Preston's Honor(48)

I walked to the edge of the farmland, gazing out at it for a minute before squatting down and picking up a handful of the rich soil. I took comfort in the feel of the dirt as it slipped through my fingers, and the vision of the abundant harvest in front of me.

The pride I felt went as deep as the roots of all the things that grew here. Generations of Sawyers had fed this land with blood, sweat, and tears. They had returned to the same farmhouse I did at the end of the day dirty and sunburnt but filled with the satisfaction of wrestling with the land and reaping the rewards.

They’d washed the dirt from beneath their fingernails, their hands rough and callused from hard, physical labor, their skin gritty and weathered. They were men who were used to harshness: from the rocks that needed to be plowed from the earth, to the relentless heat of the sun on their necks, and so when they slipped between the sheets upstairs and gathered their wives to them, they’d gloried in the clean softness of a woman’s body and the tenderness of her love.

The knowledge of that flowed through my blood like an ancient memory that spoke in feeling instead of words.

That’s what I’d wanted Lia to be for me—a gentle haven. I’d wanted it—desperately—and yet, I’d kept fouling it up, over and over. I’d pushed her away instead of gathering her close, a part of me believing that my punishment should include denying myself the comfort she might provide. And yet . . . in punishing myself, hadn’t I really punished both of us? She’d loved Cole, but she’d wanted me. I sighed, feeling weighed down with sadness, with missed opportunities, and with the consequences of my poor choices.

And the bitterness that refused to abate.

I focused on the farmworkers in the field again. At least it had been a good season and the farm would make a profit this year—though barely—after two years of drought and hardship. We were one of the lucky few—many farms in the region hadn’t been able to survive and were now nothing more than scorched, barren land and empty farmhouses owned by the bank.

I squinted past the fields to where I’d just completed a man-made lake at the south end of the property, ensuring that if we ever had a drought again, we would have accumulated rainwater and irrigation runoff to use for the crops. My dad had talked about creating one for years, and I’d finally made it happen. It wasn’t much more than a large, clay-lined pit right now, but eventually—God willing—it would be filled to the top with the one thing more precious than gold to a farmer: water.

In the year after my father and brother died, I’d worked my body to exhaustion just to keep the farm running and then to build the water reservoir, most days falling into bed practically unconscious before I’d even hit the pillow.

And yet, I’d been relieved to have the mind-numbing work to keep my anguish at bay. And I’d gathered some amount of comfort just being present in the fields. If I could find Cole anywhere, my heart had insisted, it was there—his spirit running through the rows of strawberries, his laugh floating on the wind, the echo of his feet pounding the earth. If I could capture his joy for just a fleeting moment, just one, it would be all I'd ever ask.

In all truthfulness, I wasn’t sure I’d have even made it through that time if I hadn’t had the farm to keep me sane.

How had Lia made it through that awful time? She’d lost a friend, too—one of her only friends. And then she’d become a mother. Her life had been altered so dramatically. Forever.

I stilled, the thought causing a spear of guilt and pain to wrench at my heart. I hadn’t even thought to ask her how she’d managed. I’d been so focused on my own torment—the bittersweet reality of my survival—the deep burden of grief that held me underwater, the aching misery of feeling like a piece of me was missing, I hadn’t had the presence of mind to focus on anyone other than myself.

The very sight of Lia swollen with my child had caused a low hum of joy in my blood, but mostly, mostly it’d been a reminder of what I’d done that had caused Cole’s death. My decisions—my actions—changed so many lives.

Since Lia had gone, I’d vacillated between terror and pain and finally anger and bitterness, but I’d never dwelled on the idea that she, too, might have needed me. That maybe, I’d let her down as well.

Would I have had anything to give if I’d realized sooner? Or would it have just caused me to feel more guilt, more responsibility for the suffering of someone else?

And did it even matter? Had it simply happened the way it happened, bringing us to a point where there was no turning back anyway? So what was the point in going over the many what ifs now?

And maybe my mother was right. If there was no fixing the situation with Lia and me, if there was too much water under the bridge, then perhaps focusing on something simple—something pure and straightforward—would help me gain some control over the never-ending ache in my heart when it came to Lia.

I swore softly, standing. I didn’t have answers to all these questions just now and so I would do what I did so well—I’d lose myself in some physical labor until I was too fucking tired to think. It was a vice, I realized, but every man needed at least one.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Annalia



The smell of pancakes and bacon quickly brought me back to a simpler time, and I smiled slightly as I let the door of IHOP fall closed behind me. Funny that I thought the years I’d lived in the small apartment with my mother, scrimping and saving every dime, now felt like the easy life in my mind. But compared to what had happened afterward, it had been. As it turned out, financial strife—even financial desperation—was much easier and more pleasant than emotional despair.