Page 52 of Holiday Pines

Wes nodded, climbing out of the truck. Inside, Henry was asleep. The house was dark and quiet. Wes checked the monitor, then climbed the stairs to his room.

His phone buzzed.

Jake:The meeting went well. Heading back to Spoon first thing in the morning. Can’t wait to see you.

Wes typed back:Me too. Miss you hard.

Miss you too. So much.

Suddenly, Jake’s phone rang. The screen read:McCoy. He answered immediately.

“Mr. Marley?” The man’s voice was rough, weary, and maybe a little drunk. “Sorry to call so late.”

“Alvin? No worries. It’s good to hear from you. I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I got your messages. I just—” A long pause. “I’m done. I can’t do it anymore.”

Jake’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“I sold the farm. A developer bought it. Signed the papers today. They're going to turn it into a subdivision. I just wanted to let you know so you could close out the file.”

“Alvin, wait. Let’s talk about this. We can?—”

“It’s too late. It’s done. I’m seventy-three years old, Mr. Marley. I’m tired. My kids didn’t want the farm. My wife’s been begging me to sell it for years. It was time.”

Jake wanted to argue. Wanted to offer alternatives. But he heard the finality in Alvin’s voice.

When he hung up, he sat on his couch, staring into space.

Along with Diane’s orchard, the Whitlock vineyard, and Wes’s tree farm, Alvin’s soybean farm had been a fourth operation in the area that Jake had hoped to turn around. Diane Crawford had survived by accepting and using his advice. The Whitlock vineyard was blossoming through research, community, and the strength of their partnership. Wes was fighting and beginning to turn things around, too. But Alvin?

Alvin had given up.

Jake thought of Wes, working himself to death alone. Thought of the fear in his eyes when Jake had suggested coming out to Henry. Thought of the way Wes kept saying, “I can’t.”

What if he couldn’t? What if the weight was too much, and Wes broke under it?

What if Jake drove back to Spoon and found another Alvin—someone who’d given up because the fight was too hard?

He called Wes.

“Hey,” Wes answered.

“I just lost a client.”

Wes’s tone shifted, concerned. “What happened?”

Jake told him about Alvin, about the farm being sold, about the exhaustion in the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” Wes said quietly.

“He gave up, Wes. He just… gave up.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“Is it?” Jake’s voice came out harsher than he intended. “Or is it what happens when you’re too stubborn?”

Silence.