“What happened to your back?” Mrs. Kruger asks as I enter the farmhouse, her silver hair like a halo in the early evening sun.
I place my sweaty shirt over my shoulders. Drops of sweat roll down my jaw and drip onto my chest from a long, hot day working for her husband in the fields. “It was from an accident in the mine.”
She stops stirring a pot on the stove and turns to me. Her apron hangs over her round belly and she grabs the hem and dries her hands. “You know, it’s better to have a scar than a bruise.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“Bruises go away, Tyler. Scars stick around to prove you showed up for life. That you lived. That you fought. That you loved.” She peers at me over the top of her glasses. “I knew it the night you came here, asking to talk to my husband, that your heart was broken. I’ve seen a lovesick man a time or two in my years. But can I give you some advice?”
I nod, my body breaking out in a cold sweat under her scrutiny.
“What would you say about your heart? Would you say your heart is bruised or scarred, Tyler?”
“Scarred in every direction possible,” I whisper without hesitation.
She starts to smile, but catches herself. “When did you know you loved her?”
“From the moment I saw her.”
“I see,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. She thinks for a long moment before taking a deep breath. “You can’t expect a relationship to succeed based on the love you felt at the beginning. It succeeds because you continue to build on it until the end.” She removes her glasses and smiles. “Your heart will be more scarred than your back by the end of your lifetime. That is, if you live the right way.”
A warmth builds in my core, my feet shuffling beneath me.
“Go home, Tyler,” she whispers. “Go build on the beginning.”
Her words ring through my mind as I try to find a comfortable spot on this godforsaken futon. It sounds simple, to build on what we had at the beginning. So simple, in fact, that I’d raced back to town, sure as shit that I would find Elin, we’d see each other, she’d break into a tight smile, I’d smile back, and we’d figure this out.
Never did I expect the coldness in her posture, the disdain that filled her beautiful green irises. Anger? Yeah. Sadness? Sure. But hatred? It stopped me in my tracks.
Swinging my legs to the side, my footsteps create a circle in the room as I attempt to block out the idea that has me more worried than any other: she doesn’t want to fix this.
The itch of frustration working its way up my spine has my skin on fire. This is my fault, this entire fuckup is my mistake in so many ways.
Taking a deep breath, I glance around the room. It feels empty, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the lack of furniture.
Rising, I grab a pillow and a blanket out of another bag and toss them on the futon. It’s going to kill my back to sleep here, but I have no inclination to get a bed. Buying furniture seems like planting roots somewhere, admitting that my marriage is over, and while I know it just might be, I can’t see physical proof of that.
I might sleep on a futon for the rest of my life.
Getting as comfortable as possible, I try to block out Elin and focus on what I need to do. Yet her face slips across my mind as my eyes drift closed.
“Remember the good that used to be in me, Elin,” I whisper, the words skirting past the lump in my throat.
Not the failure.
Not the weakness.
Not the man sitting on the couch popping pain pills with no job.
I swallow, forcing the lump down, and try to remember every line in her face. “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper again. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
ELIN
“When do you start at Ashby Farms?” I ask Jiggs, watching him take a marshmallow out of a bowl on the middle of his kitchen counter and pop it in his mouth.
“Monday. It’s harvest time, so it’ll be solid work for a while. Hopefully long enough for me to figure something else out.”
“I wish someone else would start hiring permanently,” I sigh. “I hate that the mine is basically your only hope for a consistent job.”
“Even it’s not consistent now.” Jiggs shrugs, swiping another marshmallow. “It’s good money though. I’ll be glad to go back.”
I watch him toss the candy in the air and try to catch it in his mouth. “Mom didn’t want you working there.”
“No, but she would’ve understood. It’s Jackson, Elin. It’s what we do here. Grandpa did it. Dad did it. It’s our life. You know that.” He tosses it up again. When it hits the floor, he looks at me and smiles. “May as well get used to it.”
He leans over the island and presses his lips together, holding steady until Lindsay gives in and kisses him.
Laughing, he swipes another pillow of sugar. “I gotta figure something out, right?” He catches Lindsay’s eye and they exchange a look that piques my interest.
“What am I missing?” I ask, furrowing my brow. Before I can continue on and prod my brother and best friend, I hear a man’s voice.