Page 4 of Merry Little Sugar Rush
I wonder where Burk Whitman is in the world today…
TWO
Burk
I stopmy rental car at the entrance of the tree farm and take a deep breath. The gate is still closed for the morning, but it’s the large sign hanging from the wooden archway that has my complete attention.
Whitmans’ Tree Farm.
A place I haven’t been to in more than fifteen years.
My family’s legacy.
I glance around at what I can see of the property from the road and instantly notice the changes. Even from the outside looking in, I can see the updates and expansions done since the last time I stepped foot on the property. A brand new, larger pay hut and concession stand area, seating areas, and the old barn off to the right has been reroofed, the old wood plank siding given a facelift.
I spot movement near the barn and instantly recognize my cousin, Klint. Even though I haven’t seen him since I was fourteen, I’d recognize him anywhere. We’re built the same,with matching brown eyes. When we were growing up together, everyone mistook us for brothers instead of cousins.
We’ve kept in contact over the years, thanks to him tracking me down on social media, but this’ll be the first time we’ve been face-to-face since that summer before my freshman year of high school. Since my dad and grandpa got into one hell of an argument, and we ended up moving away.
I haven’t seen most of my extended family since.
As if sensing he’s being watched, Klint stops what he’s doing and glances toward the road. We stare at each other for a few moments, too far away to really catch facial expressions, but when he lifts his arm to wave, I know he recognizes me. I press on the gas and head for the employee entrance about a quarter of a mile to the right, and within a minute, I’m pulling up beside the barn.
Before I even have one foot out of the rental vehicle, my cousin is there. “Holy shit, man. It’s damn good to see you.” He pulls me into a hug, both of us squeezing a little harder and a bit longer than normal.
“Good to see you too,” I reply. As soon as we separate, I add, “Wish it were under better circumstances.”
He nods in understanding and glances toward the barn. “Yeah, me too. But it looks like he’s gonna be okay.”
I lift my chin in understanding, trying to ignore the knot of emotion firmly lodged in my throat. “I’m glad.”
“Yeah, so…you ready for this?” he asks, a knowing grin on his face.
“As I’ll ever be,” I assure him, clapping my hands and rubbing my palms together. “Damn, I forgot how cold it is here.”
Klint laughs. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to grow some thick skin pretty quickly, man. Winter in Colorado is probably a lot different than winter in South Carolina.”
I let out a snort of a laugh. “You’re telling me. I remember that first winter we spent there. I was amazed when it didn’t snow a single day all winter.”
“I can’t imagine,” he retorts, glancing around at the fresh white snow blanketing the farm. Turning to me, he says, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” And not just because I’m helping my cousin and uncle while my grandpa is laid up in the hospital, recuperating from a stroke, but because this feels like a homecoming. Like a piece of my life has always been missing, and it’s finally clicking into place. Wild how right it feels to be here, even after less than five minutes.
“Come on, let’s head into the barn and I can give you the rundown.”
I nod and follow, grabbing the thick winter work coat I had to purchase before arriving in Colorado from my rental. “This place looks great. You’ve all done a lot of work.”
“We have,” he confirms, walking to where the horses are and adding bales of alfalfa hay to their stalls. “The barn got a facelift about six years ago, and the new pay hut and concession area four years ago.”
“It looks great, man, really.”
“Thanks,” he replies, stepping out of the final stall and leaning against the wall.
“Everyone is okay with me being here, right?” I finally address the elephant in the room.
Klint gives me a sad look. “Of course they are, B. We both know that shit that happened wasn’t about you. Or me. But we were caught in the middle.”
I nod and glance down at the dirt floor. “I shouldn’t have stayed away.” The guilt of walking away with my family almost fifteen years ago and never returning eats at me.
