Because he’s right. If Holden wants to go, I’ll have to be happy for him.
I don’t have the history with Holden that Jobe had with Shelby. We didn’t grow up together, going to the same schools, loving the same friends, attending the same bonfires. And even though I’m catching glimpses of what could be so good between Holden and me, that’s all they are. Glimpses.
This is Holden’s future. That was the deal. He’s given me what I needed for my future—for the Honey House to be solvent. If I try to keep him here, I’ll be the irrational one. The one in the wrong. The one who’d be resented. And I like myself too much to be the bad person. I like him too much to pull a stunt like that.
Maybe I love him too much too. Or maybe I love the pretty picture of marriage to a man like Holden presents.
I don’t know. It’s too much to freaking think about this early.
“On that note, I’m heading out,” Jobe says around what sounds like a lump in his throat. “You need anything else?”
I shake my head. A lump in my own throat swells. “Don’t forget your meatloaf.”
“I won’t. Love you, sis.”
“Love you, Jobe,” I tell him as he walks out of the room.
The room feels vacant all of a sudden. The light coming through the windows is less warm. The Honey House feels big, maybe too big, with just me inside.
There is still a smidgen of hope that I can’t extinguish, a flame buried in my soul that wishes things will work out.
Somehow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HOLDEN
Dottie?”
I glance around the clinic. The door shuts softly behind me. Sunlight streams through the windows. I can’t help but see the irony of walking into a place so sunny when I feel so . . . not.
“Dottie?” I call again.
She’s not at her usual perch behind the counter. And while that’s not a necessary requirement of her job—to be here to greet me in the morning—I miss it. I was hoping for her admonishment over my being late, even when I’m not, and her knowing eye. I was even secretly hoping she’d toss me some insightful advice that I didn’t ask for.
Because I could use that right now.
I’m setting my bag on the counter when my grandfather pokes his head around the corner.
“Hey, kiddo. Good morning,” he says.
“Where’s Dottie?”
“She’s home sick today, so it’s just me and you . . .” He cranes his head farther out the door and swipes his gaze behind me. “And Montgomery. Where is he?”
I hear his question, but I’m less worried about it than I am about Dottie.
“Is she okay?” I ask. “She seemed fine yesterday.”
“She’s fine. She likes to pretend she’s your age, running around here like a chicken with her head cut off. I’ve been telling her to get some rest before she wears herself completely out, but she refuses to listen.”
“I wonder who she learned that from?”
He tosses me a wink. “No clue. But anyway, she had a checkup this morning. Routine, yearly thing. I called Dr. York across town and told him she needed to stay home for a few days. And being that I saved his wife’s Siamese cat a few months ago after he fed it the wrong food and it had an allergic reaction that nearly killed the little thing, he owed me a favor.”
I head to the coffeepot, letting that scenario sink in. “It’s amazing what you can get away with here. That kind of behavior is illegal in most places.”
“Eh, it’s for her own good.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, where is Montgomery? Is he coming in this morning?”
A lump settles in my throat. I add a dash of sugar to my coffee in the hope that it makes it go down more easily.
“He’s, uh, he’s not coming in,” I say, pussyfooting around the answer.
Pap’s feet shuffle. “And why not? Is everything okay, Holden?”
I blow out a sigh that’s as heavy as my conscience.
I don’t want to turn around and face my grandfather. Dread fills me as fast as I filled my mug with coffee.
I’m sure he’ll be proud that I got hired by Montgomery Farms. Pap understands what this means for my career. He’s a vet too. But he’s also my grandfather. I’m his only child’s only son, and I know that having me here would mean a lot to him.
But does that mean I give up on what I want out of my life? Haven’t I done that enough throughout my life with Dad? Haven’t I taken cues from my elders and let their voices affect me enough?
Montgomery Farms is what I wanted. I worked for this. I started putting these pieces in place a long time ago.
My heart aches as I turn around. Pap’s demeanor changes as he takes me in.
“I see . . . ,” he says.
“Pap, I . . .”
I stumble over my words, unsure as to what to say. This isn’t how I planned for this to work. Not in the least.
This is the day I’ve been waiting for. I’ve put so many ducks in a row so that if and when this opportunity came my way, I could grab it by the horns. And now, here it is, the horns dangling in front of me, and I have Pap on one side and Sophie on the other, and I don’t know what to do.
This is an opportunity to show what I’m capable of—to prove to myself, and to my father once and for all, that I can do it on my own credentials.
“Montgomery not only offered me the job but also an amazing position that would put me in top-level management soon.”
Pap clears his throat. The disappointment filtering across his face floats away, and his game face is on.
“I’m not surprised in the least,” he says. “Good for you. It’s an amazing opportunity, kiddo.”
“Thank you.”
He walks over to me and places a hand on my shoulder. His grip is firm, cupping the end of my clavicle, but his touch is gentle. It’s just like I remember him from when I was a little boy. Tough, yet loving. Expectant, yet kind. It’s a feeling I’ve forgotten, and feeling it now, in this very moment, makes my knees want to buckle.
“You are so bright,” he says, looking me in the eye. “Gifted. Your mother would be so proud of you.”
My eyes sting as his words fill holes in my soul that I wasn’t aware existed. I blink rapidly, willing tears not to spill down my cheeks.
Pap swallows hard. “And I’m proud of you too. Never forget that.”
“Thank you,” I say, pulling him into a hug. He smells of the licorice jelly beans that are probably in his pocket. That, too, brings back a wash of memories from years ago.
Pap pulls away. “So what’s Sophie thinking about all of this? I can’t imagine the Honey House in other hands.”
I clear my throat. “I have to talk to her about it tonight.”
“You haven’t told her you got the job?”
I shake my head.
“Holden . . . ,” he says, eyeing me warily.
My hands rub down my face. The top of my head might explode from the pressure building inside it.
I know I have to tell Sophie. Clearly. I also know I don’t want to.
My stomach churns as I try to imagine the look on her face when I tell her. Will she be sad? Angry? Will she cry?