Two funerals in the span of two days: a double for my parents yesterday and one for Lydia Montgomery today. The services pass by as kind words swirl around me, but they’re meaningless, like wind passing by my ears. I’m just trying to get through the day.
Since it happened, Branson has been by my side, helping with every detail, supporting me through each day. It’s been the longest and most agonizing two weeks of my life of both our lives.
Mr. Montgomery barks orders at his son from across the hall where we gather for tea in memory of Lydia. You’d think the loss of his wife would soften him towards his only son, but it hasn’t, not one little bit.
Like a dog beaten into submission, Branson rushes to his daddy’s side, intent on doing whatever it takes to make the man happy. Nothing will ever make that man a kinder soul. Just seeing him, just knowing he survived, and my sweet parents didn’t—it kills me, and I know, although he’s too kind-hearted to say the words, Branson feels the same way.
Within minutes, Branson returns to me, taking my hand and leading me out as the limo arrives to take me home.
“My father has asked me to accompany you home.” It’s not a question. His tone dictates his need to escape his father.
Nodding, I accept his company, even though I wasn’t technically asked if I wanted it. The hour-long ride is silent, just the two of us. We haven’t discussed what we did the night after our parents died, nor has he made a move to try again. It shouldn’t have happened, and it will not happen again. I still can’t believe we did it. I gave my virginity to him in a fit of insanity brought on by the deepest sorrow.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, watching him. He’s so tightly held together—I can’t imagine.
“I’m hanging in there. It’s still so hard to believe...to accept.” He sucks in a sharp breath to compose himself.
Nodding, I ask the nosiest question of all. “Is your father treating you well?” I know the answer by the slight way he flinches.
“He blames me. Says if they hadn’t stopped to drop me off, it wouldn’t have happened. He’ll take any excuse to make my life miserable...” Bitterness laces his words.
“I’m sorry, Branson. You do know you’re not responsible for any of it—it was an accident. What ifs will get us nowhere and only prolong the pain. Believe me, I’ve had many what if moments.”
He breaks down, and I pull him in, consoling him. I feel bad for him; his dad is an awful person. I’m sure under that hard exterior there is some actual love for his only son, but I don’t have a clue how to lure it out.
I’m grateful the day is over, that the formalities are over, and I can retreat to my farm.
My farm.
It’s all mine now.
This knowledge and all the responsibility that comes along with it, terrifies me. Lord willing, I hope I’m ready for it, but I don’t have a choice. The limo drops me off and Branson heads home. As I watch him drive away, my body stiffens—I’ll be alone now.
It doesn’t last long, though. Workers appear at several points throughout the day, expressing condolences and asking if I need assistance. Before long, I find myself immersed in the everyday tasks associated with farming. It’s all a welcome distraction.
For the first time in my life, I made dinner for myself. It was strange only cooking for one, but I couldn’t continue eating sandwiches forever. The fried chicken was tasteless, mere sustenance, and nowhere near the caliber of Mamma’s chicken. I’ve eaten and cleared the dishes, but I have no idea what to do now.
That’s the problem. The thing about loneliness is that no matter how long you try to avoid it, to keep yourself busy, it manages to creep in. As the sun goes down, I’m sitting on the porch, staring out into the vast pecan orchard. Somehow, I’ve made it through another day, but I’m restless.
The orchard manager, Clive, should be at his cabin soon, so I make my way towards the workers cabins, determined to talk business with him. Daddy respected Clive enough to share all aspects of business with him, so he and I will work together to continue to ensure my farm thrives.
As I approach the modest white cabin, I notice Clive sitting on the porch, enjoying a beverage. He rises to greet me, sadness painting his handsome features.
I nod, raising my hand to stop him—I can’t listen to anymore sympathies. “Clive, I came to talk business, and I just want to do that...OK?”
“Of course, Ms. Reilly. How can I help?”
“Well, there is a lot I know, but the business end has always been with you and Daddy. I guess, I need to know where things stand and then go from there.”
“The peanut fields are almost clean, and the pecans are looking fine. We’re in for another impeccable harvest. Things run fairly smooth around here. Of course, your attorney James Markham will handle probate and any major contracts and negotiations to our customers. Everything you need to know is housed in the server in the office.” He nods his head towards his cabin as an invite to check it out.
“Another time, soon, I’m just about done with today. I appreciate everything you do, Clive. You really are the best manager we’ve ever seen. Will you meet with me, when you have some time, to show me the ins and outs?”
He nods a thank you. “Of course, I’ll be in the office all day tomorrow getting payroll ready to go. Stop by, anytime.”
Nodding, I smile and wave as I step away. “See you tomorrow.”
