Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
I walked the short distance to the old barn and pulled open the door. The squeak that emerged from the rusty hinges was familiar and for a moment, I felt like a kid, a head full of dreams and a heart brimming with hope.
Mr. Swanson’s car had been pulled in here and the past and the present collided once again, the ringing of Emily’s laughter echoing in my head. My heart. Emily.
I closed my eyes, grimacing as though I’d been hit. I felt like I had. Picturing her as we’d said goodbye still felt like a physical blow.
I let out a pained breath and turned away, my trembling fingers running over the dusty red paint. I wondered if this old thing still ran. If not, we should try to get it fixed. I’d add that to the list.
I walked over to the area on the far wall where three long folding tables had been set up. Here was all the food they’d collected from neighbors, items not just lining the tops, but sitting on the floor beneath as well. Boxes of crackers, pasta, lentils, rice, peanut butter… And several pieces of paper were tacked up on the wall above, the names of each person taking part in the rationing of this food listed, including allergies and other pertinent information. They’d done well here. The care and the love and the goodwill was obvious everywhere I turned.
A ladder still stood propped beneath the loft, and I gave it a shake, determining that it was still sturdy before climbing to the top. I moved on my knees over to the window where I brought my head back in surprise. Well, holy shit.
My old things were still here. Books were scattered on the floor, covered in a thick layer of dust. I moved one aside and read the titles, and then sat there with them on my knees as I shifted back through time to the boy I’d been. I’d loved knowledge, loved gathering information that would come in handy when I was running Honey Hill. Hosea had spoken of the now useful skills and attributes I’d gathered while making all kinds of mistakes and surviving the consequences of my own poor choices. But sitting there, staring down at those books, made me wonder if my grandfather had also had those qualities because he’d suffered hardships as well—perhaps of his own making, perhaps not. Maybe a combination of the two. Perhaps that kind of grit and fortitude could only be gathered after you’d hit rock bottom and managed to climb out, one foothold at a time.
A breeze of peace blew through me as I set the books aside, glancing at the folder underneath. I frowned at the unfamiliar item as I picked it up. But when I opened it, my heart lurched. It was Emily’s folder and by the date written on the inside flap, I saw it was from the year I’d moved to my uncle’s house. Had it been before? Or after? It could have been either since I’d stopped coming up here entirely in the wake of my mother’s death.
I leafed through the pages, some sheets of music, others handwritten song lyrics. My heart constricted again at the sight of her neat printing, handwriting that I still recognized even after all these years. And as I began reading the lines, my breath hitched, and warmth infused my body. They were the lyrics to “Find You in the Dark,” the song that had enchanted the world, and later, comforted a group of weary travelers around a campfire.
But “Find You in the Dark” hadn’t been the original title. She’d first named it “To Tuck.”
I dropped the folder, the papers falling out and scattering, and then wiped my dusty palms on my jeans as regret burned through me.
She’d tried to reach me and blamed herself for not getting through. She’d fought for me in the only way she knew how, and I’d dismissed her entirely each time she tried. Oh, Em. Love blossomed, so powerful that I felt like it might knock me over. Love for the girl she’d been then, and love for the woman of now, the beautiful, tenacious person she’d grown to be. She’d done it again in that old laundromat, trying so hard to reach me, and I’d practically looked right through her, so involved in hating myself that I couldn’t hear a word she’d said. I’m so fucking sorry.
I looked out the old grimy window, picturing her where she was, hours away. And I knew with sudden surety what I had to do.
Wait for me, Emily. Don’t give up on me yet.
forty-four
Emily
Day Twenty-Five
It’d been five days since Layne and I had arrived in Cielo Hills. We’d been given a tour of every beautiful property, including the gardens and the chicken pens tucked away in tree-covered corners. The residents were lovely and welcoming, seeming to take comfort in each new face that arrived, another person to care for. Another extended family member to grieve the downfall of the world as we’d known and loved it. A team of sorts with which to link arms and face what was to come.