Page 89 of A Bittersweet Summer

“It is a reflection of our universe—a divine right that we should go on with grief. We should mourn the loss of my brother, while also finding joy and laughter in the past, and yes…” I find Wes in the crowd again, anchoring myself to his presence. “Even in the days to come. For two, those two things, happiness and sadness, only hold such value because theybothexist.”

I close my eyes, gathering my strength before finishing my speech.

When I step away from the podium, I make my way back to my seat, and it is there that I find that sadness again, welling up until I can’t hold it any longer.

“You did great,” Roe whispers, her hand reaching across Wes to grip mine. “You really did.”

Twenty-Five

Wes

Ipull down on the lead rope, forcing the filly to mind me as we walk to the paddock behind the breeding barn.

Rosemary stands by the open gate, holding it so I have a clear path. This one has taken a bit longer than the others to get going.Free-spirited, I would say. Which is probably why Roe has taken to her so quickly.

They’re one and the same.

“You think that one will be ready in time for the sales next month?” she asks as I guide the horse through the gate. She’s hot, amped up, and ready to run, so I force her to stand a moment before unhooking the rope.

She takes off like a bat out of hell anyway.

“Who knows,” I say, slipping through the crack in the gate Roe held for me.

When Roe and I are halfway to the barn, I turn back, pausing to watch the filly settle in. After a few laps, she calms appropriately, nosing the late-August grass. “Maybe,” I amend. “I think she’ll figure it out.”

Since Gus died, I’ve had a lot of time to think about how fortunate I am to have Roe here on the farm. I’ve watched the filly in the pen for the last few weeks, and thought a lot about Rosemary.

While I love having the help and having someone responsible enough to allow for more time with Cassidy, I know that Roe isn’t happy. There is a part of her that’s left unfulfilled here. She said it herself, the farm isn’t a home for her like it is for me. Instead, it’s merely a cage.

I’m not sure what my mom said to her to lock herself inside, but it had to have been a very specific kind of horrid. Rosemary isn’t a quitter.

When we get into the barn, I hang the lead on a hook as Rosemary migrates to the end of the barn. “Roe,” I say, and she turns back. “I—”

This really isn’t the time.

But then again, is there ever atimefor anything? Cassidy lost her brother in a matter of days.

“What?” She crosses her arms, firming her stance to take whatever bullshit I spew at her, but this isn’t bullshit.

“When are you going to move back to Nashville?” I ask, and her brows pull together.

“Are you kicking me out?” she asks, avoiding the question.

“No.” I turn to face her as a horse snorts from the other end of the barn. “Listen,” I say, “because I don’t want to miss the chance to say this. You’re not happy here—not truly. And I don’t know what mom has been saying to you, and I’ve failed you by not prodding.”

Roe rolls her eyes. “I don’t need you toprod, Wesley. I’m an adult.”

“Yes. You’re an adult. Which means you shouldn’t be listening to our mother when it comes to decisions that have to do with the trajectory of your life.”

She sucks on her teeth, eyes glassy in a way that has me guilty. “I don’t need—”

“Griffin and I have been talking about the wedding coming up in a few days. I want you to reach out to him.” I pull out my phone, forwarding his number. When Roe’s phone dings in her pocket, I put mine away. “When you’re ready, send him a text. He has connections, and you deserve to have whatever it is you want to have, Rosemary. I want you to know that.”

I clear my throat, not knowing where to go from there.

While I think my sister knows I care for her, I haven’t always been the kind to show it. We joke. I’m here to support her. The house is open, and she’s always welcome.

But there have always been unspoken words.