Page 8 of Rhett

“It’s fine,” I tell him, then turn my attention to her. She’s got long, strawberry-blond hair, freckles, and a wide smile. “I am. I’ve never been here before,” I say, not wanting to be rude. I should try and make conversation, at least.

“My dad brings me to therapy right up the road from here. We just finished, and we always stop by the general store so we can get candy before driving back to Birchbark.”

My brain stumbles over her admission, how this twelve-year-old girl easily blurts out that she sees a therapist, when I made my appointment all the way over here just to prevent people from knowing. Though maybe that’s what Tripp had been thinking when he signed her up too.

“What are you doing in Lillington?” she asks.

“Hey, nosy.” Tripp playfully tugs a strand of her hair.

“Sorry. I’m a curious girl.”

I chuckle. She’s a ball of pure joy is what she is. I can’t help wondering if Ella would have been like Meadow. I think so. She was full of life and shared her passion with East. His world dimmed when she left it.

“It’s fine,” I assure them, but I don’t offer any more information. This twelve-year-old girl is braver than I am.

“Are the three of you going to eat together?” the waiter asks.

“Can we, Dad? I’m hungry.”

My chest tightens. I won’t even know what to talk about. I can’t imagine I’ll be great company.

While hoping Tripp says no to joining me for dinner, my gaze snags on Meadow’s jeans, and then I see them…the patches…the butterflies all over her jeans, and my breath catches in my throat.

Ella loved butterflies. Before East went into his program, we found him in the woods, surrounded by hundreds of paper butterflies he’d folded. Is it strange that Meadow has them onher jeans, or is it simply coincidence? She’s a young girl, like Ella was, so it would make sense she’d like them.

“Well, it’s not nice for us to just make assumptions and interrupt Rhett’s dinner,” Tripp says.

“No, no. It’s fine,” I tell them, forcing my attention away from the jeans, and working to shove thoughts about Ella away. Saying they can sit with me is the polite thing to do, after all. That’s a lesson my dad instilled in me. He might have treated us like shit, but part of our role—especially mine—was always to look like the perfect family on the outside, the perfect Birchbark citizens. He was good at making people believe we were something other than what we were.

Tripp shrugs. “Sounds good to me, then.”

Meadow slides into a seat, and Tripp sits down beside her. It takes me a moment to realize I’ve never talked with Tripp one-on-one this way. I’ve known who he is most of my life. We went to high school together and played football together. I saw him at the Thorns’ and around town, but we’ve never hung out unless it was because a group of people were hanging out. But then, it’s not as if I’ve ever spent much time with people outside of work relationships—going out with other lawyers and things like that. When I was away for college, it was the only time I made any real friends, but I lost contact with them when I moved back home.

The waiter returns with two more menus. Meadow asks for pink lemonade while Tripp gets tea.

“The baby is so cute,” she says, bringing up Archer’s new niece, Hazel. “I think Easton really likes her.”

“I think you’re right,” I reply. I’ve never seen my brother with a baby until that day, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her, held her until she needed to go back to her mama to be fed.

“I wonder if Easton and Uncle Archer will have kids,” she muses just as I take a drink of my water, and I nearly choke on it. I cough, and Meadow frowns.

“Wrong pipe.” Holy shit. Do East and Archer plan to have a family? Why haven’t I ever considered that? I got a vasectomy when I was in law school. I’ve always known having children wasn’t something I wanted to do. I don’t want to pass the Swift legacy to another child. I don’t think Morgan and Dusty want kids either, but thinking back to Easton and Archer with Hazel, I can almost see it. With East’s history, that thought should blow my mind, but somehow, it feels right.

“Easton is good with dogs. He likes to take care of them. I bet he would be a good dad,” Meadow continues.

“Give them some time to figure that out. They just got together.” Tripp chuckles.

All I can think is that she’s right, though. In this strange, almost poetic way, Easton would make an incredible dad.

“I always wish Dad had remarried and had another baby. I want a little sister.”

“Could be a brother,” I tell her.

“I could make do with that,” Meadow replies, and the three of us laugh. It startles me, how easy this feels.

“Anyway, no more kids for me. I already have my favorite one,” Tripp says.

“Oh my God, Dad. Whatever.” Meadow rolls her eyes.

---