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.
I smiled at the girl at the hostess stand—someone new I didn’t recognize—and asked if Ron was available. He had been the day manager when I’d worked there a little over a year ago and I hoped that hadn’t changed. We’d never been close friends, but he was efficient and fair, and he’d always treated his employees well. I’d resigned before I had Hudson, but I’d left on good terms.
“He’s in the back. I’ll go get him. Can I tell him your name?”
“Yes. Annalia. I used to work here.”
The girl nodded and went off toward the back. I’d purposefully come in during what I knew was the slowest time to ensure that the manager on duty had time to see me.
As I waited, I glanced around. Everything looked exactly the same and I felt a sort of comfort to be here. I’d been worried that it would hurt to come back, but it didn’t and for that I was grateful. Because I would have to bear it regardless of how I felt. I needed a job because I needed money. It was really that simple.
I had gone to what I now considered my mama’s apartment the night before and asked if I could stay with her. She’d seemed almost happy to see me, which had been a small blessing, considering the way we’d parted. I’d left her for six months and honestly expected a bitter and terse reception. She hadn’t asked me any questions, although I felt she wanted to and was holding herself back. But she’d been civil and I was relieved. I’d wait for her to ask me about her sister. If she ever did.
Preston had continued to pay my mama’s rent, which I’d believed he would. Preston was many things, but he wasn’t cruel, nor was he vindictive, and so I’d left my mama’s continued financial care in his hands—the care he’d taken over when I’d moved into his farmhouse with him and his mother. I’d been almost five months pregnant.
But I didn’t expect him to keep paying my mama’s bills now that I was back, and I also felt an obligation to reimburse him for the support he’d continued to extend to her while I’d been gone.
“Annalia?”