Page 33 of This Much Is True
“Make sure you’re not just putting work in at the stables,” he says. “Put it in where it matters, too.”
“I will.”
“Nah, kid,I mean it,” he says, irritated as if I’m blowing him off. “Take a lesson from that wedding last weekend.”
Let’s not go there, Cotton. Let’s not ruin this.
“Did you know that girl who ran out on that movie star was from Brickfield?” he asks.
“I did.”
“I didn’t realize that. Guess I don’t pay enough attention to those things. Emma Jo says I’m the only one who didn’t know that.”
“Seems about right,” I say.
“Get you a girl like that.”
What? My head turns to him so fast that my neck pops.
“That girl knew what she wanted,” Cotton says. “And what she didn’t want. She made a hard decision—it had to be—because she knew what was best for her. People don’t do that anymore, kid. They get suckered into shit and let it ruin their life.”
Wow. This is not where I thought this was going. And yet he’s right. He’s so right about Laina.
“You gotta break some eggs to make some French toast,” he says, laughing at his own joke. “I know that’s not the saying, but I hate omelets.”
“Not a big fan either.” I laugh, too. “I get what you’re saying.”
More than you even know.
“Good. Now, let’s get you back to work,” Cotton says, spitting as he heads for his truck. “And if you tell anyone I said any of this shit, I’ll call you a liar.”
I look at Moe and chuckle.
You’re not a liar at all, Cotton. Not even a little bit.
Chapter Ten
Laina
I dance across the kitchen as the oven buzzes. The house is filled with the scent of garlic and pasta sauce—with a kiss of burnt cake because I am not a baker. But even a cake shaved into an inch of its life to rid it of the crispy pieces can’t break my spirits.
Not today. Not when I’ve had one of my life's most relaxing, amazingly boring, wonderfully mind-numbing days.
I slip on a mitt and remove the garlic bread from the oven.
The early evening sun warms the room without the stove's heat. Tall blades of grass sway in the breeze on the other side of the fence that separates Luke’s yard from the pasture. Tall flowers provide pops of color along the fencerow, making the view resemble a painting.
In all my travels worldwide, including my own homes that I chose and designed, I’ve never been to a place quite like this. There’s nothing fancy here. Some of it isn’t even modern. The cabinets are from the eighties at best, and every tap in the house leaks. But instead of taking away from the property, it allsomehow adds to it. It works together to create a place where nothing really matters exceptbeing. Breathing.Living.
And dammit if it’s not glorious.
I check on the sauce I poured from a jar, hoping the spices I added to it actually enhance the flavor and don’t take away from it. I glance at the cake—or ruin it.
“Hey.”
I shriek and jump back, hitting the stove with my hip. Luke grabs me before my arm lands in the simmering sauce, and we have a real mess to clean up.
“Dammit,” I say, smacking Luke on the chest. “You just scared the shit out of me.”
