“There’s nothing wrong with being responsible.” She switched off the light and slid under the covers. “If other kids want to text their lives away, that’s their problem, right?”
Mr. Whiskers inched closer to Rae’s pillow, ignoring the end-of-the-bed rule.
“I’m going to stick to The Plan. Even the driving stuff.” Rae burrowed deeper into her blankets, unsure who she was trying to convince. “Are you even listening to me?”
Her loyal furry friend didn’t answer.
Rae squeezed her eyes shut. Mr. Whiskers didn’t understand how important this was. She’d been following The Plan her whole life, and she was on track. She had the highest GPA in her class. She was a member of the National Honor Society. By senior year she would be its president. The tiles were all falling into place—tink, tink, tink—forming the shape of her future.
All she had to do was hold on.
RAE’S ARMS JERKED, but she couldn’t get them to move where she wanted. To grip the wheel. To turn the car. It kept going, speeding out of control. Careering down a hill, faster, faster toward two dark figures transfixed in the middle of the road. The brakes wouldn’t work.
She cried out and awoke, sitting up in the dark, heart pounding. Mr. Whiskers lifted his head from where he lay on her pillow and sniffed, then went back to sleep.
She rubbed her face with her hands. It was a dream. Only another dream.
But why had it seemed so real?
CHAPTER
FOUR
The morning sun crept across the floor and tapped on Gerrit’s feet. He awoke with a grunt. Morning? What time was it?
He strained to extricate himself from the recliner, each of his back muscles rebelling with practiced disdain. He checked his phone. It was seven o’clock. No wonder he was so stiff. He’d spent almost four more hours in this stupid chair than usual.
And he’d slept in his clothes.
As he worked the kinks out of his neck, Daisy appeared. She cocked her head to one side as if wondering what on earth he was doing. Well. It was none of her business.
Gerrit waved a hand. “Git.”
Daisy did not git.
Gerrit put one hand on his lower back and pushed off the chair with the other. “I said git.”
Daisy smiled. Gerrit didn’t know dogs could do that.
He plodded to the kitchen, a hazy memory from the night before stinging in his brain. He had awoken with a start at some point, when it was still dark, his muscles tensed in panic that he had missed a milking. Certain his cows were going out of their minds waiting for him—before he remembered they weren’t his cows any longer. And their milk was none of his concern.
In the kitchen, he found a note. Please take Daisy for a walk. He looked at Daisy, who had followed him into the kitchen.
“Did you put her up to this?”
Daisy barked once. Gerrit grumbled. How had he slept through Hannie getting up and leaving? Why hadn’t she woken him to say good-bye?
Well, why should she?
He ate breakfast in silence. The clock on the wall ticked like impending doom. It was never like this on the farm. Peaceful, sure. But quiet? Not with three hundred bellowing cows meandering around, milking machines pumping, and equipment running at all hours of the day. But those were useful sounds. Productive.
What should he do? Taking Daisy for a walk was not an option. If she wanted exercise, she could run around in the yard. That’s what it was for.
His boots were by the door, where Hannie’s suitcase still sat, smug and contemptuous. She’s got no reason to stay, it said. I’m just biding my time. Bah. He left the boots where they were and pulled on his old tennis shoes.
Daisy followed him outside, her stubby legs racing to keep up. Gerrit plowed ahead about thirty feet and stopped abruptly. Looked around. Where was he going?
Slowly he turned in a circle, scrutinizing his surroundings. For too long he’d neglected this place. Time to start taking care of business. He glanced at the barn first. Though twenty-five years old, it looked none the worse for wear for all the neglect it had received, aside from needing a fresh coat of paint. He had Luke to thank for that. Luke never did anything halfway. You wouldn’t find a sturdier barn anywhere in the good state of Washington.
He could probably find an abundance of projects to tend to in that old thing, but he couldn’t go in there. Wouldn’t. Surely there were other things that needed his attention. Daisy waited patiently.
Though still early spring, a handful of weeds had already begun to sprout through the gravel in the driveway, evidence of the area’s ideal climate for growing all manner of things. Gerrit walked the entire drive, extricating any he found. When he reached the end, he opened the mailbox. It was empty.
“When do they deliver the mail around here?”
Daisy was sniffing her way through the lawn and couldn’t even be bothered to lift her head. Gerrit closed the box, listening for even the slightest squeak that would give him an excuse to oil the hinges, but it was silent.
Not far from his plain black box with gold numbers sat George and Agatha Sinnema’s oversized antique car mailbox. You opened the hood of the car to retrieve the mail. It was ridiculous. But not as ridiculous as the bushes growing around the post, obstructing everyone’s view of the road. How was Hannie supposed to pull out of the drive safely with that monstrosity blocking her sight line?
George should know better. He should. But he was an arrogant, thoughtless son of a gun for whom Gerrit had never
