Chapter Ten
Outside, Drew watched as people gathered rakes and hoes and trash cans from their cars, each moving purposefully toward whatever task they’d been assigned.
He’d slipped out without a job, not quite ready to sign on to anything until he saw the old place for himself.
Fairwind had changed. Twenty years, what did he expect? Behind the main barn, he could see the roofs of the outbuildings, outlined by trees whose leaves had filled out nicely for spring. He walked the same path he’d walked so many times as a boy, only this time he walked it alone.
All those years ago, Jess had been right on his heels.
“Keep an eye on her, Drew,” his dad had called after them. Drew had waved to let them know he’d heard. Of course he’d keep an eye on her; they weren’t interested in anyone else on the farm—and he needed Jess to remind him where the best fishing spots were.
That’s how they’d spent their days. Fishing in the lake. Catching grasshoppers. Hide-and-seek. Bonfires. Everything had seemed so simple back then, like something straight out of a fifties television show.
Drew’s family stayed in the guest rooms inside the farmhouse, which didn’t look so old and worn back then. For him, it was a treat—their own little getaway. And while his parents and Jess’s parents did boring grown-up things during the day, he and Jess had played the summer days away in the fields and outbuildings—basking in the sun, fishing, hiding in the corn, dreaming in the rafters.
Drew rounded a bend, and a small red barn appeared in a clearing up ahead. He paused for a minute, willing himself to breathe.
He stopped. This was so stupid. What did he think he was going to find? Evidence? Would he just walk in and replay the entire event with stark mental clarity—all the missing parts from his dream neatly filled in and ready for a police report?
There was a reason he hadn’t been back in all these years. The whole idea of it—his even being here—was absurd.
And yet, here he was.
He wanted the nightmares to stop. Wanted to get her face—the sound of her laughter—out of his mind.
Drew pushed the door open and stared inside the dark space. In a flash, he was ten again, hiding in the loft, the smell of hay and earth filling his nostrils. He could almost hear her voice cut through the black.
“Drew, no fair. You know I don’t like this barn.”
He did know. It was why he’d hidden there. She’d always had an unnatural fear of the outbuildings on the property, but especially the small red barn. As if she knew, as if something inside her had warned her to stay away.
And he’d been the one to lead her straight into it.
If he’d just hidden somewhere else—by the lake, up in the giant oak tree, in the bakery cooler—that day wouldn’t have happened.
He closed his eyes. Felt the wet as it ran down his cheeks. It was a mistake, his being here, but he was frozen in place.
The sound of the car door echoed through the hollowness of his memory in the empty barn. The shadow slipped across the darkness. Drew’s heart raced as he called out to her.
“I’m here, Jess! I’m right here.” He stepped down off the ladder and onto the floor of the barn.
Then it all went to black.
It always went to black. Cut off, like his memory had been sliced in two. There had to be more. A smell. A voice. Something.
“Do you remember anything else, son?” They’d asked and asked and asked, but the answer was always the same. For a little while, he’d thought about making something up, just so he’d have something to give them. But even at ten he knew that was a bad idea. He’d disappointed everyone—let everyone down. Let Jess down.
Had he forgotten something important? He’d been reliving that day for twenty years. Where were the missing pieces?
His pulse quickened as he let his eyes refocus, panning the old barn, the remnants of life inside. A shovel hung on a rusted nail. Next to it, a large broom leaned against a weathered wall. Years ago, this barn had housed horses. They’d been out to pasture that day, but their presence was always known.
He picked up the broom and started sweeping the floor, kicking up dirt and pushing down memories. Distraction was the only way to keep himself sane.
Stay busy. Don’t think. Just work.
It was what he’d always done to quiet his mind.
After he swept out the barn, he made his way back to the main parking lot, where Roxie waited for him in the truck. He let her out, commanded her to stay, fished out the toolbox he kept in the back, and then went to work.
For hours, he kept his head down. He cleared away debris, picked up sticks, hauled garbage. He checked off jobs that weren’t even on the list, and he did it all without saying a word to anyone.
Around what had to be lunchtime, the smell of burgers on the grill stirred the emptiness in his belly. He finished repairing the back door on the main barn, then swung it open and closed to make sure the hinges were tight.
When he reopened the door, Beth stood in the doorway, looking at him.
“I don’t think you’ve stopped working since you got here,” she said.
He stuck his hammer back in his tool belt. “I came to work.” And to remember. One of those things he’d mastered; the other continued to haunt.
She straightened. Something about him made her uneasy, he could tell. As if she hadn’t made up her mind about him—but then, why would she? He was a stranger on a farm full of friends. He remembered the camaraderie of Willow Grove. The community had always been close-knit, bound together by something he hadn’t understood as a child. It was even clearer now that he was older. Businesses that relied on tourism and local support gave them something in common.
