Page 56 of Peaches

It’s when Mom’s eyes meet mine again that I understand.

Holy fuckingshit.

“You boys best find a good lawyer,” Dad grumbles. “If your brother loses his wife, it’s possible he loses his shot at the ranch.”

“And you never thought to fucking tell us?” Kasey shouts, the sound of it startling even me. Kasey can be a mean son-of-a-bitch when he needs to be, but I’ve only heard him raise his voice on very few occasions. “You’veknownthis—you both have—and you never thought to say something?”

Mom flinches, raising a hand to cover her mouth. She looks at him with the current of her own anger that’s even rarer than Kasey’s shouting. “Melody is still alive and breathing down those stairs,” she scolds. “Forgive me if I’m still holding on tohope, son, that Brooks doesn’t ever even have to know about this. That death might look at his wife and decide tomove oninstead of taking her. Don’t you dare think for a second that this isn’t an impossible situation forallof us, but if I’m protecting anyone’s heart right now, it’s theirs.”

I believe her. That, in due time, we would have all learned about this from her together, and thenfacedit together. For Brooks. So why the hell aren’t we getting that time? “How would Huck know?” I ask. “About Melody? Say you’re right—that this is about her. How would Huck even know?”

Dad’s gaze warps into something cold and menacing. “I’d wager either the mayor or the sheriff knows.”

“It doesn’t matter how they know,” Mom says softly. “Our poor girl’s dying. We’re not going to turn it into some dark secret.”

“But if someone put this family in jeopardy—” Kasey starts.

“Enough,” Mom interjects with a tone I haven’t heard since I was a kid. “Wewill notturn on each other. No one could have predicted this because none of you knew what was at stake. That’s our fault.” She wipes her hands down the front of her shirt. “Right now, our immediate focus needs to be on Brooks and his family. Do you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Kasey relents.

She looks at me, and I give her a small nod. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Now call that bastard and push the meeting. Try to buy us as much time as possible.”

Kasey dips his head low and turns toward the bedroom door. But I look at my father. “You need to get a grip.”

He looks at me through thick, furrowed brows. “The hell you say to me, boy?”

I square my shoulders. “You need to get a grip on yourself and get the fuck out of this room. This ranch needs you. Yoursonneeds you. It’s about time you stopped letting us fight every fucking battle that comesyourway and started doing something to help.”

I’m surprised when he doesn’t say anything to argue. He doesn’t so much as show a single sign that he’s heard a word I said. I throw Mom a pleading look and then turn to follow Kasey out of the room.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

OLIVIA

Now that the truth is out about my mom and Mark, I catch themeverywhere. On Friday morning, I walk back into the kitchen looking for table seven’s breakfast order and find Mom sidled up to the flattop stove, flipping sausage patties while Mark rubs her shoulders. On Saturday, I open the office door to exchange some cash only to find them sucking face like teenagers up against curfew, her straddled in his lap in the desk chair.

I’m honestly not even sure they noticed me since they didn’t make any moves to stop, not even after I mumbled a quick apology and skirted away, utterly mortified. When Mark shows up to work Sunday donning a purpling hickey the size of a golf ball, high enough on his neck that he can’t hide it with his uniform, I drag Mom into the walk-in fridge for a little chat.

“You two need to cool it,” I demand, wrapping my arms around myself to keep warm against the frigid air.

“Cool what?” she asks, completely aloof and unconcerned. Her curls are barely contained in a bundle on top of her head, a colorful-patched smock hanging from her shoulders. I have a feeling Mark isn’t the only reason for her good mood. She moves through the café on light and airy feet, as if no longer held down by the weight of all the things she was undoubtedly worried about before our conversation.

“Mark has ahickey,Mom. It looks like he ran neck-first into a tire iron.”

Her eyes spark with quiet amusement. “Honey, we’re just happy.”

“You can be happy without gyrating all over him around the café,” I insist. “Or are you so lost in thethroesof him that I need to sprinkle a box of condoms around to make sure you’re protected when the mood strikes?”

“Oh, we don’t use those.” She waves a hand to brush off the thought.

“Mom!”

“Let me bask in the hazy chaos of love, sweetheart. Maybe you should find some of your own?” She laughs as she pushes open the door to saunter away like none of this is a big deal. And I suppose it’s not, because she’s happy, and I’d take her happiness over anything—even if it means I have to scrub my eyeballs of all that I witness between them every day.

It makes me think of Rhett. Of all the ways I’d like to get lost inhimthroughout the day in quiet, stolen moments when no one’s looking. I let myself wonder if we could ever have the same kind of open affection, but then promptly shut the thought down. He’s still such a mystery to me, and after he left the other morning without so much as a word, I’ve been feeling more and more insecure about whatever it is that may or may not exist between us.

---