30
(Garrett)
THREE MONTHS LATER
My hand is shaking.
Shaking so much I can’t do anything but focus on trying to make it stop. Because the last thing I want to do is ink this twenty-year land contract with a shaking hand, and have my first signature as a land owner look like I was scared to death—even if I am.
“Hell, son. Take a deep breath. Can’t have your signature ending up looking like mine. I’ve got an excuse: I’m a thousand years old and my damn hands are worthless. You can’t claim either.”
I drop my head and chuckle. Across from me, Gerald Ramsey reaches for the candy dish in the center of the table, flicks through it, and selects one with a wrapper that looks like a cartoon strawberry. His gnarled fingers work to unwrap it enough to toss the candy in his mouth.
The closing officer at the head of the table lets out a little giggle and leans back in her chair, but doesn’t rush me. I take a hard look at the paper, take that deep breath Gerald instructed, regrip the pen in my hand, and set my eyes to the blank line. A grunt sounds from the corner of the room.
“Jesus Christ, Strickland. I’m hungry and you promised celebratory beer. Move this shit along.”
Braden is slouched in a chair with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles in front of him, his head tipped back and his ball cap set over his face like he’s catching a nap. He’s here because he’s Braden—a good guy with a truck, one he’ll put to use if you need some help moving your shit from Colorado to Kansas. He’ll load up your crappy couch and sagging mattress into the truck bed, make sure everything is tied down securely, then fill up the cab with your shotguns and reloading supplies, and make the nine-hour drive with you to your new place. And he’ll even keep his complaining to a minimum—that is, until you’re in a small-town title office and he’s hungry and you promised him beer once the closing was finished. Then he’s nothing but grumbling and grouchy.
“I was ready. Then you started bitching. Now I have to start my calming exercises all over again. Have a piece of candy and shut your trap.”
Another giggle from the closing officer. Even if this is rural America, might be safe to say she’s never had a group like ours at the table. A few too many curse words for polite company, dirty jeans and dirtier boots, three guys without a lick of sense or swifts enough to do anything but be who they are.
I put the pen to the paper on the line where it says I’m buying one section of Kansas farmland, a 1977 Farmall tractor, a combine with corn header, plus two UTVs that have seen better days but remain serviceable. And two houses—the big one where Gerald will stay, and a modest place across the way where I’ll live. All of that for a price that seemed too good to be true with a down payment most sellers would laugh at.
But Gerald didn’t. He looked me in the eye and told me what we were doing was about more than money. So I tapped most of what was in the savings account I had from settling up my dad’s estate to use as a down payment, knowing this opportunity was worth every dime and that my dad would have thought the same. The land contract means Gerald will owner-carry the rest of the price over the next twenty years, taking monthly payments at a more than reasonable interest rate.
Everything feels right suddenly—meant to be—so much that when the ink hits the page, my signature looks fine. No shaking scrawl or jittery evidence of how unlikely this all seemed only a few months ago, just my name in a strong hand that shows I’m ready for this.
Finally.
I slam the tailgate shut on Braden’s truck and step around the bed, where he’s tossing his duffel bag onto the backseat. My truck is parked nearby, so I open the toolbox and extract two beers from the cooler in there. Braden shuts his door and I hand a beer his way.
“One for the road.”
He cracks the tab and foam seeps over his fingers. He switches hands, shakes off the suds with a flick, scanning my new place as he does.
“You’ll need a roof before winter.”
I nod, my mouth twisting into a frown. So it begins, the never-ending list of things a farmer has to deal with. Fixing what breaks when he has to, putting what he can on the back burner, figuring out a way to pay for all of it. A fact my mom reminded me of when I told her about Gerald and his farm, and the opportunity for me to buy it. I could hear the caution in her voice—but she could hear the excitement in mine. And even if she thinks Kansas is too far away for her taste, she knew what having my own land would mean to me, so she helped me pack up my place . . . and bawled like a baby (or a good mom) when Braden and I headed out.
I look up at the roof, spying a few spots where shingles are missing. Still, the roof will have to wait until next year. Hopefully a little patchwork before winter will get me through.
“I need a lot of things. Might need to wait for spring to have a roofing party.”
“Turkey season?”
I shrug, raise one brow to him. “I don’t know. Would a Kansas bird tag be enough to drag your ass back out here to stay for a weekend? And help me replace my roof while you’re here?” I sweep my hand out toward the wheat field in front of us. “I’ll let you hunt on my place.”
My place. My land. It’s crazy how things can change so much, so quickly.
“I’m not paying a trespass fee,” Braden grumbles.
“Wouldn’t dream of asking.”
He throttles the last of his beer, tosses the can in the bed of my truck. “It’s settled, then. I’ll be back in the spring.” Braden climbs into his truck, shuts the door, and starts the motor. He drops an arm to the top of the steering wheel and looks my way. “Congratulations, Strickland.”
I toss my empty into his truck bed, then cross my arms over my chest. “That almost sounded sincere. Now get the fuck out so we can hug.”
Instead, Braden drapes his arm out the window and reaches forward a handshake.
“You sure you’ll have room for me in the spring? Or will this place be full of throw pillows and decorative candles?”
I drop his grip and shake my head. “Who knows? I’d let her stuff the place full of throw pillows if that’s what she wants. But it took a while for me to get here, so I can’t blame her if she’s moved on. All I can do is tell her the door’s open, you know?”
Braden nods. “I’m putting the truck in gear now. Then I’m going to take my foot off the brake and coast away, just in case you try to hug me when I say this.” The truck creaks as he slips his foot from the brake. “She belongs with you. You belong with her. You signed your life away today, Garrett. Now make sure you have one to come home to.”
The truck rolls away for a few feet more, then Braden finds the gas pedal and a cloud of gravel dust billows behind him as he drives away. I turn around and put my hands in my pockets, taking a deep breath as I survey my new existence.
The late-afternoon sun is a rich orange color, setting slowly off to the west. My truck is covered in Kansas dirt and parked in front of my new house, that sunset glow framing both.
The night Cara and I went fishing, she wanted to know what I saw when I closed my eyes and pictured a future of my design—what it looked like, where it was, who I was with, and if I was happy. And I could see it that night, clearly, but I didn’t know where it was or how to get there.
That place was here. When she asked me to imagine what my heart wanted, this was it.
There’s just one thing missing.
Taking a few steps back, I pull my phone out and snap a picture, then start to type out a text to go with it.
My truck, the house, the sunset—everything’s there in that picture, everything she needs to see to know I’m where I belong, all thanks to her.
Calling this place home now. Thank you. If you feel like taking a drive, the door’s unlocked.