Page 83 of Chasing the Sun
The wrench bit into my palm harder than it needed to.
I could still hear Stan’s voice. Still see the way he leaned back with an easy grin, feet up on the porch rail, calling me “son” like it was a casual afterthought. He never knew how deep that word could cut when it came from someone who meant it.
And hell, I didn’t even correct him. Not once.
Something inside me knocked loose then, but I didn’t let it fall apart. Just held on tighter to the wrench and gave the bolt one more unnecessary turn.
By the time I made it outside, the sky was starting to burn with the colors of early evening—orange bleeding into a rich indigo that clung to the edges of the hills. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap, and made my way toward the fence line, letting the quiet wrap around me.
Levi was already there.
Perched on the fence, arms draped over the top rung, gaze locked on the far edge of Stan’s property like he was trying to will the old man back into view.
His silence didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was how long it took him to realize I was there.
“You think Stan knew?” he asked finally, without looking over. “That he was dying?”
I exhaled through my nose. “He was old. Sometimes that’s just what happens.”
Levi nodded slowly, swiping at his nose. “He was the only guy who ever called me ‘bud’ like he meant it.”
My grip tightened around the bottle.
“He didn’t treat me like a screwup,” he added, quieter now. “Not once.”
“I miss him too.” My chest ached, and words caught in my throat as I looked at my boy. “And you aren’t a screwup. Do you understand me?”
Levi’s eyes sank to the ground, and he only nodded. My words were forced, but he deserved to understand. “I’m serious. You’re a good kid. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever—” I didn’t dare complete that thought. My words choked on tears, but I wrapped Levi in a fierce hug.
Silence stretched again, heavy and close.
Levi finally pulled back and asked, “What happens now with the farm?”
“I don’t know.” The truth tasted bitter. “But a lot of people are going to have opinions about it.”
Levi’s head dipped in acknowledgment. Then he turned to look at me, eyes steady. “It’s okay to miss him, Dad.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just stood there like a man trying to stay upright in a world that felt tilted.
And then Levi—this kid who used to throw tantrums over Pop-Tarts—reached out and set a hand on my shoulder. Steady. Sure.
It hit harder than anything I’d been ready for. I gripped my son, pulling him into a hug while we both cried over the old man who’d always been more than just a neighbor.
That night, long after Levi had gone to bed, I found myself on the couch with my phone in my hand and the volume low. I wasn’t even sure why I had opened Instagram. Maybe I wanted to mindlessly scroll and forget about the day. Maybe I wanted to see whether anyone else was posting about Stan or the farm.
To my surprise, the first thing to pop up was a reel, posted by Kit Darling.
The caption readLet’s help make Stan and Elodie’sdream a reality! Donate here!A link followed, bright and shiny and irritatingly enthusiastic.
My thumb tapped the reel before my brain caught up.
Elodie’s smile filled the screen.
She wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat that made her look like she’d wandered out of a Hallmark movie and onto a farm by accident. The video must have been older because Stan was in the background, laughing alongside her.
Elodie’s face was split into a wide grin as a baby goat clambered into her lap, and she let out a laugh—loud, unfiltered, pure joy. Her nose was smudged with dirt, her cheeks flushed, and she looked so alive it hurt to watch.
Elodie looked like summer, like the kind of warmth you could drown in if you weren’t careful.
