Page 60 of Always Meant for You
I keep my gaze trained ahead as the truck jolts hard enough to rattle my teeth. “Well, it’s not his best work.”
The dry ground gives way beneath the tires, and the truck bucks. My hat tips forward, brushing against my cheek. I push it back. It flops again with more determination.
From the passenger seat, I hear a faint sound.
“Trouble with your . . .” He pauses. “Would you call that a sun hat?”
I glance over. My father’s expression doesn’t shift much, but the corner of his mouth might be less stern than before.
“It’s a vintage, sculpted, wide-brim hat, crafted in Paris.” I huff. “The hat is functional. This truck, not so much.”
I reach for third gear. The transmission heaves before settling into place. The engine revs, more insulted than engaged.
I exhale.
Dad doesn’t react, which feels louder than words.
We’re moving. That’s something.
I leave the farm and turn onto the road that’ll take us into town. Golden light stretches across the fields, and then I see them.
“Are those solar panels on Horner’s land?”
“Yes. And it’s photovoltaic power.”
I look between the long silver rows. “Can they ever get their land back?”
“What’s done is done.”
That phrase.
“Where is Mrs. Horner?” I picture the woman in the kitchen. Her kindness. How she let me tie her scarf into a French knot.
“She lives in town.”
“Is photovoltaic power part of Jamie’s plan?” I continue.
Dad gives me that old farmer’s shrug. “Plans change.”
We drive in silence.
When we reach Main Street, the town opens around us. The diner window glows faintly. I take in the Five and Dime, the empty square. Behind the cemetery, the elementary school crouches in the trees, unchanged.
This town once held everything I knew.
“Don’t miss the turn,” Dad murmurs.
“I won’t.”
I pull into the lot.
Cal’s truck is parked in plain view. Front and center. Impossible to ignore.
I guide the Chevy into the farthest corner and kill the engine. The space between Cal’s truck and ours doesn’t ease the tightness in my chest, but it gives me enough room to breathe.
Dad opens his door with effort and a soft grunt.
“Need a hand?” I ask.
