Page 63 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

“No forgiveness necessary. We’ve both grown up over these seven years. There’s something to be said for a fresh start.”

A fresh start. Boy, would I love to have one of those with Chase.

“Do you remember the letter?” Dad said slowly, as if unsure whether to bring it up.

I stared at him before understanding dawned. “Of course.” I’d been four years old on the day of my adoption. My memories of that day were brushstrokes of moments—saying goodbye to the social worker dropping me off, staring at the new couple grinning at me and feeling shy even though I’d met them before. Hoping they wouldn’t hug me even though they clearly wanted to. If I saw the social worker hand them an envelope, I didn’t remember it.

Later, on my twelfth birthday, they had presented me with a sealed letter from my biological mom, just as she’d requested.ThatI remembered with perfect clarity.

Dad guided us around a cowpie without blinking. “We worried how you would react to the news of her being in prison, being so young, but the part that concerned us the most was her advice about life.”

“People will always disappoint you,” I recited. “Don’t trust anyone, even yourself. The only forces you can really trust in this world are fate and destiny, and you’ll find them written in the stars.”

Dad nodded, not surprised that I had the words memorized. “When you grew up constantly trying to call 1-800 numbers to talk to psychics and hid those fortune cards under your mattress—”

“Tarot,” I corrected.

“Yeah, those. We just felt like you were clinging to your past and keeping us at a distance. You found other obsessions near the end of high school, but when the cancer diagnosis came . . . ”

“You thought I would revert back to all that,” I finished for him.

“Exactly. We wanted to keep our daughter during that difficult time without feeling like we had to compete with your birth mom and that strange hold she seemed to have on you. It was selfish, though, and wrong. You have my word that it will never happen again. You deserve to have full reign of your own life without us getting in the way. I know you’re a full-grown woman now and it’s a little late to be saying it, but I’m saying it all the same.”

I fell silent, letting his words sink in. I thought about those moments after fleeing to New York when I’d fallen back on my birth mom’s advice to find my way in the world. Clung to coincidences like signs and desperately tried to find meaning in my existence. Found her warning about people being untrustworthy to be true, again and again.

Was this how my birth mom felt when she considered her life? Did she also grasp at stars billions of miles away in an attempt to control the parts of her life that couldn’t be controlled?

For the first time in my life, I felt an emotional connection to her, and it made me smile.

“I know you’ve never understood astrology,” I told Dad, “but it got me through a difficult time in my life and I’m grateful for it.”

I expected him to argue, but Dad only said, “Then I’m grateful too. You’ll have to teach me more about it.” He gave me a sideways look. “That is, if you’ll be in town for a while.”

I sighed. “For the foreseeable future, as I have nowhere else to go. Not that I wouldn’t have come back anyway. It was time.” Not because the universe told me so, but because my heart did.

We walked in silence for a few minutes before Dad spoke again. “You seem sad since you got back. Lose someone you cared about?”

I groaned. “Yes, and it was my own fault.”

“You sure it’s over?”

Definitely over, with a capital O. “Nobody can put this wreckage back together. Not in a thousand years.”

“I see.” Dad’s voice had an odd note to it. “The thing about wreckage though—it can be cleared and rebuilt.” He motioned to the stable in front of us.

My gaze followed his hand and I blinked. Wait a second. The barn looked like it had before, only…not. It stood wider, taller, and newer than I remembered. The paint, once gray and peeling, was now a bright white, and the wide side sported more windows.

“You built a new barn?” I exclaimed.

“First one burned down. Don’t worry, we got all the animals out in time, including Rosie.” He glanced at me. “I apologize for not letting Mom tell you. We knew you’d worry, and it seemed like you were having such a good time in New York. But I know now that keeping it from you wasn’t my call to make.”

I stared at the structure in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

“Better than before,” he said meaningfully. “Just like relationships sometimes.”

As I pondered that, Dad pulled the stable door open and motioned for me to enter first. The scent of manure, hay, and sweet oats overwhelmed my senses. I felt like a starving woman facing a Thanksgiving feast, unsure where to start.

Actually, I knew exactly where to start. I hurried to Rosie’s stall and started to look over the door, but Rosie’s beautiful, hairy muzzle nudged me in the shoulder before I got far. She nickered.

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