Page 12 of The Coppersmith Farmhouse (Jamison Valley 1)
He shook his head. “Wasted a trip to the station. But at least you can save yourself a hundred bucks.”
“Ha!” Milo laughed. “You had a run-in while getting a run in. Get it. A run-in with the law? While you were running?” He kept laughing.
Sam thought Milo’s pun was hilarious and he, too, burst out laughing.
I, however, did not find it funny. Not in the slightest.
The wraparound porch was one of my favorite features of the farmhouse. Like I had the last few nights, I’d gotten Rowen into bed and come outside to the wooden porch swing to drink a couple glasses of wine while watching the sun set behind the hills.
I’d been keeping a consistent routine for Roe’s evening and bedtime activities since our move, hoping to ease her transition into Ben’s old home.
Though Roe loved her mother absolutely, I’d always come in second place behind Ben. It had never bothered me because I had been more than willing to take a backseat to their relationship so he could feel the full force of Rowen’s unconditional love. She was missing him, but if we had a nice nightly routine, she might not get too sad thinking about how we were living in his house because he was dead.
The nights were still warm but I had on a soft, light gray cardigan that hung loosely over my white tank top and frayed denim shorts. I loved this sweater with its huge pockets and long sleeves that draped nearly to my fingertips. It was cozy and soft. But mostly I loved it because it had been my mom’s.
As I swayed in the swing, I thought about what tomorrow had in store for me.
It had been a long week at the hospital. Not only had it been my first week, which meant my brain had been working overtime to learn the hospital’s protocols, but John Doe’s presence had kept a steady flow of visitors at the ER desk. People were constantly stopping by to check on his status and speculate with Maisy about who could have delivered the beating.
Most of our visitors were from the sheriff’s office and I tensed any time I saw a tan shirt. I hadn’t seen Jess since the ticket incident but the chances of him coming into the hospital tomorrow were pretty high.
Tonight, the evening nurses were stopping the meds keeping John Doe in his coma and he’d likely come awake sometime in the morning. Everett would give him a thorough examination and then an officer would take his statement.
I expected to be dragging my feet home tomorrow, more than ready for a quiet weekend at the farmhouse with my daughter.
Pushing thoughts of work aside, I took a long, deep breath and sank further into the swing. It was time to do something I’d been procrastinating since arriving in Prescott. I needed to contact the farmhouse’s caretaker.
From my cardigan pocket, I pulle
d out two letters. Both were from Ben, one addressed to me and another to “Brick.”
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I eased my wrinkled letter out of its battered envelope to read it again. Ben’s letter always left me feeling empty. Why I kept reading it was a bit of a mystery. It made me sad. It made me cry. It made me miss him so much my bones ached. Reading it was self-inflicted torture to my heart, but I’d done it countless times these last six weeks.
But tonight was it.
I would read it one last time and then put it away in a box of Ben’s keepsakes stored in the attic, holding onto it in case Rowen wanted to read it someday.
Ben’s attorney had given me both letters after the reading of his will and asked that I deliver Brick’s letter upon my arrival in Montana. But I’d been postponing. Mostly because I’d been so busy with the move and first week at work, but partly because it was one of the last things Ben had asked me to do. The longer I stalled, the longer I could pretend that he wasn’t truly gone.
My eyes traveled over Ben’s rough scrawl, blurring as I read the last line.
Drying my teary eyes, I reached for my phone. It was time to text Brick. No more delaying the inevitable. Ben was gone and he wasn’t coming back. I needed to see to his final wishes.
This Brick guy had cared for the farmhouse for almost two decades. He’d certainly have heard by now that I was settled into the farmhouse. One thing I’d learned this past week, news in Prescott traveled fast.
Me: Hi. My name is Georgia Ellars. Ben Coppersmith’s attorney asked me to get ahold of you. I’ve got a few things from Ben he wanted you to have. Would you be available to meet me at the farmhouse this weekend or next week?
His response was almost immediate.
Brick: Be there in 5.
Tonight? It was a little late, almost nine o’clock, and he hadn’t asked if it was okay for him to come over. But I might as well get it over with. It shouldn’t take too long and Roe was asleep. I didn’t really want her around for this conversation.
She’d been dutifully pretending Ben’s passing hadn’t happened, acting like we were on a fun vacation and when it was over, life would go back to the way it had been.
She’d had a total breakdown the day I told her that he’d died, but ever since, she had shut that part of her world away. She needed time to process it in her head. I got that, so I hadn’t pushed. But we were coming up on two months and I was getting worried that we were on the edge of an impending meltdown when it finally settled in her heart that he was gone.
Maybe I should try and talk to her this weekend.
