Page 58 of Teach Me How

“Yeah. All that talk of skiing made me think maybe I ought to shorten up my commute.”

He grins. “You definitely should. Get away from that black hole of a town.”

“You don’t miss it?”

He grimaces. “Fuck, no. I don’t know how Skyler can stand it.”

“I’m not so sure he can stand it.”

Mitch tilts his head. “You talk to him much?”

My cheeks color and I do my best to play it cool. “A little. Here and there. Not much.”

Oh God, stop talking, Reese.

My brain might want to shut up, but my lips don’t get the message. “Why do you think he stayed?”

“In Silver Bend? For dad.”

“Your dad?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Nobody knows the meaning of the words guilt trip like a farmer’s son.”

I think about Josh, how it was always just assumed he’d take over after my dad retired. “You don’t feel that pressure?”

Mitch tips his head. “I guess a little. But I’m the younger son, so the spotlight was always on Skyler.” He pauses. “When we were younger, it seemed like he was going to break free. He was always talking about going to college to become an engineer. But right before senior year, that talk changed into thinking of jobs he could do on the side.”

“So he could help with the farm?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t that the summer he got in that accident?”

Mitch’s face sobers. “Yeah.”

“Do you think those injuries still bother him?”

“I know they do. He’s looked into physical therapy and all that, but there ain’t much you can do for a broken femur.”

“I suppose not.”

Mitch looks over his shoulder. I get the impression that a friend has showed up. He glances back at the screen. “Hey, I got to go. But real quick, I got a friend on the city council in Boulder. You want me to ask her if she knows of any job openings?”

Excitement, like a thick ribbon, unfurls in my chest. “Yes. Please. That would be amazing.”

“You got it, sis. If you come up with any other questions give me a call.”

“You mean a text?”

He grins. “I mean a call.”

38.

Skyler

I’ve always associated Halloween with the end of harvest. In a good year, we’re already done. In a bad year, we’re starting to worry about snow.

I stand in between shorn rows, a light skiff of snow dusting my boots. It don’t mean much. This is Nebraska. The weather changes on a dime. Snow one day, sun the next.

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