a bit faster, and I enjoy the wind on my face. I don’t even pay attention to where he’s going, and by the time I look up, I see it. It’s the red barn, but it’s not red anymore, and it looks like it’s falling down. I gasp out in shock as I remember how perfect it was. My eyes fixate on the barn as I remember the last night I was here.
Kissing her, tasting her, making love to her. I close my eyes, and I’m brought back to six years ago.
It had been two months since I left home. I was riding high, nothing was standing in my way, and I was making a name for myself. I opened Facebook one night and saw that I had about fifteen messages. Most of them were from my family members but one was from Hazel. Her picture was of her and her grandfather.
My heart sped up for a second when I saw her name. I opened the message.
Hey, it’s me.
I know that this is out of the blue but can you call me, please.
It’s important.
I deleted the app and deactivated my account that very same night. I had one goal and one goal only—to succeed. I couldn’t reach out to her because I didn’t trust myself not to feel the guilt. So I pushed her to the back of my mind. I put her and all the memories we had together in a nice beautiful box I never touched.
Glancing back at the house, I find it looks just as bad as the barn, and I wonder if she ever came home. I wonder if her grandfather decided to sell the farm and follow her. It wouldn’t surprise me since he was all she had. I knew that her leaving was going to be a big deal to him even though he pretended he couldn’t wait.
I take one last look at the barn and the house and make my way back to my grandparents’ farm, not knowing that all the answers to my questions were right in front of me.
Chapter 6
Hazel
I pull open the glass door, and the cold air hits me right away. I make sure Sofia walks in before me. She slips her hand in mine as we walk in. "Good afternoon," the lady at the desk says with a smile. “How may I help you?" Her blond bob is as perfect as the makeup on her face.
"I’m here to see Mr. Devlyn,” I say. “I have an appointment with him at one o’clock."
Her eyes go from smiling to sad as she gets up from her desk and walks around with her arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather,” she says, taking me in her arms.
"Thank you,” I say softly as I let her hug me.
I spent the early part of the day cleaning the downstairs between the tears when I would find my grandfather’s things. The blanket in the chair in the living room next to the bed he would cover me with when I was younger. I sat in the same chair as he did and hugged the blanket to my chest. When my phone rang at nine o’clock this morning, I was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom. It was his lawyer calling to ask me to come in. I dreaded it, but I knew I had to do it. I also knew I had no choice. Not one fucking choice.
"I’ll tell Mr. Devlyn you are here." She releases me and turns to walk down the little hallway.
"Momma." I feel my hand being pulled down and look at Sofia. “Are you sad again?"
"Just a little, baby girl." I pull her to me, and my hand rubs her head.
"He’s ready for you," the lady says. “If you’d like, I can keep the little one busy." She looks at Sofia. “Would you like to come and make photocopies with me?" Sofia looks up at me for permission, and I just smile and nod. “It’s the first door," she tells me, taking Sofia’s hand and leading her to the other side.
Walking into the office, I see the big brown desk in the middle of the room with files piled high on each side. Mr. Devlyn looks up from where he sits at his desk, getting up and taking off his glasses. He walks around the desk, with a smile, in his slacks and button-down shirt with his cuffs rolled up. He smells like tobacco and spice, something that I haven’t smelled in over six years. I hold out my hand. “Mr. Devlyn."
He holds out his hand to shake, adding his other hand over mine. “You are just as beautiful as your grandfather said you were." I don’t say anything because a lump starts to form. I know that if I open my mouth, it’ll just be a sob coming out. "Please sit." He points at one of the two empty chairs that face his desk.
"Thank you,” I say, sitting in a chair. My stomach feels like a boat in a tropical storm.
"Before we begin," he starts, “I just want you to know how sorry I am for your loss." He grabs the manila folder and opens it. "Your grandfather had everything set up." He picks his glasses up to read the paper in front of him. “According to this, his last wish was to be cremated as soon as he passed.” I grab my purse and search for a tissue. “I want you to know that I tried to talk him out of it.” He shakes his head. “But he was a stubborn man.”
I give up searching for the tissue, and instead, I just use the back of my hand. “I’m sorry to do this,” I say. I put my trembling hand in my lap. “But I just have a couple of questions."
"Of course." He folds his hands in front of him. “Anything I can do to help."
"How long was he sick?" My voice trembles.
"Two years,” he says, and I gasp in shock. “I’m taking it that you didn’t have a clue."
"No." I shake my head. “Not one. We saw him six months ago. I noticed he looked weak and had lost weight, but he blamed it on getting the flu." Mr. Devlyn turns now and grabs a box of Kleenex behind him and offers me one. I grab two out of the box. “Was he alone when he passed away?" I ask the question that has haunted me since this nightmare happened.