Gerrit’s grip on the umbrella tightened. His blood was warm again. Boiling, in fact. But he would not dignify George’s remark with a response. And any halfway intelligent person could see that Daisy was not a puppy. She was almost ten years old, for crying out loud.
He began walking back to the house, head down, plotting his next move. George needed to be put in his place. Taught a lesson. But how?
Daisy barked, and Gerrit jerked to a stop. “What is it?”
She appeared to be looking at the pony barn.
“Yes, we had a bit of an adventure out there the other night, didn’t we?”
He considered the barn for a moment. He never should’ve caved on giving that girl permission to come back here. He checked his watch. 2:19. She wouldn’t be out of school already, would she?
Not that he cared or anything. Made no difference to him. But maybe he should check in the barn and make sure she hadn’t caused any damage. He hadn’t had a good chance to look around the night he found her in there.
He changed course and headed toward the barn. He was not interested in finding out if the girl had been back. Definitely not. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t unintentionally allowed a vandal to return to his property, that’s all.
It was dark and quiet inside the barn. Good. No one was here. He didn’t have time to deal with some kid, anyway. He had a lot of other—uh—important things to do.
Daisy sat as he searched for the pull-cord in the dim light and tugged on it, illuminating a large square room filled with boxes. The girl must have stacked them like that, because when he threw them in here all those years ago, he certainly hadn’t put them in neat piles. Unless Hannie had done it, though he doubted she would come in this place. There was enough baggage thudding around in their house without adding these boxes to it.
Speaking of their house, he should head back.
But . . .
Each step he took deeper into the barn felt like an affront to the sacredness of what could’ve been. What could never be. He stopped beside the shortest stack of boxes and rested his hand on the top. The box read Luke, High School in hurried black letters. Had he written that? Or Luisa? That whole month was a blur. A hazy, swirling nightmare.
The cardboard seemed to heat up under his fingertips as memories turned up the dial on the anger always simmering in his heart. He’d taken all the blame for Luke’s death. Bore all the burden. Made all the arrangements and taken on all the work Luke’s absence left behind. And Jakob had shown up drunk to the funeral. Gerrit had wanted to lay him out, and he’d been mad enough to do it, but Hannie had known his thoughts and held his hand.
Had their father been upset at Jakob for his disrespect? No. No, he’d put his arm around Jakob’s shoulders and then turned to Gerrit and criticized him for failing to convince Luisa to have an open casket.
“So we could say good-bye,” he’d said.
The box grew warmer. Part of him longed to open it and drown himself in the past. Destroy himself with it. But a greater part of him resisted. He shouldn’t even be in here.
His finger traced Luke’s name, and he thought about what George had said about being a grandpa. Evi and Noah hardly knew what a grandpa was. Hannie’s father had died before Evi and Noah were born, and his own father? He’d been a dead man walking for decades until five years ago, when he collapsed from an aneurysm in the milking parlor and made it official. Right in the middle of cussing out a stubborn heifer.
Almost against his will, Gerrit’s hand pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket. It was the old flip-style variety. No smartphone for him. Hannie had programmed in all their family’s important phone numbers. He pushed a couple of buttons, and there was Evi’s name on the screen.
The air in the barn grew oppressive. She wouldn’t want to talk to him. But it was only six weeks until Memorial Day.
He pushed the call button and jumped when the phone began to ring.
And ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice was bright and eager, full of hope.
His heart constricted. “Evi? Is that you?”
Silence.
“Dad?” The eagerness was gone. The hope deflated. “I—uh, didn’t recognize this number. I thought it was someone else.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, how are you?”
“Fine, Dad.” An edge crept into her tone. “What do you want? Is Mom okay?”
A sour taste filled his mouth. This girl—woman—was a stranger. He forced the words out. “Can you come for a visit? Memorial Day weekend?” After a long, painful moment, he tried again. “I’m going to try this spicy marinade and barbecue—”
“I’m a vegetarian, Dad.”
He slapped himself on the forehead. What an idiot. He had forgotten.
“Look, I gotta go.” She sounded distant now. He was losing her.
“Evi, wait.”
“I’m pretty busy with work right now. Might not have time for a family gathering. You of all people should be able to understand that.”
The words hit their mark. His lungs fought for air. “Evi . . .”
“Bye, Dad.”
Click.
He let his hand drop from his ear and hang at his side, clutching the phone. What had he expected? He deserved her resentment. But he’d done the best he could, hadn’t he? He hadn’t been around much, but he’d given his family a nice home on a two-acre lot with flowers and trees and a view. He’d kept them clothed and fed. His eyes returned to the box filled with memorabilia from Luke’s high-school days.
What would Luke do if he were here? What would he say to Evi?
Didn’t matter. Gerrit was on his own.
The barn walls began to close in on him. With the low growl of a cornered animal, he spun on his heels and strode toward the door. Only to slam into a petite girlish
