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CHAPTER TWO

FREYA

The days that follow my arrival in Montana are a disappointment. Maybe I thought Aiden would calm down now that he has something more than factory work, but he’s as big and brutal a presence as ever. The only difference is, he’s got a nice truck, lots of money, and land.

The first day after I get home from job hunting, I make dinner—beef, egg noodles, fresh bread—and serve it. When I come back into the kitchen after getting dressed, he’s setting his plate in the sink. I reach for it, but my eyes fall on the countertop.

A thin line of dust. Leftovers.

Our eyes meet over the plate. My stomach sinks. Aiden isn’t really an addict. He drinks nightly, but he snorts sparingly.

That doesn’t mean, behind closed doors, high Aiden isn’t terrifying. He’s already like a landmine. One wrong move, and boom , somebody’s getting the shit beat out of them.

Luckily, he doesn’t hit me. If he did, I’d be dead.

“You got something to say?” His jaw twitches.

I shake my head. His pupils dilate, and I’m so close, I can see it. Then, he snorts and walks, leaving me standing there, shaking inside. I need to get a job so I’m out of this house. I’m always on eggshells here, and Aiden could turn on me at any moment .

The next morning, I get Bittern to drop me off in Knifley so I can submit more applications. I’m in jeans, boots, and a jacket. My hair is loose to keep my neck warm, pinned with a wool cap. The ground crunches with snow, the gutters a mess of salty ice.

It’s a bad time of year to look for work. I’ve already made my way down the street, applying to every business that will take an application. And I’ve come up with nothing but dead ends since I started.

The scent of warm vanilla hits my nose. I stop short, looking around. A few yards ahead, to my right, is a café. Right away, it draws me in like a magnet.

The door is fern-green, my favorite color. Entranced, I push it open. Inside is a tiny room with shelves lining the walls and a cash register. On either side of it are glass cases full of pastries, and behind it sits a woman with a motherly face and big, leopard print glasses.

She looks up. “Hey there.”

Her voice is soft. She reminds me a little of one of the women from church back home. I gather my courage, extending my hand over the counter.

“I’m Freya Hatfield,” I say. “I’m looking for a job. I have experience.”

The words rush out. I want to work at this café that smells like a home. The woman shakes my hand, a crease between her brows. There’s a short silence, and then she offers me a smile.

“Well, I wasn’t hiring, but my husband was just saying how I’m never home, so maybe this is a sign,” she says. “We don’t get a lot of newcomers in the dead of winter. Why’re you here?”

“My family bought a parcel of the old ranch that got divided up and sold off,” I say. “We’re doing some land development, like building, construction.”

Her brows rise.

“I wanted to stay, but I don’t…can’t,” I whisper.

Her eyes soften. “Where are you from?”

“Eastern Kentucky.” The word catches in my throat .

“Rough place,” she says.

I shake my head, defensive. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

“No offense meant. You homesick?” She gives me a kind smile.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. There’s no way I’ll let myself tear up. Aiden taught me good and hard not to cry.

“I’m Tracy. I own the place,” she says. “I live here in town with my husband. You got anybody?”

“Just my stepfather and his sons,” I say.

That doesn’t sit right with her; I see it in her eyes. “Your parents not together?”

I shake my head. “She…left, then passed away.”

Tracy clears her throat and dusts her hands off. “You said you have experience?”

I nod. “I worked at an ice cream shop back home for five years. I can work a cash register. And I can cook and bake.”

She leans on the counter and studies me. It’s like being put under a microscope. Then, she sighs and lifts her hands.

“I’ll give you a trial,” she says. “Lord knows I can use some help. I’ve got three other businesses downtown.”

I dip my head, a shock moving through me. “I promise I’ll do it right.”

She nods, reaching under the counter and taking out an apron. “You look responsible. Don’t disappoint me.”

Hardly able to believe my luck, I set my purse down and take the apron. She watches while I take my coat off and put it over my fern-green sweater.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

She nods, giving me a smile I hold onto for the whole day. People have been kind to me before, but I’m still in shock when it happens. I’m going to make sure she doesn’t regret taking me on.

She gets out a bowl and starts teaching me how to make blueberry scones. I’ve spent my life cooking and baking, so I know my way around a kitchen. Tracy talks, and I do my best to respond. She’s curious about me, but I don’t know that I’m very interesting at all .

By the end of the day, Tracy is impressed. We have an entire case of goods ready for tomorrow. The shop is so warm and smells so nice, there’s a pit in my stomach as I drag my apron off, hoping she’ll say I can stay. I hold out the apron.

Tracy smiles and shakes her head. “It’s yours now. You be here tomorrow, bright and early at seven.”

I nod, unable to speak. This job gives me money, but it also offers me a place to go that isn’t the house.

Bittern picks me up by the courthouse. He’s tired, I can see it in his face, so I keep quiet for the drive. Bittern is always so sad. I hoped moving would help, but since the accident…he’s just broken.

It happened when I was little. When the recession hit, the factory closed briefly. Aiden and Ryland started a handyman business. Maybe it was just a cover for other things, but Bittern and Wayland went to the mines in Harlan County.

They were gone for months. I wrote to Bittern. He sent me back the wings of moths he found underground and notes stained with coal dust.

Then, one day, the call came. The ground had collapsed, Wayland and Bittern trapped for days. When they pulled up Wayland’s body, it was clear he’d died instantly. But Bittern, he’d laid in the dark with nothing but a pack of saltine crackers and a bottle of water for too long.

