Page 66 of Return To You

“Lemme check,” my sister answers and disappears behind the kitchen’s swing door.

“You deliver cars?” I ask him.

Colton nods. “That kind of car, yes.” He takes a deep breath. “Ah, man, it never stops.”

He takes the glass of water Haley hands him, then looks at me. “I heard you were a pretty good carpenter.”

I shrug. “I’m just handy,” I say, thinking he’s talking about the bleacher repair I did for the fair.

“So what was wrong with Damian?”

Damian? Grace’s cat? Shit. I clear my throat. “I-I think he’s gonna be alright.”

“Uh-huh? Good. That’s good. I take it her door is fixed?”

“Yup.”

Haley hands him a paper bag. “Here’s Chef’s treat, Colt. Don’t ask me what it is. Got no time!” Before he can answer, she’s at the other side of the bar, filling orders. Justin whips by us, carrying dirty dishes in both hands. He gives us a chin tilt and disappears into the kitchen.

Colton slaps my back. “One day at a time, man. Just don’t make it worse for her.” Then he leaves, giving Haley a wave on his way out.

I pull out my phone, feeling totally useless. Worse. Feeling like an outsider. I thought the hardest part of my stay here would be resisting feeling at home. Resisting the familiarity. The rut. The old jokes and the stale gossip.

It’s not.

It’s feeling like I don’t belong anymore.

The farm is doing great without me—and why wouldn’t it?

My young brother is a pillar of his community and has more work than he can handle.

My sister has two—or is it three—jobs and is rocking each one of them.

My first and only love can barely look me in the eye.

My childhood friend doesn’t know if he can trust me with his sister.

I’m just the guy who ran away. The guy they’re all watching, in case I mess things up again.

The guy they like better when he’s not around.

Instead of ordering another beer and looking like the loser I feel I am, I slide into the kitchen. “What can I do?” I ask Justin as he comes out of the walk-in cooler.

He looks me over top to bottom, seeming to hesitate. “Dishes?”

“You got it.”

For two hours straight, it’s an endless stream. The minute I have my clean racks stacked away, loads of dirty dishes are dumped almost literally on my lap. Finally the flow slows, and a couple of young guys—twins—come in. “We’re taking over from here,” they say.

“Hey, guys. Thanks.” They look vaguely familiar. Do I know them? But they don’t seem to recognize me—it’s almost refreshing—so I leave it at that.

I wash and dry my hands and head out to the bar, hoping to catch up with my brother, if only for the heck of it. I don’t feel like talking about anything serious anymore, but just a beer at his pub would be nice.

I’d like to tell him how impressed I am at his operation.

But when I walk out, I see Grace sitting at the bar, deep in conversation with Justin. My brother is scribbling on a piece of paper she’s intently looking at. I hear the words “liquor license.” Someone’s name. A dollar amount.

She glances up at me then pores over the paper again. Unfazed. Uninterested.

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