Page 63 of Homewrecker

I hedge, saying, "Both of us struggled today. Farm life ain't easy."

Dad sighs. "Yes, but this will be my life now. You're going home soon, back to the city."

Something weird is going on with me because my heart sinks a bit at the idea of getting in my car to drive home. It's stunning to think I'll have any regrets about leaving this place. Besides my father, what's to miss? Honky tonk bars, blood-draining mosquitos, stinky goats.

"I'm here permanently," he says. "Can I do this?"

I think of what Seth said about Dad being lonely before he rekindled his relationship with Renata. If I encourage him to leave the farm, I doubt she'll come with him. This place is her home, and she's determined to make a go if it. He'll be back in the city, but heartbroken and single again.

"The decision to move all the way down here after so little time with Renata was definitely hasty." I watch him deflate, shoulders slumping, and his pain is unbearable. "I was worried until I got here and saw that you were completely smitten with one of the most wonderful women I've ever met. You should stay and make this work."

The words rush out of me, as if I might lose my nerve if I go slowly. Dad's smile is my reward. It could illuminate an entire city.

"Really?" he says.

"Yeah, and you'll get the hang of all this house and farm stuff. You guys have Seth around, too. He seems kind of handy."

Dad laughs. "Yeah, he can probably fix a thing or two. Or build us a new house when I destroy this one."

"You have many amazing qualities, Dad. You're doing the bookkeeping for the business, and you'll be a great host when you start having events here. Plus, you're a loving, supportive partner. That's not nothing."

"Thanks, sweetie. I guess I needed a little reassurance today."

The real shock is that I'm the one who gave it to him.

Thirteen

I knockon the office door, even though it's open, and wait for Renata to invite me inside. She's sitting cross-legged on the floor going through the contents of a cardboard box. Photos are scattered around her, and it appears that she's sorting them into piles. So this is where she's been holed up all morning. The house is quiet, and I expect to find my father with her, but he isn't there.

"Hey," I say. "I'm looking for Dad."

Renata sets down the picture in her hand. "He went to the general store to buy food for the animals, and then he's getting his hair cut. Can I help you with anything?"

"I just wanted to let him know I've decided to leave on Friday."

Renata frowns and picks up another photo. "We'll miss you, but I'm sure you've got things to do back home. At least we get you for a couple more days."

"Yeah...I think I'm quitting my job. If I do it now, they'll have time to find a replacement before school starts."

When I say it out loud, it feels like I've already made the decision, and I guess I have. There's no explanation for why I tell Renata before Dad except that I feel the need to get it off my chest. Last night I lay in bed for hours trying to come up with a good reason to stay in my current position. The list of pros came down to stability and not much else. The cons were so large in number that I wondered why I'd stayed in the job this long. Instead of being scared at the prospect of finding a new career, I'm filled with relief and excitement, which seems like a sign that I'm making the right choice.

"Wow," she says. "What brought this on?"

I enter the room, careful not to step on any pictures, and sit down on the floor across from her. "Something Dad said made me realize I need a change. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do next, but I have some ideas. I'll be okay."

Renata smiles and leans over to pat my leg. "I have no doubt you will. Life is too short to do a job that doesn't make you happy, that's for sure." She gestures to the piles around her. "Look at this mess. I need to clean things out now that your dad is here—these old houses have the tiniest closets. People back then didn't have all the crap we have today. I've got all these boxes of old photos that I need to go through and either throw away or organize somehow. I'm thinking about making albums for each of the boys."

"You need to give your closets the KonMarie treatment."

Renata gives me a confused look. "The what?"

"A Japanese woman wrote a book about radically paring down what you own, and people went nuts for it. I'll send you a link to it."

"Thanks. It does feel good to clean things out and live a little more lightly," she says. "But it's totally overwhelming."

I pick up a photo of a bride and groom from one of the piles. It's a wedding picture. Seth's wedding picture. Michael is standing to his left and on his right is his bride and another woman who appears to be her maid of honor. Seth's hair is different—longer than in his military photo but shorter than it is now—and he looks at least several years younger. I can tell someone told him to smile because that's not his real one. He's wearing a dark suit, and his wife is in a simple white strapless dress with her brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She's lifting her hemline just enough so that you can see the red cowboy boots on her feet. She reminds me of a beautiful singer whose name I can't remember, someone who fronts an alt country band and croons songs about whiskey and heartbreak.

"I don't know what to do with Seth's wedding photos," Renata says, her voice tinged with sadness. "I'm sure he doesn't want them, but it feels strange to throw them out. It is part of his history."

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