Page 23 of Higher Ground
Change. Byron could feel it. He knew the flood would bring it, he’d been waiting for it. He just hadn’t expected it to hit so soon. Or for it to feel this … easy. “You’re right,” he admitted. “But you’ve got a better understanding of the whole thing than you give yourself credit for. And besides, we need to get through the flood first.”
He climbed onto his quad bike and reached his arms out. “Come on, Clayton, let’s drive.”
Clayton squirmed out of his uncle’s hold and toddled back through the mud. After hoisting Clayton up, Byron tucked the helmet back over his head.
“Can we address the other elephant in the room?”
Byron held in his grunt. He didn’t want to. He knew exactly what Tucker was referring to, and it was one thing to ‘not’ talk about it with Emory and another for Tucker to inadvertentlybring it up. Or figure it out. Byron appreciated the friendship he and Tucker had grown into over the past few years, but there were some lines that definitely didn’t need crossing between a father and his son. “We’re not in a room.”
“In the bloody paddock, then. Fuck, Dad, stop being so literal.” Tucker climbed onto his own quad bike but made no move to turn it on. “Where’s Emory?”
“What makes you think she isn’t back at the farmhouse?”
On cue, Clayton clapped. “Drive, Papa!”
“Not yet, kid,” Byron said, resting his chin on Clayton’s helmet. “What if I just wanted to bring Clayton out with me? Wouldn’t be his first time out on the farm and it sure as shit won’t be his last. Does Emory have tobesomewhere for it to happen?”
Clayton appeared to hear none of what Byron had said, except for the swear word. He proudly repeated it.
“You’re in trouble,” Tucker mused. With a leg on either side of the bike, he hoisted one foot up onto the front of the seat and rested an arm against his knee.
“She went to town,” Byron admitted. The acknowledgement of how far away Emory was pulled at something in his chest. That protective beast was grumbling, ready for her to return, so he knew she was safe.
“What could she possibly have needed in town?” Tucker questioned. He might as well have been talking directly to Byron’s untamed beast. “Café’s closed for the flood, so she’s not working. Mya’s not at the library, so she won’t hang around there, and last I checked, you had enough food to last a small army a whole winter. Why would you let her leave? What if the bridge closes?”
“It won’t,” Byron growled.
“It might.”
“She’ll be back before it does, just like you’ll be gone before it does, too. I can’t force her to stay when there is a clear way out, no matter how much I might think it’s the best for her. She … ah … needed to get away.” Byron stumbled over the words, immediately realising he’d said too much without saying much of anything.
Tucker ran a hand over his face, his fingers lingered in his beard, scratching at his chin. “I don’t think I want to know the answer to this question,” he started.
“So don’t ask it.” Byron’s tone was flat.
Nodding, Tucker turned the key, and his quad bike revved to life. “Don’t fuck it up, old man,” he called out as he sped off down the muddy track that led back to the farmhouse.
Emory’s tiny bright green hatchback was parked next to Tucker’s truck when the men returned from the paddock. Clayton cheered in Byron’s lap, clapping for his mother, but he didn’t wriggle or squirm out of the seat. He waited, just like Byron had always shown him, until the quad bike was parked safely in the back shed and turned off before climbing down. He ran for the back door, pushing it open and storming into the house.
Byron cringed at the thought of how much mud his little gumboots would be traipsing through the house. It was a problem for later, though, because Tucker stood with his arms folded across his chest, staring at Byron. He raised an eyebrow, and Byron felt every piercing stab of his son’s disapproving gaze.
“I thought you didn’t want to know the answer to whatever question is brewing inside that brain of yours.”
Tucker snorted. “I don’t, I’m not asking it. There are some things a son does not need to know about his father.”
Byron cleared his throat and turned away. Even if Tucker asked the question he clearly wanted, there was nothing to tell. There was nothing between Byron and Emory other than a fleeting attraction and a temptation they had to resist.
“You should get back across the bridge. Stay safe.”
In response, Tucker only nodded and climbed into his truck.
Walking inside, Byron tried to ignore the way each breath felt like knives in his lungs. The house smelled like … Emory. A candle was lit on the kitchen bench. Not the one he’d bought, but one that smelled fruity and fresh, like baked pear and lemonade. It reminded Byron of the subtle hints of Emory’s shampoo he always did his best not to fixate on.
There was that change again.
Only this one, he thought maybe he could get used to. Some tiny part of him began to imagine what it would be like if being forced to stay together for a few weeks became the start of something more between him and Emory. Themorehe never allowed himself to picture because it still felt sowrongto want it, but he was realising he wanted it nonetheless.
But he couldn’t try to convince her to stay with him after the flood receded. He knew what it was like to be thrown into a life you never had a choice in, and he couldn’t ask that of her. Not when just being in Gardner Creek was enough of a change for her.
