talk, or whatever, but I’d prefer it if she didn’t know I was home.”
Confused, I shrug and answer, “Sure.” To be honest, I don’t know if Dad still speaks to Virginia. We no longer needed her services a year ago when I got my license. It had always been the plan that once I could drive, Lucas and I would step up with specific responsibilities. Besides, Lachlan, our youngest brother, was at school full-time, so it didn’t make sense to have her around. As far as I know, she’s working in Wilmington with another family, and the only reason I know that is because Lucas called her to get a brownie recipe for Laney’s birthday.
Satisfied with my response, Mia says, changing the subject, “This is the milking parlor.”
We’re standing in front of a building similar in size to the barn next to the house, only this one has no sides, just a roof. The floor is concrete, and every few yards there are bars, I assume to separate the animals. She steps up onto a raised concrete bench and grabs on to a bar with both hands.
“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” I look around, but there’s not all that much to see.
“Have you ever seen one of these before?”
I shake my head.
“There was a whole bunch of machinery in here, but Papa sold it all. It’d hang down from the roof, and the cows would eat at this part,” she says, pointing. “And once they were calm and all the machinery had been checked, we’d attach the teat cups on the cows and boom, milk.”
I crack a smile. “Boom, milk?”
“Well,” she says, jumping off the step. She starts walking down the aisle, slowly, checking each side. “It was more complicated than that, but I figured you don’t need an extended tutorial on How to Milk Cows.” She stops when she gets to the end and walks back toward me.
I ask, “Did you do a lot of it?”
“The milking?”
My lips kick up at the corners as I nod. “I’m just picturing you when you were little, in rubber boots and overalls and a straw hat, bossing around all the adults.”
Mia laughs, and it’s so loud and free, it bounces off our surroundings and right into my chest. “I didn’t do that.”
“But the rubber boots and overalls?” I tease.
I’m onto something because her cheeks bloom pink. “Shut up.” She shoves my shoulder.
“No, it’s cute!”
She tries to shove me again, but I grasp her wrist, hold on to it. I laugh, ignoring the fact that we’re touching and that she’s mere inches away from me. “Wait.” I squeeze her wrist. “Did you have pigtails?”
“Oh my god, stop!” She pulls her hand out of my grasp, her smile waning as she takes a step back. And then another.
Suddenly, I’m all too aware of who I am to her and how she sees me. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be near me, and she’s pissed that she allowed herself even a second of laughter. I clear the aching knot in my throat. “So you brought me here to show me around?”
“I didn’t choose to. Papa asked me to bring you here.”
Dejected, I mumble, “Right.”
It takes a moment for either of us to speak, and I don’t know where she’s looking because shame has me staring at my hands. Mia breaks the silence. “He didn’t want me to come here alone.” She starts walking up a narrow set of steel stairs, motioning for me to join her. “One time, after he retired…” she begins. The stairs aren’t wide enough for two people to walk side by side, so I walk behind her, her creamy, pale legs an inch in front of me. I try to focus on her words and nothing else. “Holden and I came here on the ATVs, and a homeless man was sleeping in here.”
“Holy shit.”
“Uh-huh.” Her thighs move with every step, the muscles shifting, and goddamn, what I wouldn’t give to touch them.
Grip them.
Just once.
I hate myself.
She adds, “He pulled out a knife when he saw us.”
I choke on a breath. “What did you do?”
She’s at the top of the stairs now, and she waits for me to join her on the landing. From here, you can see everything below. I imagine a younger version of John standing here, looking down on everyone.
Mia says, “Holden told me to go wait out by my ATV. A few minutes later, they both came out. Holden told me to go home