Page 59 of Something Like Sunflowers

To ward me off.

It won’t work this time. I’m no longer desperate. I’m no longer weak. No longer a child.

And I know down to my bones how I want this story to end.

“You have the same desk.” I finally say as I hear the pen begin its predicted scribbles. The sound pauses, and I know I have his attention. “You always were quick to pull out a check and send me on my way. Sweeping secrets under rugs rather than facing them.”

“The fuck do you want, boy? You want another half a million to pay for a farm? Done. Want me to match your yearly scholarship donations? Done. In fact, I’ve done it for years, in case you hadn’t noticed…and do you know why? Because your mother was a fucking saint when we were kids. She was my friend. Then she died and left you with that asshole father of yours, and I felt sorry for you. Like a damn son to me. I coached your fucking little league, Isaac! Then you went and impregnated my daughter, and I still felt sorry for you. But I feel sorrier for her.”

There’s silence. Because fuck if I have a response to that. So I just breathe and listen. For the pen to scribble? For the drawer to slam shut? I’m not sure. Maybe because he’s the only father I have. Even if he isn’t mine.

“You’ve lived without her for the last ten years, and you can do it for ten more. My little girl has had enough therapy and scars for a lifetime, and I will not sit by while you slice them back open. So, tell me the fucking price, and I’ll pay it every damn time, but you better fix this. You will break it off with my daughter, or I’ll tell her how you traded her in for a farm and a little girl just like the one she lost.”

“We lost.”

“Do you hear me, Isaac? End this charade before she gets hurt again.”

The call ends with a click before I can even process the monologue he just vomited. And I feel like I might vomit, too. He gave me his word all those years ago that if I walked away from her and left her alone, he’d never tell her about my fighting addiction, my stint in rehab, or the fact that I went bankrupt on that farm and the only reason I have it today is because of his loan. A loan I’ve since paid back but still admit I needed. And by proxy, I needed Mr. Campbell.

Anger and guilt sear me from within, and I pull at my hair. I hate that I ever took money from him. I hate that I let myself get so low that I thought it was the only way. And I regret not telling Devyn any of it, because she wouldn’t understand. It would just look like he paid me off to forget about her. In a way, he did; that was his intention, at least.

But it’s all bullshit.

I could never forget about Devyn Lynn. And no, I will not be breaking it off with her either. I rub the crisp ring around my finger, the one she made me last night from a white paper straw wrapper, mostly to mock me for her Starburst ring. It’s the last thing I remember before I blacked out.

Lemon drove us home. I know that much because she left a note on my kitchen counter that says, “You said we could do things my way. Don’t forget that when you wake up mad at me.”

Fucking Lemon. I still need to watch whatever this video is that I have far too many messages about. Mr. Campbell didn’t seem pleased by its content, which only makes me grin smugly as I lean the shovel against the stall.

Beau’s out in the field grazing, and Ellie’s got Lyle out there somewhere. I wanted to check in on her before I found Dev, let her know who she is and all. I rub my temples and sigh. There will be no easy way of doing something like this.

“Shit,” I say to Peggy the Pig, affectionately named by my sweet girl, like most of the animals on this farm, “I really didn’t think any of this through, did I, Pegs?”

“No, you did not,” a sharp, familiar voice slices through the air.

I groan, dropping my head and bracing myself for the inevitable lecture. She’s two hours early to get Ellie. Which means she wants to chat. And I can only imagine it’s about what everyone else wants to chat about today. Me and Dev.

I turn to face her and paste on a smile that I hope will melt the ice inside her soul.

I’ll need all the armor I can get for this conversation.

“Katie.”

Chapter 23

Devyn

Ellie Isaac.

I repeat the name that I haven’t spoken aloud more than once in my life.

A name that lives permanently etched into my heart. Burned there. Branded.

Because Ellie was my only child. Even if her death certificate was signed before her birth. She was my only child, and always will be my only child.

The breeze picks up, and the field seems to come alive with movement. The wisps of wheat pull at the fabric of my dress and the tiny hairs on my arms as I walk through the endless expanse.

When the little girl…Ellie…when she rode away, I ran alongside the fence for what felt like minutes, tears streaming down my face, my heart practically beating out of my chest, chasing the discovery as far as my legs would carry me.

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