Page 4 of More Than Anything

“Avery, your dad built that company from the ground up. He wanted you and Ben to run it together.”

“Oh, yeah?” Avery threw some books into a box. “You know what, Mom? He wanted Ben to run it. Just like you wanted Ben to run it. You had no intention of letting me into that circle; neither of you did. Ben’s in the office and I’m doing the same grunt work as half the damn workforce there. I’m a nobody.”

“Oh, honey, it’s because you wouldn’t apply yourself,” she said, sighing again.

“Apply myself? I was applying myself. I ran the shipping department and did a great job, but the first time Ben laid eyes on my wife, he moved me out to the floor on third shift so she’d be alone at night and he could just waltz right in.” Avery tossed two more books into the box, then threw one in the trash can. “So I’m taking my money and leaving. I’m done.” Before she had a chance to say another word, Avery hung up the phone.

He had everything packed in thirty minutes; hell, he had virtually nothing anyway. Everything he’d had left had pretty much fit in a shoebox by the time Shannon was done with him. And the worst part was, she didn’t even want it. She’d managed to get the house, only to sell it and pocket the money, like she needed it. She had access to all of the company’s funds because of Ben, and why she needed to take the only thing he had, he wasn’t sure. But that was what she’d done. Broken his heart and taken everything away from him.

Well, he’d show them all. As soon as he’d packed everything into his truck, he headed downtown to the bank. Boy, they’d be pissed when they discovered he’d put all three million of his trust fund money into a checking account somewhere else, but that’s exactly what he planned to do. If he kept it in that bank, their minions would be able to track him. No. He wasn’t going to have that.

Once the transfer was done, Avery got three thousand in cash and headed back to the truck. He started to pick up a map, and then decided against it. He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t care.

As long as it wasn’t there.

* * *

When he lookedat his gas gauge, he had an eighth of a tank left and it was the wee hours of the morning. Avery had been watching for something, anything, that looked promising, but he’d seen nothing. Stopping at a gas station in northeastern Texas to refill, he looked at the bulletin board there and just as he was turning away, thinking there was nothing of any interest to him, he spotted something. It was a hand-written note.

For sale: One farm. About 200 acres, give or take a few. I’ve raised tobacco on it, and corn and soybeans. Got some cows too. Tell me what you’ll give me for it and we can dicker.

Something flew through Avery’s mind and he tore off a strip with the phone number, then went back to the counter and asked the clerk, “Is there a motel somewhere around here?”

“Yeah, there’s one back over there across the interstate,” the young girl told him, pointing to the exit’s overpass, “but it ain’t very nice. It’s cheap though.”

“Thanks.” Heading out to his truck, he hopped in and drove across to The Tucker City Inn.Original name, he snickered to himself. There was a “VACANCY” sign blinking out front, and sure enough, he got a room for a little over thirty dollars.

The door opened to a tiny little space with a full-size bed. It was dingy and run down, but it was clean, though it smelled of mildew and old cigarette smoke. Avery brushed his teeth and stripped down, then crawled under the sheet and blanket and fell asleep almost immediately.

When he woke at sunrise?the curtains did little to keep the sunlight out?he thought of the note from the night before and rummaged around in his pockets until he found the little scrap of paper. His hands were shaking as he dialed the number, and it was answered with a croaky, “Hello?”

“Hello. My name is Avery and I saw your note on the bulletin board at the gas station last night. Is your farm still for sale?”

There was a chuckle on the other end before the voice wheezed out, “Why yes, son, it is.”

Something stirred inside Avery’s chest, and he recognized it even though he hadn’t felt it in years. It was excitement. He might be about to make a huge mistake, but it would be his mistake, not one someone else forced on him. “So how much do you want for the farm?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know. Why don’t you come on out here and look around? Then you can decide what you think it’s worth.”

“Yes, sir! I can do that. If you’ll give me some idea where it is, I’ll come right on out,” he said, grabbing a notepad and a pen from the desk in the little motel room. He jotted down the things the man told him and when he had it all down, he said, “Now it may take me a bit to find it, but I’ll be there. Don’t sell it before I have a chance to look at it. Please?”

The voice on the other end laughed. “Son, I put that note up there four months ago and you’re the first person who’s called about it! I think it’ll keep.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Avery almost sang out. A farm! His grandparents had lived on a farm when he was a child and he remembered visiting there, helping his grandmother feed the chickens and his grandfather slop the hogs. Then they’d gotten older and sold the farm, and he’d been sad when it wasn’t there to run to anymore in rough times. Ben had never cared about it, but Avery had loved it.

He punched the address he’d been given into his GPS and drove for what seemed like too long, checking mailboxes and looking around, until he found what the man had told him to look for—a mailbox with the number “14396” on it, the post set into an old milk can. Avery turned right into the drive and stepped down on the gas.

The drive turned out to be long enough to be considered a road, at least to Avery, and a poor one at that. It was rutted and showed signs that it had been almost impassable in the rainy season. It took everything Avery had to keep the truck from bottoming out or running off the edge. Worse yet, it seemed to go on forever.How far back in hereisthis place?he wondered. The little path cut through a thicket of trees and when he came out on the other side, Avery gasped.

There, in a clearing, stood a turn-of-the-century farmhouse, complete with wrap-around porch and gingerbread trim. Avery’s jaw dropped. It was a bit run-down and in dire need of paint, but it was still quaint and charming. An old truck from the thirties or so sat in the yard, weeds growing up around it, and a steam-powered tractor sat rusting beside an old barn about one hundred yards away. The entire scene looked like something in a painting, and Avery’s heart started to pound.

He wanted this, this escape, the green grass and big trees and old porch swing. It called to him like nothing had in a long time, and he wondered if he could make anything happen with the land. As he sat in the truck and stared, the screen door on the front opened and a tiny, stooped man shuffled out onto the porch. He glanced up and lifted a hand in greeting, so Avery shut off the truck’s engine and opened the door. “Hello!” he called out toward the old man.

“Howdy there, son, how are ya?” the little gentleman called back, so Avery made his way to the porch. “You the one what called about the farm?”

“Yes, sir, I am. Name’s AveryHolcomb.” Avery extended his hand toward the old gent.

The fellow took it and shook it heartily. “Nice to meet ya. I’m SirusKinsey. So you’re wantin’ to buy you a farm, are ya?”

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