Bet The Farm - Staci Hart Page 0,17

said nothing, just watched her hands as I watched her. Her nose, small and pert. Her lashes, long and feathery. Her cheeks, dotted with freckles. She smelled like flowers—not the old lady kind. The kind that made you sigh in the summertime and wish you lived in a meadow.

I swallowed, disturbing her work with my Adam’s apple.

“Get any sleep?” she asked.

“Not a wink. You?”

“None. I watched the sun come up wishing it would go back down.” Her voice trembled. “I don’t think I want to do this at all.”

“Neither do I. Only thing that makes it a little easier is knowing you’ll be there with me.”

Her face turned up to mine, her brows creased. “Me? I thought all you wanted was for me to give up and go home.”

“Oh, I do.” A smile flickered on my lips but faded away. “But not today.”

Her eyes filled with tears, chin wobbling. She sniffled. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“I thought we’d be at odds like we have been.”

“I’m not a monster, Livi. I know I might act like one, but I’m not.”

The smallest smile touched her lips. “I don’t know. Bridge troll comes to mind.”

I huffed a laugh. “At least let me be something with style. Like a werewolf or something.”

With a chuckle, she smoothed my tie. “There. All set.”

“Thank you. Only person who ever knew how to do it was Frank.”

“Well,” she started, tamping down her tears for the sake of me, “I think he’d be quite proud of you.”

“Oh, I dunno. When it comes to you, I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t worry. There’s still time.”

When she smiled up at me, I was overwhelmed by the urge to draw her into my chest. To fold her up in my arms, to take away her tears. To shelter that delicate thing from what might harm her.

I almost did. Right then and there, for no reason at all, I almost did.

But before I could, the back door opened and Kit flew in looking like a mad scientist—hair in disarray, dress buttoned crooked, dashes of mascara under her eyes.

Olivia and I broke apart like an eggshell. She frowned, taking Kit in as she rushed to the oven to pull out a tray of biscuits.

“How can I help?” Olivia asked as she approached Kit like she was a wild animal.

“Oh, I’m all right, just in a rush. Didn’t want to burn the biscuits.”

“Whatever would we eat?” Olivia teased, gesturing to the two dozen biscuits already stacked on the counter.

“Hush,” Kit said, setting the baking sheet on the stove. “Come here and help me move these to the rack, Livi.”

“How about I help you fix your dress?”

Kit blinked, then looked down and laughed. “Why do I get the feeling the whole day’s gonna be like this?”

Olivia smiled sadly and stepped around Kit, smoothing her hair into a bun. “Bobby pin,” she commanded, holding out her free palm, the other holding the bun in place. When Kit patted her apron, Olivia added, “I know you’ve got some in there.”

“If I didn’t shed them like scales, I’d argue,” she joked, depositing a couple of bobby pins into Olivia’s hand.

I watched as they talked, as Olivia soothed and anchored Kit, lest she fly away. And once again, I was glad to have her by my side. I could see Frank’s kindness in her, that light that never went out glowing under her skin. She was unsinkable, facing her loss with a smile and her pink suitcase in tow, eyes on the future and sun on her face.

And in that moment, I didn’t even care that she might be the end of the farm as I knew it. Because if ever I needed that joy, it was today.

6

Hothouse

OLIVIA

The day was endured with a curious lack of oxygen.

My lungs seemed to have shrunk, and no matter what I did, they stayed pinned in my ribs with only enough room for sips of air. Jake and I stood in the receiving line and shook the hands of hundreds of people, and all the while, my voice was small and far away, someone else’s voice, one made thinner for lack of that all-important oxygen. We sat in the front of the pulpit with so many people at our backs, there was barely room left to stand. And songs were sung. Scriptures read. A speech by me, halted and squeaking with a paper in hand, damp from my palms and tears. A speech by Jake, endured with my hand over my lips and my shoulders shuddering in the