Page 36 of 40 and (So Over) Fixing It
Four thirty found her in her sleepshirt on the front porch swing, the breeze cooling her body through the thin weave of the afghan she’d wrapped around herself, the dark and quiet soothing the riot of emotions roiling inside her. The few restless hours of sleep she’d managed had been interrupted by a hot and heavy dream of Carter, of the two of them going a lot farther than they had up in that attic—and because they’d been desperately close already, the details her mind supplied had seemed disturbingly real. Unable to return to sleep, she’d wandered out here. Sunrise arrived later this time of the year, so it was still dark when lights came on in Ruth and Scott’s house shortly after five. The farmhand she’d hired, Bryan, drove up at the same time. He was young, still attending the community college up in Morristown, but a contractor friend of hers had recommended him and so far he’d been perfect. He was able to come early mornings and most evenings, and Scott certainly hadn’t been lifting bales of hay since Bryan had started a couple of days ago.
She watched from her porch as the two men walked toward the barn. Ruth followed behind and emerged a few minutes later with a basket of eggs over her arm. She walked toward Erin’s house, using the gate in the fence to enter the yard and beeline toward the front porch. When she noticed Erin on the swing, a sweet smile took over her wrinkled face.
“What are you doing out here so early in the morning? Trouble sleeping?”
Erin bent her knees and pulled her legs closer, giving Ruth room to sit at the opposite end of the swing. “Yeah.”
Ruth set the basket on the porch and took a seat. Her still-strong hand felt thin on Erin’s leg. “Nightmares?”
When Stephen had first been gone, she’d had nightmares frequently. “No, not nightmares.” Thank goodness those had faded over the years, superseded by happier memories of her husband. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Ruth she’d been dreaming about another man, though.
When the silence stretched on, Ruth squeezed her ankle. “Gonna tell me about it?”
Tell her mother-in-law about dry humping her best friend’s guest? No. “Just some things on my mind.”
“Like what, Bug?” When Erin just smiled, Ruth hummed thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with that nice young man you’ve been seeing, now would it?”
Erin startled. “Carter?” How had she guessed?
Ruth’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “I was thinking about the little boy—Thad, right?” She gave Erin a look. “But let’s talk about Carter instead.”
Shit.Erin covered her face with a hand, a groan escaping. “How about let’s not?”
Ruth snickered. “Too late.”
A sigh escaped that felt like it started in Erin’s toes.
“That bad, huh?”
Or that good, depending on what they were talking about. “I just don’t get it.”
Ruth turned toward Erin and drew her knee up onto the swing, her arm across the back. Getting comfortable. “Get what?”
“Him? Me? Any of it?” Erin propped her elbow on the back of the swing as well and dug her fingers into her hair to cradle her head. “I mean, Stephen and I got along so well; it was like we were one person. We met when we were so young. Everything felt…seamless. We never argued, fought. We teased, sure, but…”
“I take it the same can’t be said for Carter.”
Erin’s growl said it all if Ruth’s grin was anything to go by.
“Okay, that is good to know.” Ruth patted Erin’s ankle. “Yes, you and Stephen’s relationship was seamless, but it was also very different circumstances, and you know what they say, Bug—variety is the spice of life.”
Erin rubbed the side of her head in frustration. “Carter definitely adds spice.”
“Sounds like it. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“I think it is.”
Ruth’s laugh was deep and full. “Got your knickers in a twist, does he?”
“In more ways than one.”
When Erin realized what she’d said, she slapped a hand over her mouth, but Ruth just laughed again. Waving away Erin’s comment—thank God—she asked, “Have I ever told you how Scott and I met?”
Erin shook off her embarrassment. “Of course you have.” That would have been in the late ’60s, here in rural Tennessee where the teen social scene had been more like the ’50s. “At an ice cream social, right?”
“Mmm.” Ruth’s eyes went unfocused, her attention obviously drawn back to memories of that time. “Did I tell you I dumped my ice cream soda over his head within ten minutes of meeting him?”
“What?” Erin shrieked. She crossed her legs, leaning over them to get closer to Ruth. “Why? And why did you never tell me about that?”
