Page 54 of A Bittersweet Summer

I don’t want to find out if she’s right.

I grunt, jumping back up onto the bed of the horse trailer and stomping to the back where the last few stacks sit.

Roe invites herself into the trailer, blocking my path.

My hackles rise. “Are you offering help or trying to prevent me from doing my job?” My brows raise. “Because right now it seems like the latter, and I’m kind of pissed off about it.”

Roe scoffs, stepping aside so I can move another bale. “Cassidy was eating lunch alone,” she calls, and I halt, knowing it’s a mistake the second it happens.

I can hear the smile in my sister’s voice. “Less talkative than normal. She even gave me a one-word answer as to where you were.”

I turn my head just slightly to talk over my shoulder. “You don’t know the girl enough to know what is and is not considered normal.”

Roe scoffs again. “Oh, please,” she says. “I can get a good read on someone’s personality, Wes.”

I drop the bale, turning to face her. “Why are you here, exactly?”

The energy of the conversations shifts, Roe’s expression flattening in a way that makes my stomach sink. She’s not just here asking for help. Something happened.

Oh shit.

“I…” She pauses, looking toward the ground to kick up some of the chaff. “I’m moving back.”

I stare at her. “From Nashville?” I question.

“Yes, from Nashville,” she says, folding in on herself. “The music thing isn’t working out the way I want it to. I think I need something steadier.” Her voice cracks. “I need to grow up, Wes. Everyone knows it. Mom said—”

“Mom,” I say, hinging at the waist to pick up my t-shirt and throw it on. “Mom doesn’t know anything.”

I play back my last conversation with my mother—the one where she hinted at how displeased she was with Roe’s decisions. I mean, she’s always been displeased. The only difference here is that this is the first time I’ve seen Rosemary shrink.

Normally, she faces my mother head-on. Roe fights for what she wants. She doesn’t just quit.

Roe shrugs, “Maybe she does.”

I step forward, my chest tight against the rising emotion. Nashville—music—is all Roe has ever dreamed about. The idea that she’d give it up—that she’d listen to our mother on the matter—

“Spike,” I say, my voice soft. “You can’t be serious.”

Rosemary straightens her spine, standing up to her full height with new resolve. The decision’s been made, and once Roe makes a decision, there’s no talking her out of it. The only reverse that woman knows is the gear she engages on her own. “Iamserious,” she asserts. “Which means I’d like to stay at the house.” Her voice lowers when she adds, “Please.”

I take too long to respond. The answer is obviously a yes, but I’m still fighting the urge to tell her she’s wrong. I’ve heard Roe’s music. Whatever the issue is, it’s not for lack of talent.

Music floated through the hallways upstairs growing up. For so long, I was the first person to hear every new song she’d ever written—the first to watch her play at the local bar in town.

“I’m not going to ask for work,” she adds swiftly. “I don’t expect to be hired or anything, and I know Grammie’s houseisn’t up for grabs. I just figured you might need the help, and I need a little time to—”

“Please.” It’s my turn to scoff. “Let me pay you for a little work around here. We can always use extra hands, and you’re always welcome in the farmhouse. It’s only me there, anyhow.”

Roe smirks, the expression far less defeated than her previous mood, but it still feels like a mask. This place isn’t home for her anymore. All she ever wanted was to get out. “What is it then?” she questions. “I still can’t believe you and that girl haven’t fucked yet. I saw the way you looked at each other.”

“Damnit, Rosemary.” I run my hand down my face, shifting my jaw to prevent grinding my teeth together in frustration. “That is, quite frankly, not appropriate for the workplace. You also know I don’t get involved with employees.” A glaring lie. I can still feel Cass’s soft lips against the pad of my thumb—hear her shallow breaths.

Roe holds her hands up in defense. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just figured with the way you were looking at each other, and it’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”

“Stop.”

Her hands drop. Roe chews on the inside of her cheek, looking around at the chaff I’ve left while loading hay. Her features soften. “You sure you can use an extra hand around here?”