Page 67 of Higher Ground
“I have to. For the same reason you couldn’t tell me about Byron until after the interview. If I stay, I’ll sabotage myself. I need to think straight, and I can’t do that here.”
Mya seemed to understand, or at least accept, Emory’s reasoning. She placed the lid onto the large plastic tub, hauled it into her arms, and stood up. The beer bottle hung loose between two fingers, but Emory reached out to grab it before it fell.
She followed Mya down the short hall and placed the bottles on the entry table.
“Hey, Mya, why did you tell me about Byron?” she asked as she grabbed the two suitcases.
Looking over her shoulder, one foot across the threshold, Mya shifted the weight of the large tub against her hip. “Because I think you might need to brace yourself for what comes next.”
Chapter 34
Byron
Byron didn’t waste any time after leaving Emory at the farmhouse to finalise his plans. He’d planned to go to Tucker’s first, but he was barely across the bridge when he passed Mya’s bright red Toyota on the road. That couldn’t have been a good sign, and Byron knew then that he would need to get shit done as quickly as possible.
He called Tucker instead.
“What did you do?” Tucker said as he answered the phone. The line was echoey and full of static through the Bluetooth. It always was through this part of the road into town.
“Huh?” He’d heard, he just didn’t understand. “No, ‘Hey, Dad, what’s up?’”
“Nup. Emory called Mya. Sounded like she was crying, and Mya rushed off to the farmhouse. Told me not to expect her back because she was helping Emory move back into town. I think she is going to stay with Mya. I thought you were making it right?”
Fuck. He had less time than he thought. “What does Mya know?”
Tucker groaned. “I told her you liked Emory, and you didn’t want her to leave. That was it …”
His voice faded off, and the back of Byron’s neck tingled. He knew when his son was telling lies, or half-truths. One hand on the steering wheel, Byron reached behind his head to scratch at the clawing sensation under his hairline. “Tucker?”
“Fine, I probably got ahead of myself and told her I thought you were going to give me the farm.”
Byron huffed, but Tucker continued talking in one quick breath. “I’m sorry, okay? I know you’re not yet, but the other day it sounded like you were thinking more about it. I didn’t mean anything by it, just wishful thinking of a young bloke trying to impress his new girlfriend.”
“Tucker, I did mean something by it. I do. I just hadn’t got all my shit sorted yet and now I’m running out of time.”
“Dad? I don’t understand.”
Byron dropped his head back against the seat. He stretched out the tense muscles quickly, keeping an eye on the road. Gripping the steering wheel ten times tighter than necessary, Byron steered the car along the winding road and sighed.
“Emory wants to leave town. She has long before I convinced her to fall into bed with me, and I refuse to be the thing that keeps her here. But I can’t go back to how I was. I was grumpy and miserable. Emory brought light into my life, and if she’s gone, I don’t want to be back to that lonely old farmer I used to be.” He took a deep breath and waited for Tucker’s response.
None came, nothing except the hissing feedback through the phone line and something that sounded a little like an exaggerated hum.
“I’m giving you the farm,” he continued when it became clear Tucker was waiting for him to elaborate, “now.”
There was a distincthathat came through the phone before the sound of muffled laughter and the clattering of Tuckerdropping his phone. Byron cleared his throat. His brow dropped low, squinting his eyes as close to shut as was safe while driving.
Tucker’s laughter began to ease, but his voice remained wheezy as he attempted to talk. “I don’t … I can’t … you … wait.”
Byron heard the phone knock against a hard surface. Tucker’s rapid breaths were barely audible through the line.
“It’s not a joke,” Byron called out, hoping Tucker would hear him.
This was … not quite the reaction Byron had expected. He’d known Tucker would be surprised and a little taken aback. But he was laughing like he’d just been roasted by his favourite comedian, and this wasn’t meant to be funny. Reaching town, Byron pulled into the parking lot of the small shopping strip. He threw the car into park and got out, leaving the engine running. It was terrible for the environment, but the sun was blasting down, and Byron didn’t want the car heating up too much. He’d be quick.
“Tucker,” Byron warned. He shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand and ducked across the street.
There was another fumbling sound through the phone before Tucker finally spoke. It seemed he got most of his amusement out, but he spoke in a flat voice like it might slip to the surface if he let it.
