Page 5 of Higher Ground
Byron had forgotten about the little boat his son had bought. He’d thought it stupid, buying a rowboat when they lived so far from any kind of water worth paddling along. But the changing weather patterns through summer had spooked Tucker. As soon as the word ‘floods’ had been uttered in the local weather forecasts, Tucker had ordered one just in case. Byron wondered briefly if it had been worth it after all. He supposed only time would tell.
“I’ll call if I need ya.”
“You’ll need me, Dad.”
As Tucker climbed into his 4x4, Byron pulled his phone from deep inside one of the inner pockets on his jacket.
Fuck.Missed calls from Emory, and a lot of them.
He hit the redial button and jogged inside the house while he waited for her to pick up. The phone rang in his ear, full of staticfrom the storm. He paced the rooms, shucking off his jacket and trying to find the best patch of reception.
He didn’t wait for her to speak when she answered the phone. Panic had begun to fester, and he needed to know she was alright. “Emory, is everything okay?”
“Jaxon is kicking me out of the cottage.” Her words came out all too quickly, but Byron could hear the way her breath shook as she said them.
He held back his grouchy huff. His damned good-for-nothing, deadbeat son. Byron cleared his throat. He should have known Jaxon would play this sort of game eventually. It took a lot of convincing for him to let Emory and Clayton stay in the cottage. Jaxon had claimed it was ‘his inheritance’ and no one else’s, as though Byron hadn’t specifically given it to him as afamilyhome.
“I’ll talk to him,” were the only words Byron could muster up through the rage that had begun to swell in his chest. Never mind the fact he hadn’t heard from his son in years, Byron would figure it out. It was beyond him how Jaxon could walk away from not only Emory, but Clayton, too. And it caused a deep pang of regret that settled beneath Byron’s lungs. He had raised his sons better than that. Or at least he’d thought he had. Tucker was doing alright, for a twenty-one-year-old in a town as small as Gardner Creek, but Jaxon had slipped through the cracks, and Byron was left to pick up the pieces.
He couldn’t say why he felt such aneedto help Emory. To protect her like family. Time and time again, he told himself it was just what any other guy worth his grain of salt would do. And time and again, he’d refused to acknowledge the truth that settled deep in his chest and refused to budge.
Emory’s voice was distant through the sketchy reception, metallic and crackling. “No, it’s okay. You’ve done plenty, gettinghim to let me stay here for a while at least. I’ll find somewhere else.”
She wouldn’t. Byron hated to admit it, but it was the stinking truth. Even if there were countless rentals on the market—which there were not—Emory would be far from the top of the ideal applicant list. It wasn’t her fault, though. The people of Gardner Creek could be downright mean sometimes, and for whatever reason, they’d all turned on Emory the minute she walked into town. No matter how hard the poor woman tried, the wives and girlfriends of the town never welcomed her in.
He supposed it had something to do with her “stealing Jaxon” from all the eligible bachelorettes in town. Not that Jaxon had ever looked twice at any of them. He’d skipped town as soon as he was old enough, headed for the city to study. They’d all been eagerly waiting for his return, and blamed Emory when she came right on with him.
When Jaxon left again, it had only made matters worse for poor Emory. The whole town seemed to blame her for Jaxon’s swift return to the city.
Byron didn’t blame her, though. He blamed himself. And Jaxon.
“Emory, I don’t want to sound harsh?—”
“But there are no properties, and even if there were, I wouldn’t get one?” Emory huffed, and Byron heard the shuffling of a chair and the muffled sounds of Clayton running off through the house. “I know, Byron. I do. I’ll have to figure out something, though. Preferably before the flood comes, but I doubt that will happen.”
“The flood is due in a couple of days.”
“I know.” Her voice was full of breath, like the acknowledgement had stolen all the air from her lungs.
Byron strode across the den and collapsed into the worn leather couch. His back slouched against the cushion.
“Emory, the cottage is on low ground. Too low.”
“Actually, I wanted to call you about that too, but …” Emory trailed off, lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t need to ask, though, not really. Byron knew the question, and he’d been certain of the answer before she’d even thought to ask it.
“Right.” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to remain steady. “You best come here, then.”
His tone came out sharp, too sharp, but there was no taking it back. No time to reword his response before Emory replied.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll try the community centre. The SES message said to go there if you had no?—”
“Emory, you’ll come here. Quickly, too, before the rain sets in. Are you packed?”
“Yeah, we’re packed.”
“Now, then.” He tried to lighten the tone of his voice, but his mild panic rushed out instead.
“I don’t want to?—”
