Page 86 of Homestead

Whatever I’m hoping to say that would miraculously fix the past fifteen minutes never gets said at all.

Because Jimmy walks out the door.

And me, I cry in painful, silent sobs until I have to run outside to throw up.

15

Neither one ofus has much time to recover and return to our normal composure because we have to leave for dinner at his parents’ farm about thirty minutes later.

I gather the extra bread I baked, and Jimmy hauls the cooler full of fish we caught that morning. We start off on the walk without speaking, and the bleak silence continues without reprieve.

We’ve reached the road with the farms and houses when the sound of an engine startles us. We hear it so seldom anymore that it takes a minute for the mechanical hum in the distance to even process in my mind.

I realize what it is at the same time as Jimmy. He puts a hand on my back to push me onto the grass on the side of the road, and I go willingly, my heart racing in fear.

No one has vehicles around here except the gangs. And even they only have a few.

This one isn’t a motorcycle. It’s an old pickup truck with a large livestock trailer rattling behind it. Both Jimmy and I have our guns out as it closes in on us. It pulls to a stop when it reaches us.

A man leans out of the open passenger window. He’s big and black and mostly bald and grinning. “Jimmy, isn’t it?” he asks, his eyes moving from Jimmy to me. His hands are empty and stretched out of the window in a gesture of peace.

Jimmy straightens up, clearly recognizing this man. “Mack,” he says, moving toward the truck and peering in at the other people. “Hey there. Y’all back in these parts?”

“Yeah. Hoping to trade for cows. Good to see you. Where y’all heading?”

Mack is obviously the man Amelia mentioned before, and I can immediately see what she appreciated about him. He’s strong and handsome but also genuinely friendly—like a warmth radiates out of him that’s impossible to contain.

Beyond him, behind the steering wheel, is a dark-haired, rough-looking white man whom Jimmy appears to recognize too. And between the two men is a small, pretty, green-eyed woman.

“We’re headin’ to my parents’,” Jimmy replies. “That’s the big farmhouse with the oaks lining the road, if you don’t remember. Most of the folks around here should be there this evening, so y’all should join us. The Hurleys’ll be there too. I’m sure my parents will let you stay with them like before.”

“Sounds good.” Mack leans out farther, focusing on me now. “I’m Mack,” he says pointedly.

Jimmy should have introduced me, but he didn’t.

“Chloe,” I say, smiling at him.

“You new around here?”

“Yeah. Just since last fall.”

“Nice to meet you, Chloe. This is Rachel beside me, and the guy driving is Cal. He’s not as mean as he looks.”

I’m glad to hear that because the other man is very intimidating. But I smile at both of the others. Rachel greets me, but Cal just nods.

“All right then,” Mack said. “We’ll see you over there. Guess you don’t need a ride the rest of the way there?”

“No, we’re good,” Jimmy tells him. “Thanks.” He keeps a hand on my back as the pickup starts up again, soon out of sight over the hill.

“Well,” I say as we still stand on the side of the road.

“Yeah,” Jimmy mumbles, applying gentle pressure with his hand on my back to get us walking again.

We don’t say anything else the rest of the way there.

* * *

Ever since the weather warmed up in the spring, the Carlsons’ Saturday dinners have been hosted outside.

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