Page 24 of The Best Kind of Bad

The pivot stretches the length of the field, metal arches glinting a soft orange in the fading sunrise. I spot a meadowlark balancing on one of the water spigots. Using it as an excuse to touch her, I brush my fingers along the small of her back, leaning down to her eye level to point at the little bird. We listen to its warbling song, and she grins up at me. “Isn’t that the state bird?”

I straighten. “You know your wildlife.”

“I’m kind of a bird nerd.”

“We started in the right place, then. My buddy’s girlfriend, Andy, manages the songbird habitat just on the other side of the draw.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. His mom donated the entire piece of ground.” I start leading her towards the draw. It occupies a small corner of the property. The ground slopes sharply and a meandering creek supplies the pond at the bottom. Ed is bounding through the tall grass, half puppy, half fawn.

“Come on, I want to show you one other thing.”

I help her over the old fence, liking the way her fingers feel when they’re wrapped around mine. She pulls away too quickly and I plow ahead, cutting a path through the knee-high grass. We stop at the side of a ravine. When she comes to stand beside me, I step aside.

She stares at the grassy knoll for a few heartbeats before sucking in a breath. “Is this a sod house?”

“The original Novak soddy.”

She looks at me, eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”

“Gus said it was built by his great, great grandpa Henry. I guess that’d make him your great, great, great grandpa.”

“Holy shit.” She murmurs, stepping closer. Built into the side of the hill, the grass has nearly overgrown it, but the beams Henry used to build the door posts held true, more than a century later. Ed comes tearing up. He sniffs a trail right inside the soddy, only to come barreling back out with his tail tucked between his legs.

I hook a hand around her hip and shepherd her away. “Fifty bucks Ed found a skunk or a possum in there. Either way, I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

She’s quiet as I lead her back up to the truck. Worry starts to worm its way into my gut. Maybe I shouldn’t have shown her that.

She twists in her seat, staring back at the field as we pull away. Completely lost in thought, she isn’t aware that she’s bracing her hand on my thigh. Turning back around, she takes her hand away. “Why wouldn’t Uncle Gus have shown me that?”

“Probably because you can’t take two steps on one of these fields without tromping all over some Novak family heirloom.”

Our tour of the fields turns into a Novak Family History Tour. Her family’s roots run back almost one hundred and fifty years. For as long as I knew him, Gus was fascinated by genealogy. He didn’t talk much, but that was one topic he couldn’t resist. And if I could get him talking, I would, because that man was good for a story.

But if talking about family history lit Gus up, it’s making her clam up. By lunch, I bring us back to the house. She slinks off to the house and I stomp into the shop. It could be entirely pointless, but there’s a planter that needs a tune-up and until I know for sure I’ve been fired, life must go on.

I’m cursing out a rusted bolt when a set of tires crushes the gravel outside. Heaving myself to my feet, I wipe my greasy hands off on a rag, nodding at Bo as he circles around his truck.

Half of my group of friends consists of the Thomas cousins. Bo and Skyler. Both were born with rugged good looks and more money than God. Bo scrubs a hand over his dark beard, giving me his million-dollar smile. “What happened to you last night? You’re usually the one shutting that street dance down.”

I shrug, walking over to the fridge by the workbench. “Beer?”

Bo glances at his smart watch and shrugs. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

I toss him a beer, cracking one open for myself. Ed marches in, pausing for pets from Bo before coming to lay on the cool cement floor. Bo’s gazing back at the farmyard, scanning it.

“Looking for wildlife?”

He grins at me. “Might be.”

“If that’s the case, there're some sparrows out back that you’ll be fascinated by.”

He leans back against his truck. “You gonna make me spell it out?”

I give him a lopsided grin. “You gonna come clean about why you’re snooping around?”

“I’m not snooping.” He shrugs, sipping his beer. “On an unrelated note, I heard Gus Novak’s niece was back in town.”

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