Page 129 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
I swallow. “It’s beautiful up here.”
Perry nods, his eyes finally shifting to the horizon. “I never get tired of it.”
“Did you always know you’d work here? Growing up?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t really think I wanted to. Not at first. I got an MBA. Did some consulting.” He runs a hand across his face. “But then when Dad had a stroke, he needed someone to come back, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“And that’s a good thing?” I ask, hoping I’m not asking too much.
Peace settles over his expression, and he nods. “I wanted to come back anyway. Dad’s stroke just made it easier. It’s where I belong,” he says simply, and I believe him. Even more, I can tellhebelieves him.
“To be so lucky,” I say. “I mean, to belong to a place like this? I can’t even imagine.” A sense of longing fills me, reaching all the way out to my fingertips. I had a home growing up. But something like this? All this land. There’s a sense of permanence here that I’ve never experienced, and I suddenly wish for it. For myself. For Jack.
We start moving again, and I settle back into my seat, my shoulder pressing against Perry’s. I resist the urge to shift away, wondering what Perry will do.
He doesn’t shift away either. In fact, it almost feels like he shifts closer.
“What about you?” he says, even while I try and still my frantic heart. I’m out of practice feeling this kind of excitement. This kind of anything,really. “Where do you belong?” Perry asks.
“Me?” I shrug. “With Jack, I guess.”
“Any family anywhere else?”
“My grandparents are in Hendersonville, in an assisted living neighborhood, but they don’t get around as much as they used to. They raised me. No mom in the picture, and my dad and I aren’t really close.”
“So Jack really doesn’t have anyone to take him to his father-son breakfast?”
I appreciate the way Perry lets the conversation roll forward. A lot of people want to hem and haw and apologize over my semi-parentless state. But it is what it is, and I don’t feel sad about it. I had a happy childhood thanks to Grandma June and Grandpa Jamison. I’ve never lacked love or security, and that’s more than a lot of people can say.
“I’ve asked his other grandpa, Trevor’s dad, if he can come up and take him. Hopefully that will work out.”
A question hangs in the air between us. The one that’s always there whenever Trevor comes up around people who don’t know his story.How did he die?
I don’t fault people for wanting to know. It’s human to be curious, likely connected to some subconscious wish people have to protect themselves and their loved ones from whatever unfortunate fate befell someone else. The tricky part is that asking so thattheycan feel better isn’t always what’s best for the one who’s mourning the loss in the first place.
Sometimes I feel like talking about how Trevor died.
Sometimes I really don’t.
Perry doesn’t ask. Instead, he points at a narrow trail that cuts steeply up the bank to our left, disappearing into the wood line. “There’s a trail there,” he says. “Up to the best view on the whole property. It only takes about ten minutes if you don’t mind the hike.”
It doesn’t feel like a dismissal of the conversation we’ve been having. His invitation to hike feels more like he’s putting the ball in my court. I can talk or not talk. Hike or not hike.
I want to hike.Andtalk.
I want to tell him everything.
And that’s a realization that scares me more than the butterflies in my stomach or my racing heart ever could.
“A little bit of hiking sounds nice, actually.”
He nods and cuts the engine. “Let’s do it then.”
I climb out after him, glancing at my watch. At this rate, we’re barely going to start working before it’s time for me to leave again. Not that I’m complaining. Who would ever complain about spending time in such a gorgeous place with someone as gorgeous as Perry?
The climb is steep and rocky, making it difficult to talk for all the focus it takes not to fall flat on my face. But the silence is easy and comfortable, which is a nice thing to notice. I get the sense that Perry is the kind of man who enjoys both silence and solitude, which I can appreciate. At least I can now. I’ve never minded silence, but with my naturally extroverted nature, I had to cultivate an appreciation for solitude.
As we approach a small clearing, Perry turns, offering me his hand to help me step over one final boulder in the middle of the path. Once I’m steady on my feet, he gives my fingers a tiny squeeze before dropping my hand. I’m so focused on dissecting the meaning behind that squeeze that at first, I don’t even notice the view, which is somehow even better than the one down below.
