Grandpa had insisted we didn’t have a funeral; he always found those to be depressing. Instead, his ashes would be waiting for me at the funeral home per his carefully written instructions. I was to scatter them around the property.
Considering that I was leaning toward selling it, though, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to honor his wishes. Not if I’d never be able to come back to this place and be in his presence.
But that was future Rachel’s problem. For now, all I wanted to do was stretch my legs a bit and make sure the cabin was in a livable state, since I was exhausted and would need sleep very soon.
Sticking my key in the old lock, I gave it the familiar wiggle to the right. The thing always stuck, but Grandpa called it our security system.
As the door creaked open, the familiar smell of the place hit my nostrils, sending another pang of loss through me. It was surreal to be here without him.
2
* * *
NO LOOKING BACK
Noah
“Did you hear what happened to old man Tyson?” my brother Austen asked, joining me in the work shed.
I was hunched over a label maker, trying to get the damn thing to cooperate. “Yeah, Mom said something yesterday. It’s a damn shame.”
Austen nodded, adjusting his ball cap.
Paul Tyson, our elderly neighbor, died a few days ago when his truck hit a moose out on the stretch of two-lane highway. Moose tended to become disoriented this time of year—during rut. Paul had been a good neighbor for as long as I could remember, and I hated to think he was gone. Just like that.
“Probably smelled a female on the other side of the road,” Austen said.
I nodded and smoothed my thumb over the label I’d just affixed to a bottle of beer.
“Looks crooked,” Mom said, coming in behind Austen.
I rolled my eyes. Way to be helpful, Mom.
“Brought you breakfast,” she said, placing a couple of foil-wrapped breakfast sandwiches on the workbench between Austen and me.
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
Mom produced a thermos of coffee next and two enamel mugs. “Eat up. It’s going to be a long day.”
She wasn’t wrong. There were three cases of beer bottles that needed labeling and firewood to split, not to mention loading the truck for an upcoming shipment.
Staying on time with shipments was important to our business. Austen and I had a certain reputation of being more reliable than other small brewers. And if every label was going to be as painful as this one to affix, it was going to take me a long-ass time to get this right.
I unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite while Austen inspected the label. It was definitely crooked.
“If we can get a good price on that land next door, we could increase the size of our growing operation,” he said, helping himself to one of the sandwiches.
“The earth’s barely settled on the old man’s grave, and you’re talking about buying the land out from under him?” Mom scoffed. “I’m sure the place is going to Rachel. She’s the only family he had.”
The mention of Rachel’s name shouldn’t still affect me after all these years, but the food in my mouth might as well have turned to dust. I swallowed unevenly and pushed the sandwich away.
Once upon a time, Rachel had meant a lot to me. But that was a long time ago, and there was no sense in rehashing things that might have been.
“He wasn’t buried,” I said.
We’d have definitely attended a service if there’d been one, but Paul had made it clear to people who knew him that he didn’t want any fuss about him. He never even let us get him a birthday cake.
“You know what I mean,” Mom said, chiding me.
Austen ran a hand over his beard while he watched me, waiting to hear what I’d say on the subject.
“Wouldn’t we be helping them out? Can you actually see his granddaughter staying here? Living here?” I asked, which only threatened to spark my own imagination of what that would be like.
Not that I knew her anymore. It had been almost ten years since she left town, and when she came back for holidays, her trips were short.
Austen smirked. “It would certainly help the male-to-female ratio in this town.”
There was no way Rachel was still single. Even back as a teenager, she had been gorgeous.
I imagined time had been kind to her, but I wouldn’t know. Once she left this town in the rearview, she left it for good. Me included. Not that I wanted to take a trip down memory lane right now. I had too much to do.
The farmers’ market was tomorrow. In addition to selling things from Mom’s garden, plus her homemade candles and honey, my brother Austen and I would be debuting a new craft beer we hoped would be a hit.
The only product we had in our line right now was an IPA, and we needed to sell our new lager if we wanted to increase profits at this point. We had a few breweries who were regulars, but so far, expanding distribution to more places was proving next to impossible. The logical next step was to add new products to sell to our existing customers.
Mom made a displeased sound and scowled at Austen. “That poor girl lost the only parent she’s ever known, and all you can see is dollar signs? I’m sure she’s not selling, and even if she were, we’re not buying.”
“We need to consider it,” Austen said around a mouthful of breakfast sandwich. “I’m going down to the bank today to see if we can qualify for a small business loan.”
I couldn’t remember the exact size of the property, but it had to be at least a dozen acres or so. How we would afford it, I had no idea.
But Austen was right. We should look into it. He and I had to make this work.
We were under a growing financial strain to get everything to come together. Our land—all thirty-five acres of it—had been in the family for three generations. Our great-grandfather had moved the Hart clan out here during the time of the Gold Rush. He’d never found his fortune, but maybe we could claim ours.
It wasn’t gold that my brother and I were after, though. The land was plentiful, and the soil was rich.
We’d discovered quite by accident that we liked making our own beer. Once we had the fermentation process down, it was only logical that instead of buying the hops and grains we needed, that we take a stab at growing them.
Money might not grow on trees, but growing beer in your garden is almost as just as cool. Plus, it’s pretty fun showing at to a party with a couple of growlers of ale you’d made yourself. So, while I had figured out harvesting and bottling, my older brother Austen was busy shaping and reshaping the business plan.
If he thought that included adding more land to our portfolio, I was hesitant to question him. He had a certain eye for details that I didn’t have. Even if he got on my nerves a lot, we made a pretty good team. I ran the production operation, and he was the money guy.
“Did you get that elk jerky that sold so well last time?” Austen asked.
“Shit.” I knew I’d forgotten something.
Austen let out a heavy exhale. I was used to disappointing him—that was nothing new. He was always on me to make a calendar, or a list, to set reminders in my phone.
That just wasn’t who I was, though. I was happy to wake up at dawn and work all day, but writing out some list to follow? Not my thing.