He broke ribs, but it was his heart that really needed fixing, and not even the compensation check of two hundred and fifty government dollars could put it back together again.

Bittern pulls up to the house and gets out. I follow. It’s snowy, ice cold. I don’t stand on the porch longer than it takes to tap off my boots. Inside, I can hear Aiden in the kitchen. I put my head down and try to hurry past the doorway. Bittern goes in to sit at the table.

“Come here,” Aiden barks.

My stomach sinks. I back up until I’m standing just inside the kitchen. It’s dark out, making the kitchen look small. Aiden has his arms crossed, and he’s leaning against the counter. Bittern is sprawled out in his seat. He’s got a cigarette hanging from his lip, but he’s just staring at the wall without lighting it.

Bittern has a kind face, unlike Ryland, who looks more like his father. Aiden is a handsome man, but not even that perk could make his wives stay. He’s over six feet, with wavy dark hair dusted with gray and bright blue eyes. Years of manual labor have made him strong. Rough living has put scars and tattoos all over his body.

“Yes?” I say, keeping my tone low, respectful.

“Where were you?” Aiden asks.

“I got a job,” I say.

Bittern smiles. “Hey, that’s great.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Aiden doesn’t reply—he was gearing up to chew me out about being jobless.

“I’m just gonna go wash up,” I say, backing up. “Then I’ll make dinner.”

Aiden jerks his chin. Bittern has gone back to staring at the wall. I put my head down and go upstairs to put my purse and coat away. In the bathroom, I splash my face with cold water and tie my curls on top of my head to keep them away from the stove.

I drag myself into the empty kitchen. Through the window, I see Aiden standing on the side porch—my favorite place when he’s not occupying it. Bittern sits on the bench just outside the door. He’s smoking again.

I put pork chops on the stove, fry potatoes, and make biscuits. Aiden and Bittern are still outside when I start plating food and drizzling it with gravy made of pork grease and flour. In the distance, I hear Ryland’s truck come up the drive and rumble to a halt.

They all have these big trucks with huge wheels now. I had to get into Aiden’s a few days ago, and Ryland laughed at me because I was too short to climb in. Bittern silently helped me up. He has to pretend he’s not too nice to me in front of Aiden, but I saw him give Ryland a shove.

The front door swings open. I get Ryland’s plate, fill it, and put it down. He walks in and sits down at the head of the table. There isn’t much to say about Ryland, except he’s a less intelligent version of his father.

I stare at him sitting in Aiden’s seat.

“What’re you looking at?” He cocks his head. He’s tired, like he’s been working hard all day. I know they’ve been clearing land on the northern side in preparation for paving a road.

The side door kicks open, and my stepfather appears, smelling of winter and cigarettes.

“She’s looking because she’s well trained enough to know you shouldn’t be sitting in that fucking seat unless you’re paying the bills,” says Aiden.

Ryland gives me a dirty look and moves. Aiden takes his patriarchal throne, leaning back and spreading his knees. Bittern sinks down at his brother’s other side. I set the plates down, along with a beer each. Finally, I sit down with my food.

“Go get me a bottle opener,” says Aiden.

I get up, taking the opener from the counter and handing it to him. Ryland leans back, freezing me with his stare.

“I’d like a cold glass,” he says.

Obediently, I go to the fridge. I put three glasses in there earlier, but they’re nowhere to be found.

“Did anybody take the glasses from the fridge?” I ask.

“I did,” says Aiden. “I needed the space.”

“Put another in,” says Ryland.

I’m unsure what he wants me to do. It’ll take a good ten minutes for the glass to get cold in the freezer. Ryland cocks his head, like he’s daring me to disobey in front of Aiden.

Bittern coughs, hitting his chest with his fist. He’s got bad lungs from the mines, and on top of it, he smokes worse than a chimney.

“Stop fucking with her,” he rasps.

Ryland’s lip curls. “It’s all in good fun.”

Bittern jerks his head at my chair, and I go to sit down, but Aiden lifts a hand.

“Get the salt and butter while you’re up,” he says .

Silently, I go to the fridge again, but the butter dish is empty. In the laundry room is a secondary freezer, so I go there and dig through until I find another pack of butter. The men are talking when I get back, and I’m glad they’re not focused on me. I warm the butter and set it by Aiden with the salt.

I sink down, and Bittern gives me a look, like he’s trying to apologize for the others. I offer the tiniest smile back. My food is cold, but it’s still good. Eyes on my plate, I cut some pork and put it in my mouth.

Chairs scrape back. Aiden and Ryland get up, Bittern at their heels, their plates and beer bottles empty.

“Let’s get the barn locked up,” Ryland said. “Fucking cold out.”

They leave, and the house is silent. I eat steadily, surrounded by the mess of dinner. I’m at peace inside because I met my little goal and found a job, which means when I wake up, I get to leave this house for eight wonderful hours.

I clean up the table, scrub the kitchen spotless. Outside, the men are fed and happy for the night, standing around on the porch. The smell of cigarettes and the sound of rough male laughter is so familiar, I barely notice it anymore.

That night, I lie on my side and stare into the star-laden sky.

Is this it? Did we go all the way across America just to be the same broken people on the other side? Because nothing changed for me except my belly is full, and now I’m miserably homesick at night.

I close my eyes.

Everything could still change. I want to believe it can.