I take the long way home, making sure to bring myself to my spot at the farthest edge of the orchard. It’s a hike, but the sticky humidity is erased by a slight evening breeze that makes the trek bearable. Night is closing in, and although I should head back to the house, I don’t. I just stare out across the peanut fields, taking it all in.
This land is everything to me; It’s all I have left of them.
I have to do them proud.
It’s my sole focus, my life’s breath.
From behind me, I hear someone approaching. Turning, I see Nick’s silhouette moving towards me. I haven’t seen him since the night he picked me up off the ground in this very spot and consoled me, because he had to go back to college.
Tilting my head with surprise, I smile, happy that he took time out of his weekend to visit me. His presence is suddenly everything I never knew I needed.
“Good evening, Zeta,” he says, his tone gentle, low, and incredibly formal.
Swallowing hard, I collect myself and smile. I don’t think I’ve smiled in ages. It feels weird but seeing him makes me happy, genuinely. “You drove all that way just to be here...I appreciate it,” I say.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first, but I wanted to see you.” He grins and my heart lurches in my chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral yesterday. I had an exam.”
“It’s okay, for all I know you were there—the whole day is a blur.” Sighing, I try to stop the tears that are ever present. “Nick, I never got the chance to thank you...for picking me up off the ground that night...”
He steps closer, his face inches from mine, and tilts his head to the side as if he’s assessing me. “No thank you is necessary. You needed me.”
Oh boy, did I ever. Do I ever. I don’t know what to say that won’t come off as bonkers. My attraction to this man is intense, crazy, and when he’s near, my dreary world brightens.
He’s my worker, he and I shouldn’t—but he isn’t my worker, not anymore—still, would it be wrong? As if reading my jumbled thoughts and protesting them, he reaches out, pulls me into his arms, and takes my lips. My feet stumble, my hands move up to brace myself and the palms rest against his chest and then fist the material of his shirt, holding on.
His soft lips tease mine as a low rumble rises from within, pushing a soft moan of pleasure from my lips. It’s needy, surprising me, so I pull from his lips and turn to rest my head against his shoulders. The comfort I feel is overwhelming and I know that in his arms, my soul is safe; I’m not alone. He kisses my head and holds me. Enough time passes that I start to feel awkward, lost, confused—this is too much—far too much too soon and I suddenly feel like a caged animal.
I pull back, searching the space behind him for an escape. I want to flee—run in any direction, but at the same time, as my fingers loosen their grasp of his shirt, I’m sure of my want to cling to him and never let go. Suddenly, I want more—all of it.
Panic sets in.
I can’t do this.
It’s bad enough that I tossed away my promise to save myself for marriage and slept with Branson on a whim of despair, but I can’t just sleep with someone I hardly know. I have to nurture some sort of value—start fresh, although, it’s not like I’m getting my virginity back.
What would my parents say?
Like a second bucket of ice water has been splashed in my face, my body twitches as I stumble back from Nick. It’s not because I don’t want him. I do, and the realization that I can do what I want, unprotested, that is the hardest to take.
Again, as with everything else I do, I’m reminded, they are gone.
Nick reaches out for me, but I shake my head as tears start. “I can’t do this...I...”
“Don’t,” he says, reaching up to thumb a tear from my cheek as his other hand reaches for mine. “I understand.”
“No,” I say, sighing, feeling deflated. “It’s just too much.” I really like him. I don’t understand how or why, but the attraction is out of this world. It’s just a really bad time. I’m not even slightly ready for anything.
“Listen,” he says, still holding my hand. “I’m heading back tomorrow. We’ll keep in touch, OK?”
The thought of him leaving me is more than I can bear. Like a giant baby, I start to cry, sobbing as he pulls me against his chest. What’s wrong with me? How can he even want me when every time he sees me, I fall apart?
It’s better this way, if he leaves, and we get to know each other. Besides I need space and time to figure out my life, to grieve, to heal.
Space and time, I’ll be alone in that space and time.
Lonely.
Being alone and being lonely are two totally different feelings. I used to welcome being alone—I lived for it—now I dread it because loneliness takes over.
Loneliness: It’s a black hole of nothingness and the most unbearable feeling of all.
I want to go home. I want to crawl into my bed, pull the covers over myself, and just sleep my pain away.
Defeated, I turn to leave, and he doesn’t stop me. As my hand slides away from his, agony returns with each step I take. It’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me this is the last time I will see Nick.
It stops me. I can’t lose any more. I have to tell him how I feel, even if I’m not exactly sure what that feeling means.
Spinning, I search the space, but he’s gone as if I imagined the entire exchange.