Page 107 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

“Muffin.”

Muffin, my lifelong, terrible nickname. What I wouldn’t give to have Papa around to make up awful nicknames for my children. I looked into his eyes, memorized the flecks of green in their hazel depths, wishing I could reverse time and keep everything the same.

“You ever wonder why I call you Muffin?” His voice weakened to a whisper.

I shook my head, unable to form an audible response.

“You’re the smell of your Mama’s baking. You’re mornings sitting around the breakfast table. You. Are. My happiness.”

My sobs came out in uncontrolled spasms. Maybe my nickname wasn’t so bad after all. “I can’t. I can’t—”I can’t stop time. I can’t cure cancer. I can’t make money appear out of thin air.Can’ts piled on top of me, threatening to suffocate me.

“I’m not leaving you. Not really. I’ll be there. Right by your side. You just won’t be able to see me.”

Or be enfolded into a big Papa hug. Or talk to him about the crops or the stresses at work. Or celebrate all the things. Hewasleaving and he wasn’t being given a choice.

The withered skin on his arm trembled in time with his muscles as he lifted his hand and pointed to my temple. “Memories live here,” he then pointed to my heart, “and here. That’s where I’ll be. With you. Forever.”

I kissed the back of his hand and pressed it to my cheek. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“I’ll get a plot for us in heaven.” He smiled and rubbed his thumb over one of my tears. “Land paved in gold.”

A laugh escaped through my soft sobs. “That wouldn’t grow potatoes very well.”

His cheeks shook against his smile as he nodded. He closed his eyes and relaxed further against his pillow. “You’re right,” he whispered.

I laid his hand on his sheets, letting him doze for as long as his pain would let him. Resting my forehead next to him, I let my cries continue. At some point, Mama walked in, wrapped her arms around me, and bawled right along with me.

Days later, I still sat next to his bed. Mama and I had both taken to sleeping in this room. Jared had left to meet up with his tour. We FaceTimed Lili so she could show Papa Tony her boys. They’d made it out of the danger zone and were able to keep their sats up with only a low level of oxygen.

I took over his hospice care while Mama busied herself with making all of Papa’s favorite things even though he wasn’t able to eat any of them. Remi still managed the farm, ignoring my request that he leave. I refused to acknowledge the hurt I saw on his face. The grief he felt at losing the friend he’d found in my Papa.

Mama worked side by side with Remi, setting up the farm auction, while my heart continued to grow hard against him. No matter what Papa said, I had no desire to forgive him.

A week after the sale of the farm was finalized, I held Papa’s hand as his breaths grew further and further apart, telling him stories of our adventures in farming. His hands, once strong enough to plow thousands upon thousands of acres, carry a mountain worth of boulders, move endless rows of irrigation pipe, grow enough food to feed the entire state of Idaho—strong enough to carry me through my life—now hung limp in my own.

Sapped of their strength.

Stripped by cancer down to nothing but veins, skin, and bone.

I told him of the first time I’d helped him deliver a baby calf. About the time he’d rescued me when I’d gotten stuck upside down from a bin of baby chicks.

About the day he brought home my beautiful Mae. The first time I drove Oscar, the tractor he’d first taught me to drive, into the ditch. The time I’d won my first beauty pageant, and the trophies from rodeo.

He’d been at every competition.

I talked about when I’d helped with planting and crouched next to him, feeling the excitement of the tiny plants emerging, and the time he comforted me in high school after Brock Cooper broke my heart.

He fell asleep listening to our stories with Mama lying beside him, holding him in her arms. A smile on his face.

Never to wake up again.

Chapter 42

Remi

Thelastofthepeople from the funeral left the parlor. I’d made sure all Tony’s funeral expenses were paid for, even if I had to do so from a distance. It’d been professionally catered with Tony’s favorite food, smoked ribs and tri-tip, corn on the cob, and hot chocolate with mini marshmallows.

My heart ached from watching Angie spread her Papa’s ashes over the field they’d cultivated since she was a little girl. She’d stood right in front of me, drenched in the worst pain, and I couldn’t do anything to comfort her.

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