Page 65 of Chasing the Sun
It could have been so much worse.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to exhale slowly as I raked my hands through my wild hair. The worst was over. No one had died. That was supposed to be the silver lining, but somehow it still felt like I was standing in the aftermathof a disaster, picking through the bones of what used to be whole.
Footsteps crunched behind me. I turned to see my parents approaching, my mom slipping on work gloves, my dad already rolling up his sleeves, ready to help. I hadn’t even needed to ask. They just knew. Tears welled in my eyes as I walked toward them.
“Oh, sweetheart.” My mother’s voice was thick with sympathy, her arms already opening for me.
I let myself lean into her for just a second, the warmth of her embrace grounding me. My dad was less vocal, but I felt the solid weight of his hand squeeze my shoulder.
That was enough. Their presence was everything.
Movement caught my eye and I saw Levi sulking across the grass in our direction. I half expected him to show up, knowing Cal would probably make him atone for his mistakes. He stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was waiting for someone to bark angry words at him and tell him to leave.
For a long moment I didn’t know the right words to say. Part of me wanted to be angry. Part of me wanted to tell him to go home and think about what he’d done. But mostly I just felt bad for the kid.
When he finally had the guts to look me in the eye, I winked. He stood, stunned, before the tiniest smile ghosted on his lips.
“We’ll get it cleaned up,” Dad said simply. No wasted words, just action. That was how he’d always been.
I nodded and straightened, swallowing past the lump of tears lodged in my throat. If ever there was a moment to hike up my big-girl panties, it was then.
“Stan’s already moving some of the larger beams.” I gestured toward where he and a few of the farmhands werehauling away twisted metal and the charred remains of the farm stand. The barn was supposed to be the heart of Star Harbor Farm, but it was gone. “I don’t want to sit around feeling sorry for myself. I just want it done.”
Mom gave me a knowing look but didn’t argue. “Then let’s get to work.”
I had turned to say something to my dad when I caught movement in my periphery—Levi had stepped forward, grabbing a shovel from the pile of tools without a word.
He didn’t look at me again, just adjusted his grip and walked toward the wreckage with purpose, like he needed to be there.
The morning passed in a blur of movement. Hands blackened with soot. The sting of sweat in my eyes. The rhythmic scrape of shovels and the occasional low murmur of conversation. There was no space for dwelling, just the simple, repetitive act of cleaning up what was left. I took a few moments to document the wreckage. I posted a few slides with images of what was left of the barn, us working to clean everything up. The images were real and raw. There was something cathartic about documenting the setback, letting the world know I wasn’t giving up that easily.
My eyes burned from lack of sleep and my shoulders ached from use as I looked out over the glittering Lake Michigan waters.
I felt Cal before I saw him, his presence a weight at the edge of my awareness. I turned, and there he was—moving through the wreckage like he belonged there, too, boots kicking up ash, sleeves pushed over his forearms as he lifted a fallen beam with that same effortless strength that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to examine.
He hadn’t said he was coming and hadn’t asked whether I needed help. He was justthere.
I tried not to watch him, tried not to notice the way the sunlight caught the damp edges of his hair, the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he worked, but it was impossible not to.
At some point we ended up next to each other, neither of us speaking. The fire had done more than burn wood. I had a sinking feeling it had burned something else, too—something fragile and undefined that had been forming between us.
I didn’t know whether that tenuoussomethingcould be rebuilt.
I reached for a charred board at the same time Cal did, and our hands brushed. I sucked in a sharp breath, but he didn’t move away.
He just exhaled slowly, his fingers curling around the wood as he lifted it, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “You holding up?”
I hesitated. A million responses flickered through my mind. I could lie, say I was fine. I could say that it wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t breaking my heart to see this place damaged like this when we’d made so much progress on the farm. But when I looked at him, at the quiet, steady way he was looking back, the lie wouldn’t come.
Instead, I said, “It just sucks.”
He nodded once, as if he understood exactly what I meant. “Yeah, I know.”
We worked in silence after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It never really was with him, and that was the worst part.
I spotted Levi across the barn, shoveling a pile of scorched debris, his movements stiff and too careful—likehe thought if he did this right, if he worked hard enough, it would erase the events of the previous night. It was so obvious that the poor kid was beating himself up over what had happened.
I walked toward him, stopping just a few feet away. He stilled, like he knew I was coming but didn’t know what to expect.
