Page 60 of Something Like Sunflowers

Truth be told, grief does strange things to a person. And seeing Ellie? Hearing that name leave her lips and fill the air around us…I thought for a moment.

I shake my head. A ghost. I can’t believe I thought that little girl was a ghost or an angel or…I don’t even know what I thought.

The fact is, that little girl lives here on this farm with a man she calls Papa. And she’s the spitting image. The fact is, I think Hunter has a daughter he’s kept from me.

But whose daughter? And how could he betray me like that? Of all the names he could pick for his child, why the same name as ours?

When you’re in the country, time seems to slow down. I guess without the honking cars and the constant flashing of computerized ads all over the place, it’s easy to settle in with the world, get back on Mother Nature’s time. I smile, thinking about the wild strawberry-blonde curls trailing behind Ellie as she rode her horse away. How much it reminded me of my own childhood.

I stop dead ahead when I realize I’ve walked myself to the old white shed. The one I unashamedly lost my virginity behind. You can call it whatever you want, but we were teenagers, and there are only so many places you can sneak off to in a small town and go unnoticed by older brothers and angry dads. I laugh, running my hand over the worn handle on the door. Right below it, carved into the wood, is a small heart and the initials D+H.

Does it bother me that he named his child Ellie? Kind of. Okay, yes. Yes, it bothers the heck out of me. But what bothers me more is that he has a child.

And it’s not with me.

I don’t know what makes me so damn entitled to know everything about him. It’s not like we’ve been together for over a decade. We’re both allowed to have lives apart from one another. I guess it’s just being back here and feeling so many intimate memories all over this farm. It feels like a space I can call partly mine, even though that’s entirely ridiculous. It’s obviously Hunter’s farm fair and square, and he seems to be doing really well. I turn the handle and push on the shed door, and a loud creak that tells me this place is in serious need of some WD-40 echoes through the space. The smell is a mix of garage musk and potting soil. I crinkle my nose at the combination and reach into the room, tugging on a metal cord.

When the lights flick on, my jaw drops. It’s so cute here. Little beaded curtains line the walls, and colorful gel inserts are shoved onto the light bulbs that cover the rows of tiny, baby sunflowers lining the floors. Some are taller than others, but all of them are still curled into themselves and clearly in their early developmental stages. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips when I spot a wooden sign, painted in lime green and hot pink sparkles:

PROPERTY OF ELEANOR ROSEMARY ISAAC. DO NOT TOUCH THEM OR THEY WILL EAT YOU. YES, THAT MEANS YOU!

Eleanor. Ellie. Okay.

I tug at the hem of my skirt, wishing like hell that I’d worn pants last night. I swat the seventeenth mosquito from attacking my thighs and shimmy my way back out of the sunflower greenhouse that seems to belong to Miss Ellie. Her dad has certainly shown her the ropes of gardening.

It shouldn’t make me feel physically ill knowing he’s got a daughter he loves and clearly teaches life skills and takes care of. In fact, I want to be elated for him. To scream to the heavens a resounding thank you for sending him something he absolutely deserves. He’s a good man.

And as much as I wish I could pin my years’ worth of heartache on him, none of us handle things the right way one hundred percent of the time. In fact, it’s in the times we handle things the wrong way that we usually learn something about ourselves. Just look at me quitting the station. I never would have come home, never talked things over with Hunter, never confronted my past.

The facts are, he lied to me by omission about this little girl. But everything I felt last night was real. And if it was for him, too, then I’m not running away this time just because things are messy.

I’ll find Hunter and sort this out. And then we’ll figure out what to do about everything else.

Making my way toward the barn, I bring my hand to a place on my body where I seldom let my attention linger. I cradle my womb.

I can’t feel the scars through the fabric of my dress, but I know from sheer memory exactly where they live along my skin. Scars are like that…no matter how long they’ve been there, you’ll always feel them.

I love my scars for that reason alone. My Ellie will always be there.

And I’ll feel her right there until the end of time.

Chapter 24

Hunter

Before you start on me, keep in mind I haven’t had my second cup of coffee yet, and no, I have not watched the video either.” I point my phone at Katie and gesture for her to take a seat on an open bench. She declines, naturally.

I wonder sometimes if my niece’s social worker understands the meaning of the word “social.” We weren’t friends growing up. She was a few years younger than me and did rodeo pageants with Dev and Lemon, but she was always shut off to most of us. Unapproachable.

She’s pretty and strong, though. One of the smartest people I know. Props to the man—or woman—who manages to thaw her icy heart one of these days. As for me, I happen to be on the receiving end of the ice queen’s more lethal powers most of the time. Usually because of rules I’m breaking.

Like arguing with Ellie’s principal. But Mrs. Finkelman had it comin’. Ellie only hit the Presley boy because he’s a little shit and everyone knows it.

She had a mean right hook too. I grin, proud of my little cowgirl. She’s a fighter. Reminds me of a younger version of Devyn most days—fierce, loud, passionate.

I roll my eyes at Katie’s blatant disgust as she picks hay from her knitted cardigan and flicks it to the barn floor, checking beneath her heels for whatever it is she thinks she’s stepping in.

It’s shit. No question. But I don’t tell her that.

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