Everything We Didn't Say(106)

“I’m going to be just fine,” I tell Jonathan. I know this much is true.

My brother nods at this and takes one last bite of cake. “I didn’t give you enough credit back then.”

“I could say the same thing.”

“Nah. I was reeling. Not exactly trustworthy material,” Jonathan admits. “When I turned eighteen and Cal told me the truth, it nearly destroyed me. Sure, legally I was an adult, but I wasn’t ready for that kind of bombshell.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.”

“Cal begged me not to. Beth didn’t know the truth about me, and he was trying to figure out the best way to break the news to her. Did you know she couldn’t have kids?”

I shake my head.

“It would have wrecked her. As far as I know, she never learned the truth. I think it’s better that way.” Jonathan sighs.

“But I—”

“You were leaving for college… You were so happy, Junebug. Your whole life was before you, and mine was falling apart. I was so hurt and confused, and I didn’t want to drag you into any of it. Especially what was happening with the Tates.”

“I could have helped.”

He nods once. “I should have trusted you.”

“You were doing what you thought was right. You’re a good son,” I tell him, and mean it from the bottom of my heart. A good son to Law and to Cal. I always understood Jonathan’s desire to protect the Murphys, but knowing who he really is has only drawn everything into sharper focus. “And I’m proud of what you’re doing.”

“Well, we’ll see what happens.” Jonathan is careful not to hope too hard, but there is another lawsuit in the works. He’s spent years gathering data and working with environmental agencies across the Midwest and beyond. This lawsuit isn’t against the Tates but the Department of Natural Resources, the state of Iowa, and several of the larger big ag conglomerates that have contributed to the over 750 impaired waterways throughout Iowa. It’s all rather chilling—and exciting that someone is finally doing something about it. My brother.

And this time around, with Sullivan at the helm instead of Franklin, the Tate Family Farms are being used as a case study of how environmentally friendly farm trends can begin to reshape rural environments. I can’t help but feel proud that Willa’s dad is working to change things. Jonathan and Sullivan are even meeting again for coffee and discussions about preserving biodiversity, reducing greenhouse gases, and conserving soil and water.

“It’s amazing. Truly.” I squeeze Jonathan’s hand where it rests on the picnic table.

“I’m just sorry that—”

“Nope.” I stop him before he can go any further. “No more apologies. We did the best we could. We’re still doing the best we can.”

His eyes well, another side effect of his near-death experience, but I wrap my arms around my brother because I know. Sometimes your best is enough, and sometimes it’s nowhere near. Sometimes the world is fire and ash, dirt and blood spilled on the ground, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Sometimes you pour out all of your love, and it returns to you brittle and empty.

But sometimes, we’re given another chance. We begin again.

“What are you smiling at?” Jonathan asks when I pull away.

“Nothing,” I say, then stand up and gather the container, the fork, the used napkin. I stuff them all into the tote and pull it onto one shoulder.

My brother pushes away from the table and stands slowly, gazing out at the water. I watch him and wonder if he thinks about the ice, the bite of it against his skin and the sudden, savage understanding that life is a fickle, fleeting thing. A free fall. I hope not. I hope he thinks about the moments when we rise.

“You ready?”

When Jonathan turns, I link my arm with his to walk the forsythia path. He doesn’t need his cane. He can lean on me.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


EVERYTHING WE DIDN’T SAY was written during the most difficult season of my life—and then a global pandemic hit. My solitary days of writing in a fog of sadness and uncertainty were suddenly filled with homeschooling kids, grief-stricken teenagers, and the ever-present threat of a potentially life-threatening illness. Needless to say, I wrote under duress. Often poorly.

The fact that this book is in your hands is a testament to the tenacity and hard work of a small group of people who never gave up on me or Juniper’s story. I’m not sure I deserved their attention and devotion, but I will be forever grateful for it.

This is my tenth book, and Danielle Egan-Miller has been my agent and friend since almost day one. I’m sure it was disconcerting to see me so uncharacteristically lost, but she patiently helped me find my way and encouraged me through every draft and rewrite. Undying thanks also to the Browne & Miller team (Ellie Roth and Mariana Fisher), who are smart and fierce and advocate so hard for me.

Daniella Wexler has always been an excellent editor, but she outdid herself on Everything We Didn’t Say. Her attention to detail and subtle, perfectly on-point influence is all over the pages of this book. I love working with her and hope we remain a team for many books to come.

Dear friends Tosca Lee and Kimberly Stuart offered help and advice (as well as shoulders to cry on) at integral points throughout the process. And my Tall Poppy community was, as always, a safe haven and place to be real about all my fears and frustrations.