Page 30 of The Path To Us

“I want something out of town with more land than this. Maybe with some buildings so I can raise some cattle or goats. I don’t know the first thing about either but figure I can learn.”

I giggle, not being able to stop myself. “You’re just going to “figure out” how to become a farmer, huh?”

“Sure. Why not? I mean, I know it’s not easy work or anything but I’ve never been afraid of that, you know? Maybe I can get a donkey for Zoey. She’d love that, right?”

I grin. “You’d score major points with her, that’s for sure.”

“Well, that’s what life’s about, right? Scoring points with Squirt?”

“That’s right.”

We finish clearing out all the food from the kitchen and Beau helps me clean the bathrooms. After several hours of being inside Chris’s house, I’ve reached my limit. I think Beau would like to possibly go through some of Chris’s things but right now, I just can’t. My heart can’t take much more and luckily, Beau doesn’t seem to mind.

We close up the house and make our way to our vehicles parked in the driveway, stopping beside my driver’s door. I lean against the hot steel that’s been baking in the hot summer sun. I wince at the quick burn through my thin layer of pants but rest my side against it again, crossing my arms over my chest.

Beau shrugs those massive shoulders of his and grins as he tosses a bag into the back seat of his overgrown pickup that’s parked behind my little SUV that looks like a toy next to his. I have no idea how he drives around in that tank without running into everything in his path. I’ve only ridden in it a few times, but I practically needed a step stool to climb in.

“Want to go out to dinner?” Beau asks.

As much as I’d enjoy a nice evening out, the thought of having to make myself presentable and deal with the way everyone would be whispering and staring is more than I can handle. Living in a small town has its perks, but one of them isn’t the fact that everyone knows my business. Especially the fact that I got pregnant with Chris’s baby but have been in love with Beau for nearly my entire life while he doesn’t have a clue. “Would you care if we grabbed a pizza and just brought it to my place? We can eat outside and have a few beers. I don’t feel like being around people. Plus, I’m gross from working here today.”

“You most definitely aren’t gross,” he murmurs then clears his throat. “Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll show you a couple of the listings I found.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and licks his lips nervously. “One is Mr. Noosma’s place. Do you know it?”

“He’s selling the house?” I ask, surprised and for a reason only I know, a little sad.

Beau nods once. “He is.”

Mr. Noosma’s lived in that old farmhouse for what seems like a century. I’m pretty sure he was born there, if the stories he’s told me are true. It’s also my dream house, though nobody knows that except my late-mother. She and I used to take drives together on Sundays and one summer we ended up getting lost on a country road. We pulled into Mr. Noosma’s driveway to get our bearings and figure out where in the heck we were going to get back home. We didn’t have GPS or maps on our phones at the time so while we were a little nervous, there was also something so peaceful about the house that called to my mom and me.

We sat in the driveway staring at the house, breathing in the fresh air when we stepped out of the car and looked around. A screen door creaked then slammed shut and an older gentleman with a kind smile came outside. He was wearing a dirty ball cap that looked like it’d been a permanent fixture in his daily wardrobe for twenty years nestled on his head, his skin was weathered, and he had the clearest pale blue eyes I’d ever seen. He greeted us with a tobacco pipe hanging out of the corner of his mouth, a big yellow Labrador retriever at his heels, and introduced himself as Richard Noosma.

We let him know we had simply lost our way and he explained how to get back to the main road. But not before he offered us a glass of lemonade and some store-bought cookies. We sat on the wraparound porch that was so beautiful, I’ve never been able to forget it.

Richard Noosma spoke to us like we’d known him our entire lives. Long after the sun set, we laughed and shared stories. He warmed up leftover pot roast and potatoes that was delicious despite being a little dry. If I had a grandfather, he’s who I would have wanted to claim the title. I’ve gotten in the habit of driving by every few weeks just so I could see it. Stopping in for Sunday dinner or Saturday afternoon “coffee time”, he calls it. I can so easily picture myself sitting out there enjoying a morning cup of coffee as the sun rises. After Zoey was born, he visited me in the hospital then took her in as his family also. When Mom died, he spent the night in my guest room because he didn’t want me to be alone.

Just a few weeks before Chris died, Zoey and I had an afternoon on the porch almost identical to the one my mother and I had so many years before. He might not be my grandfather by blood, but in every way, he’s family. He knows all my secrets. Knows my heart and how much I love his home. He never mentioned that he wanted to move. And that hurts. Not that I’m surprised, because it’s a huge house. Big enough for a family of five or six. It’s not a typical house for a single guy and Richard isn’t necessarily young. It’s too much of a house for him to take care of on his own.

Chris knew of him, and had met him a few times. But our relationship? The friendship that Mr. Richard Noosma and I shared? It was ours. He didn’t have much in the way of family and neither did I. His wife has been gone for over thirty years and from what I understand, his house has been in his family for generations.

I swallow hard. “Yeah, I know it. I’m just a bit surprised he’s getting rid of it. I thought the house had been in his family for a while.”

He looks at me closely as if trying to figure out a puzzle. “He only had one son and he doesn’t want to live there. Noosma still owns some of the land that he’ll rent for someone else to farm so it’s not like he’s getting rid of everything, but he’s ready to be in a smaller home.” Why wouldn’t his son want to live there? And he’d just up and sell it to some random person who doesn’t already love the home?

“Do you really want that big of a house?” I clip, not meaning to be short with him but not being able to stop myself.

He shrugs and I want to shove his shoulder out of frustration. I don’t know why, other than for some reason, I feel this sudden betrayal by a man who I felt was family. And since he’s not here, that frustration and anger is directed at Beau. But Beau knows me better than anyone else and I’m sure he can tell there’s a reason to my shortness.

We’re both silent, his gaze curious and trained on me as he tries to figure me out. Annoying.

I shake my head slowly and say, “I don’t think I’d ever leave if I lived there.”

Beau’s stare slowly begins to heat and I squirm under the intensity of it. “You like the house?”

“Let’s just say it has sentimental value to me,” I explain softly.

That seems to surprise him. “Really?”

I nod to confirm. “It does.”

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