Silas hoots. “I'd love to see you try, big brother.”
“Cut it out, both of you,” Killian says. “You guys are giving me a headache. Why are we standing outside anyway? You got beer in the fridge?”
“Dude, it’s like nine in the morning,” Elias says.
Killian raises his eyebrows. “Do you have a fucking point?” he asks. “Beer? Fridge?”
I toss the keys at Killian. "The fridge is full of beer,” I say. “Wait, I thought you were going back to the rig.”
“I have to,” he says. “Leave tomorrow.”
“You’re going to really leave right in the middle of this shit?”
Killian shrugs, the way he does. Things just roll off his back; that's the way Killian has always been, mellow like that. But it pisses me off that he can just leave, walk away like none of this matters to him. It should matter to him. He points at Elias and Silas. "You two idiots, leave Luke alone to read through the journal while I get us some beers. I'm not doing jack shit out here until I get a cold one."
"It's all near the end in the journal," Elias starts.
"Leave him be, Elias," he says, disappearing into the house.
Elias glares at him. "I folded down the page," he says.
I pull up a lawn chair and open the journal to the page, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Fuck this day. It was already a shitty day to begin with and now this.
I lose myself in the pages, squinting at the pieces of handwriting that are hard to decipher, words here and there that I can't quite make out. It's definitely hers, though – it's like hearing my mother's voice from beyond the grave. At one point, I look up from it and catch Silas' eye.
"It's weird reading that shit, isn't it?" he asks.
"Spooky," I say. It's like stepping into her head, and that's not a place I've ever wanted to be. I've always thought of her as weak, too afraid to leave my asshole stepfather. He'd beaten her down so many times that she was too helpless to get out. Except, that's not what I see in the journal. Her voice changes over the course of it. And then I get to the thing that hits me like a blow to the guy, that makes the world tilt on its fucking axis.
I look up at Elias. "Are you kidding me?" I ask.
"Keep reading," he says. "It gets worse."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Autumn
Olivia points at the freezer, and then at her mouth, before letting out a loud scream.
"Ice cream?" I ask. I'm about to say no, when Connie – Connie C. to differentiate her from Connie S. over at the salon -- bustles past me, wiping her hands on her gingham apron.
"Oh, give that baby some ice cream," she says, slipping behind the ice cream freezer and reaching into one of the containers to scoop out a bit into a cup. "It won't hurt her any."
"Says the woman who doesn't have to deal with a kid who doesn't want to nap after she gets all hopped up on sugar." I protest, but half-heartedly. This is part of our regular routine here.
Connie C. laughs. "You sound like my daughter when I get around the grandkids," she says. "Here you go, little Olivia."
"I swear, I think she's associated you with ice cream, Connie," I say, holding the cup while Olivia tries to spoon some into her mouth, the liquid dripping down her chin.
"There are worse things to be associated with," she says. "How's business, Autumn? That fire up there didn't hurt your harvest now, did it?"
"Not terribly," I tell her. "We caught it in time. We're actually almost finished harvesting."
"Luke Saint has been helping you out, I hear." She slips behind the counter and begins placing my groceries in the paper bags, but I know she's really sussing me out for juicy gossip. I force my expression blank. Connie is one of the worst gossips in town – her general store and the local hair salon are the two main sources of information in West Bend, and everyone knows it. And the last thing I need is for her to get the idea that there's anything other than a business relationship going on between Luke and I.
I haven't talked to Luke since we hooked up. No phone call, no text, no Luke knocking on my front door with groceries in his hands and that crooked grin on his face.
Nothing.
"Yep," I say. No elaboration. "Do you have any of that French bread you had before?"
"Oh, it's in the back, sweetie," she says, putting a head of broccoli in a bag. "Hang on, I'll grab you a loaf."
I exhale, relieved at the brief reprieve from Connie's questions. And from thinking about Luke.
At least, that's the case until he walks in the door.
Luke is wearing jeans and a t-shirt that looks like it was dyed to match the color of his eyes, a cornflower blue hue that's warm and icy at the same time. When Olivia sees him, she holds up her spoon and grunts, waving it in the air excitedly and sending droplets of ice cream all over the floor. He looks at me for a good long moment, then down at Olivia. "Hey there, Olivia," he says. "That looks like some delicious ice cream."