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chapter forty-three

Tuck

Day Twenty-Two

A legacy is everlasting. Those words echoed in my head as I walked the property, taking stock of the damage and also what had been spared. Mr. Swanson hadn’t had a chance to surveille every inch of his property, too busy in the last few weeks with fighting off invaders, and then basic survival. But if they were going to rebuild, they needed to know exactly what work lay in front of them, and what should be prioritized.

I stood at the top of the hill and gazed down at the land that had once been Honey Hill Farm. Somewhat miraculously, the old barn remained, but the house had been demolished and most of the land had been cleared long ago, including those lush trees. The development company that had bought the property from my father eight years before hadn’t expanded its new neighborhood quite this far yet. Whether that was because of funding issues, permit problems, or any number of holdups, I had no idea. But I was grateful. Who knew if the unnamed executives who’d swooped up this land were still alive, but if they were, I was doubtful they’d even remember every inch of property in their portfolio. They had no connection to this patch of earth, not really, but I did and the Swansons did as well. I supposed, when you got right down to it, to claim it would be stealing. But it was hard to see it that way, and in any case, the world was different now.

I used my hand to shade my eyes, peering out at what now looked like wasteland. But I could envision what it could be because I’d seen it in its glory once before, and it continued to live inside me despite my own best effort.

I’d suggest to Mr. Swanson that they continue the new rows of trees onto this property. It would be smart to plant as much as possible and use every inch of the rich soil that still remained.

Feeding people was the priority now. Helping as many survive as possible.

A legacy is everlasting. That echo again.

And I’d come to understand what she’d meant. My grandfather had arrived on this very land with nothing and built a thriving life from scratch. And I’d thought this farm was my legacy, the house and the land and the business. But maybe a legacy didn’t have to be a tangible thing. Maybe my legacy was my grandfather himself. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to create something from nothing. He’d held dreams and hopes and a vision that he strived toward every day. He’d had perseverance and a work ethic that surpassed most. He’d cared deeply about the earth, and about his family and the community.

Follow in his footsteps , my mom had said regarding my grandfather. But also, forge your own. If anyone is capable, it’s you, my smart boy.

Oh, Mom. I miss you. I wish you were here.

But she was, wasn’t she? Part of her anyway. Just walking through this property, even as destroyed as many parts were, I saw her everywhere, her words flowing back to me like she’d never left.

And I could embrace her advice and learn from my grandfather. Or I could head out into an uncertain world, looking for strangers to give me the redemption I sought.

Perhaps my redemption was right here at home.

If I had the courage to stay.

Because Mrs. Swanson had been right about that too. I’d convinced myself I was being brave and honorable. But partly, at least, it was really that I was a coward. Terrified to love. Terrified to go all in and have it taken from me like it had been before, or so I’d thought.

Emily was the one who’d been brave. And I’d let her walk away. I’d seen the look in her eyes, and I’d known that she’d been waiting for me to decide to lay my heart on the line…or not.

I swore under my breath. I’d let her down. I’d let myself down.

And now, maybe she’d found not only safety in San Diego, but purpose and friendship. She was back among the people who’d once called her Nova. Maybe she’d remember who she’d been and who she wanted to attempt to be again—whatever that looked like now—and my chance had come and gone.

She’d be home once it was safe to travel to visit her parents, whether or not that was years away. But even if I stayed here in the San Fernando Valley, rebuilding what we could, would Emily want to stay?

Our moment had passed.

My stomach roiled. I felt sick. I hadn’t fought for her. I hadn’t responded to her attempts to break through to me, just like I’d done after my mother died. Again, I’d shut her out. I’d wanted to suffer, and so emotionally, I’d pushed her away. But in pushing her away, I’d hurt us both. What I should have said at that border near LA when we’d said a teary goodbye was, Fuck no, you’re not leaving with them. You’re coming with me. We’ll find our own safety, wherever that is.

I walked the short distance to the old barn and pulled open the door. The squeak that emerged from the rusty hinges was familiar and for a moment, I felt like a kid, a head full of dreams and a heart brimming with hope.

Mr. Swanson’s car had been pulled in here and the past and the present collided once again, the ringing of Emily’s laughter echoing in my head. My heart. Emily.

I closed my eyes, grimacing as though I’d been hit. I felt like I had. Picturing her as we’d said goodbye still felt like a physical blow.

I let out a pained breath and turned away, my trembling fingers running over the dusty red paint. I wondered if this old thing still ran. If not, we should try to get it fixed. I’d add that to the list.

I walked over to the area on the far wall where three long folding tables had been set up. Here was all the food they’d collected from neighbors, items not just lining the tops, but sitting on the floor beneath as well. Boxes of crackers, pasta, lentils, rice, peanut butter… And several pieces of paper were tacked up on the wall above, the names of each person taking part in the rationing of this food listed, including allergies and other pertinent information. They’d done well here. The care and the love and the goodwill was obvious everywhere I turned.

A ladder still stood propped beneath the loft, and I gave it a shake, determining that it was still sturdy before climbing to the top. I moved on my knees over to the window where I brought my head back in surprise. Well, holy shit.

My old things were still here. Books were scattered on the floor, covered in a thick layer of dust. I moved one aside and read the titles, and then sat there with them on my knees as I shifted back through time to the boy I’d been. I’d loved knowledge, loved gathering information that would come in handy when I was running Honey Hill. Hosea had spoken of the now useful skills and attributes I’d gathered while making all kinds of mistakes and surviving the consequences of my own poor choices. But sitting there, staring down at those books, made me wonder if my grandfather had also had those qualities because he’d suffered hardships as well—perhaps of his own making, perhaps not. Maybe a combination of the two. Perhaps that kind of grit and fortitude could only be gathered after you’d hit rock bottom and managed to climb out, one foothold at a time.

A breeze of peace blew through me as I set the books aside, glancing at the folder underneath. I frowned at the unfamiliar item as I picked it up. But when I opened it, my heart lurched. It was Emily’s folder and by the date written on the inside flap, I saw it was from the year I’d moved to my uncle’s house. Had it been before? Or after? It could have been either since I’d stopped coming up here entirely in the wake of my mother’s death.

I leafed through the pages, some sheets of music, others handwritten song lyrics. My heart constricted again at the sight of her neat printing, handwriting that I still recognized even after all these years. And as I began reading the lines, my breath hitched, and warmth infused my body. They were the lyrics to “Find You in the Dark,” the song that had enchanted the world, and later, comforted a group of weary travelers around a campfire.

But “Find You in the Dark” hadn’t been the original title. She’d first named it “To Tuck.”

I dropped the folder, the papers falling out and scattering, and then wiped my dusty palms on my jeans as regret burned through me.

She’d tried to reach me and blamed herself for not getting through. She’d fought for me in the only way she knew how, and I’d dismissed her entirely each time she tried. Oh, Em. Love blossomed, so powerful that I felt like it might knock me over. Love for the girl she’d been then, and love for the woman of now, the beautiful, tenacious person she’d grown to be. She’d done it again in that old laundromat, trying so hard to reach me, and I’d practically looked right through her, so involved in hating myself that I couldn’t hear a word she’d said. I’m so fucking sorry.

I looked out the old grimy window, picturing her where she was, hours away. And I knew with sudden surety what I had to do.

Wait for me, Emily. Don’t give up on me yet.