But as a child, when he’d spent his summers here, he had always felt like he belonged. They’d been accepting, going out of their way to draw him in.
Exactly the opposite of how he felt now.
“I just wanted to thank you. And tell you to get some food before the vultures come in from the fields.” She motioned to the grill, where a tall guy about their age flipped the burgers.
“Thanks. I can wait till everyone else has eaten,” Drew said.
“Don’t be silly. No one else is working half as hard as you are. I’m paying in food, so please.” She started to walk away but stopped, turned back and regarded him for a few long seconds. “Why are you here?”
He wished he could tell her he was helping out of the goodness of his heart, but he knew better. He didn’t do it to help anyone but himself.
“Guess I just wanted to be of some use,” he lied. He had no real interest in restoring the farm. Not really. If he had his way, they’d bulldoze the thing and start over, burying every memory.
“But you work like a machine. Where are you from?” Beth’s tone interrogated.
“I live in Colorado. Work on a ranch out there. I guess this is just my usual pace.” Not a lie. Whenever his mind had something to work out, he used his hands to do it, and since he’d been working out distant pain for years, he’d become quite adept with his hands. He could fix almost anything. His pace was just a by-product of his desire to forget.
“Well, thank you.”
Roxie edged forward, as if they’d been ignoring her too long.
“Does your dog want some water?” Beth looked at Roxie but didn’t touch her.
Roxie whined.
“I guess she does,” Drew said. “Do you have a hose?”
Beth frowned. “I honestly don’t know.”
“I’ll find one.”
She nodded and walked away.
Drew knew exactly where to find the water spigot out back. He took Roxie and let her drink. Moments later, Beth appeared at the back of the barn carrying a plate of food. He watched as she walked toward him. She wore a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, but he had the distinct impression it was fashion, not work, that had put them there. Her waterproof work boots looked brand-new, and he couldn’t help but admire the way her dusty blue T-shirt hugged her curves. Her hair hung in a loose braid over one shoulder, strands falling out on the other side.
He didn’t doubt she was a hard worker, but somehow he imagined most of her work was done indoors. What was a girl like her doing buying an old farm in rural Illinois? Did she feel as out of place here as she looked?
When she reached him, she held the plate out in his direction. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I kind of grabbed a little bit of everything.”
He took the plate. On it were two burgers, a pile of potato chips, some sort of church potluck salad with broccoli in it, and three cookies.
“I thought you might rather eat out here anyway.”
She was observant; he’d give her that.
They stood at the back of the farmhouse underneath an enormous oak tree, where a circle of folding chairs had been set up. “You don’t figure me for the social type?”
There was something shy about the way she smiled. It contradicted what he’d seen of her so far. From what he could tell, she was confident, though maybe a little out of her depth. The farm didn’t suit her. Not yet. But she wasn’t the type to admit it.
“You’ve hardly said anything since you got here this morning. I guess it seems like you prefer to work alone.”
Drew bit into one of the cheeseburgers and looked at Roxie, who begged with her eyes. He chewed, swallowed, thought about her comment. “I guess I do. I like the work.”
“You seem to know what you’re doing. You said you’re from Colorado?”
“That’s right.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “You’re a long way from home.”
He’d never said it was home. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel like anywhere was home. He didn’t respond.
She stood there for a few long moments, as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she looked away. “You’re not, like, a serial killer or something, are you?”
Drew nearly choked on the bite in his mouth. “Not that I know of.”
He assumed she was kidding, but she looked him up and down one more time, as if making up her own mind. “Well, enjoy your lunch.”
“Thanks.”
He watched as she walked away. Was that the question she’d wanted to ask all along, or had he just done something to make her uncomfortable? He wasn’t great at conversation. She’d probably sensed his uneasiness and taken it as a sign he wanted her to go away.
He didn’t. Not really. And that was strange because, for the most part, he wanted everyone to go away.
Still, whatever message he’d sent her, he had a feeling it wasn’t “hang out here for a while.” He was an idiot.
Roxie plopped herself down in the grass at his feet and let out a groan.
Even the dog didn’t approve.
Maybe it was better this way. Beth would keep her distance, and he could focus on making some sense of the past. He still had too many reckless emotions firing inside his mind, and nothing good would come out of making friends with a pretty girl. After putting in a full day of hard work, his unwanted emotions should be pretty well whipped into shape, giving him the clarity he needed to piece together whatever was missing.
But as he threw away his plate and went back to work, he had no confidence that any answers would come.