“It’s spotty, but they do get a bar or two,” Sean replied. “Don’t bother to call if there’s a thick cloud cover or a storm. You won’t get through.” The pressure on my shoulder increased. “It’ll be okay, Lila. The folks in the co-op will treat him well, and he’s in no danger.”
I raised my brows. “There are rumors that those ‘folks’ grow pot as one of their staple crops.”
Sean’s hand slid away, and he stood up, as though I’d reminded him that he had unsolved crimes waiting and that he needed to get going. “People in town have been spreading that story since Red Fox was founded, but we’ve conducted at least three surprise investigations and never found so much as an illegal seed, let alone an entire crop. And Jasper has always been cooperative, gracious even, about these searches.”
I got to my feet as well, amazed that my mother hadn’t stirred a muscle throughout our entire exchange.
Thanking Sean profusely, I walked him to his truck, wishing those fifteen feet could stretch into a mile. Part of me wanted nothing more but to climb into bed and process Trey’s impulsive decision, and part of me wanted to linger beneath the heavy indigo sky with Sean.
He turned before opening the driver’s door, and for one breathless moment, I thought he might pull me to him. There was a hunger in his eyes that I knew was reflected in my own, and I desperately wanted to feel his mouth on mine, to get lost in an embrace that could make me forget about Trey and everything else outside the circle of his arms. But suddenly, my mother uttered a loud, guttural snort, and the glimmer in Sean’s eyes morphed into a silent laugh.
“It’s the whiskey,” I whispered with a snigger.
As if to reinforce that our romantic moment had passed us by, it began to rain again.
Sean wiped a droplet from his forehead, promised to keep in touch, and hopped into the truck. I watched him drive off, waving until his red taillights disappeared around a bend in the road.
“Stupid rain!” I said, raising my voice. I hadn’t even realized that I was angry. But I was.
I was angry at Trey for how helpless his decision made me feel. How could he leave and not even bother to write me a note telling me where he’d gone? I was bent out of shape that I hadn’t worked harder on Marlette’s behalf, and I was also annoyed that I didn’t have enough gumption to lean in and kiss Sean. What was I waiting for?
“It just wasn’t the time,” Althea spoke, answering my question.
I swiveled, my fists in tight knots. “How long were you pretending to be asleep?”
“Since you took Mr. Beam outta my hand,” she said, still groggy. “Some folks have teddy bears, some have sound machines, but I like to drop off holdin’ my sweet-smellin’ cup.”
“No wonder you have to wash your sheets so much,” I grumbled.
My mother roused herself and began to shuffle inside. “You’d best have a swig yourself. With the way your hormones are ragin’, you won’t get a second of shut-eye. G’night, darlin’.”
I SLEPT LATER than I wanted to the next morning, but both my body and mind had really needed those extra hours of slumber. The house was quiet, and I assumed my mother had gone out for a walk, so I poured a cup of coffee and went up to Trey’s room to think about my next course of action.
Sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, I felt like I was losing my son, like he was drifting down a fast-running stream and no matter what I did, I couldn’t catch up to him. I couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t even hear me calling his name.
Of course he craved independence and the companionship of people his own age, but did he have to move to an isolated mountaintop to find contentment? Where had I gone wrong?
One thing I knew for sure: Trey was still my son, and I had every right to hike up to the co-op and demand he tell me face-to-face why he wanted to stay there. I put on a pair of cropped sweatpants and a tank top and stole a few loaves of banana bread from my mother’s freezer. It was then that I spotted a note taped to the handle of the refrigerator. It read: Give him some space, Lila.
Apparently my mother didn’t find the idea of her teenage grandson living with a troupe of goat herders as disconcerting as I did. Ignoring her advice, I headed outside for the narrow trail.
Thirty minutes later, I stopped at the co-op’s entrance to catch my breath and spotted Trey shoveling goat droppings into a wheelbarrow. I could scarcely believe my eyes. He wouldn’t even put the toilet seat down at home, and now he was voluntarily cleaning up malodorous animal poop.
When Trey saw me coming, he set down the shovel and gave me such a warm smile that my eyes grew misty. He was happy.