Preston's Honor(81)

We couldn’t go back—not really—but we damn sure could recreate at least a few experiences. My body throbbed hotly with the thought, and I took a deep breath, focusing on the work beneath my hands. The physical labor of farm work was hard enough without being in an uncomfortable state of arousal, too.

Most of the crops we grew on our farm, like the lettuce I was helping pick today, had to be harvested gently—completely by hand—and I still couldn’t afford the labor force I really needed. Next year we’d be fully back in business, God willing. But I figured every farmer should know the back-breaking labor of working his own land—and what the realistic expectations should be—if he was going to be the kind of boss his employees were loyal to. My father had taught us that work ethic. Experience had hit it home. Hard.

“Farming is not for the faint of heart,” my father used to say as we stood on the edge of the farmland, looking out over it. He’d squeeze my shoulder, though, and when I looked up at him, the look on his face held such profound pride, it would cause my heart to swell in my chest.

I glanced toward the house where I knew Lia was probably feeding Hudson his breakfast. She was there now, but she’d leave tonight and go back to the apartment she shared with her mother. I didn’t like it. But I was also hesitant to ask her to move back in with us. I’d done that once—wanted her close, wanted to know she was safe. As I examined my motives, I wasn’t impressed. Had it been for mostly selfish reasons? Had I felt satisfaction that she was okay by her physical presence alone? Maybe it had simply made it easier for me to ignore her emotional needs completely. Wrong. Very wrong.

There was also the matter of my mother. I was more aware now of the ways in which she’d undermined Lia and made her feel unwelcome while I’d been emotionally checked out and physically absent. I wouldn’t let that happen again without stepping in. But it was also a problem that my mother’s mere presence would interrupt the alone time Lia and I needed . . . and that I craved. And that made me feel just a little bit guilty because whether she loved it or not—and I didn’t think she ever really had—that farmhouse was my mother’s home.

I stood, taking a moment to stretch my back, listening to one of the workers make a joke in Spanish about the size of the heads of lettuce in reference to his wife’s anatomy and laughed as I shook my head. One thing about working in the fields for almost two years now: I was practically bilingual. At the very least, I knew how to tell a joke in Spanish—some dirty, some just laugh-out-loud funny.

Chuckling, I turned and looked in the direction of the newly formed lake. There was a wide-open area nearby, next to where the strawberry crops began. I stood for a moment simply staring at that space, picturing a smaller version of the old farmhouse, two bedrooms, maybe three, with a porch that faced the mountains. Even considering such a thing probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, financially at least. I’d have to take out a loan—but the house we lived in now was paid off and, hell, most people had mortgages. It could be done.

A buzz of excitement moved through me, but so did a prickle of doubt. I couldn’t help picturing the way Lia’s room had looked the morning she’d left—the bed still made and the closet empty—and anxiety filled my chest at the memory alone. God, I loved her. I wanted her. I just had to learn to trust her again.

But for now, the fear was still there—the terror that things would get hard and she’d leave again, and it would fucking wreck me like it had the first time. Only this time it’d be a hundred times worse because I didn’t think I’d be able to muster the anger I’d once used like a shield against the pain, the loss.

Time. That was just going to take time. That was the point of taking things slowly. No doubt her uncertainties about me lingered as well. How could they not?

A few hours later, just as I was getting ready to head inside for lunch, I looked up and saw Lia come out the back door with Hudson on her hip. She held up her hand and waved and my heart lurched to see them standing there. My family. The doubts I’d had earlier melted away, and I made my way toward them, walking through the dirt of one of the now-empty lettuce rows.

I squinted as I approached them, and Lia’s smile filled my heart. Hudson babbled something and reached his arms toward me. “Oh no,” Lia said, pulling him back. “Daddy’s as covered in soil as an earthworm. He has to wash up first.” She tickled Hudson’s tummy to distract him as I passed by and headed into the house, the sound of Hudson’s squeal of laughter following behind me.

Inside, Lia had made me a sandwich, and it was sitting on the table with a large glass of iced tea. I washed up quickly and sat down, practically devouring the sandwich in two bites.

Lia put Hudson in his high chair and smiled over at me. “I made a few if you’re still hungry after that one.”

I finished chewing and took a drink of iced tea. “Oh, thank God.”

She laughed, grabbing another sandwich wrapped in tin foil out of the refrigerator and set it in front of the plate that now only held a few bites of sandwich. “I’ll give you one to take back out with you, too. I remember how hungry you get when you’re working outside all day.”

I paused, looking at her, really seeing her. “Thank you,” I said, my voice sounding raspy. I couldn’t help it.

She tilted her head as she studied me. “For what?”