Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
forty-three
Tuck
Day Twenty-Two
A legacy is everlasting. Those words echoed in my head as I walked the property, taking stock of the damage and also what had been spared. Mr. Swanson hadn’t had a chance to surveille every inch of his property, too busy in the last few weeks with fighting off invaders, and then basic survival. But if they were going to rebuild, they needed to know exactly what work lay in front of them, and what should be prioritized.
I stood at the top of the hill and gazed down at the land that had once been Honey Hill Farm. Somewhat miraculously, the old barn remained, but the house had been demolished and most of the land had been cleared long ago, including those lush trees. The development company that had bought the property from my father eight years before hadn’t expanded its new neighborhood quite this far yet. Whether that was because of funding issues, permit problems, or any number of holdups, I had no idea. But I was grateful. Who knew if the unnamed executives who’d swooped up this land were still alive, but if they were, I was doubtful they’d even remember every inch of property in their portfolio. They had no connection to this patch of earth, not really, but I did and the Swansons did as well. I supposed, when you got right down to it, to claim it would be stealing. But it was hard to see it that way, and in any case, the world was different now.
I used my hand to shade my eyes, peering out at what now looked like wasteland. But I could envision what it could be because I’d seen it in its glory once before, and it continued to live inside me despite my own best effort.
I’d suggest to Mr. Swanson that they continue the new rows of trees onto this property. It would be smart to plant as much as possible and use every inch of the rich soil that still remained.
Feeding people was the priority now. Helping as many survive as possible.
A legacy is everlasting. That echo again.
And I’d come to understand what she’d meant. My grandfather had arrived on this very land with nothing and built a thriving life from scratch. And I’d thought this farm was my legacy, the house and the land and the business. But maybe a legacy didn’t have to be a tangible thing. Maybe my legacy was my grandfather himself. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to create something from nothing. He’d held dreams and hopes and a vision that he strived toward every day. He’d had perseverance and a work ethic that surpassed most. He’d cared deeply about the earth, and about his family and the community.
Follow in his footsteps, my mom had said regarding my grandfather. But also, forge your own. If anyone is capable, it’s you, my smart boy.
Oh, Mom. I miss you. I wish you were here.
But she was, wasn’t she? Part of her anyway. Just walking through this property, even as destroyed as many parts were, I saw her everywhere, her words flowing back to me like she’d never left.
And I could embrace her advice and learn from my grandfather. Or I could head out into an uncertain world, looking for strangers to give me the redemption I sought.
Perhaps my redemption was right here at home.
If I had the courage to stay.
Because Mrs. Swanson had been right about that too. I’d convinced myself I was being brave and honorable. But partly, at least, it was really that I was a coward. Terrified to love. Terrified to go all in and have it taken from me like it had been before, or so I’d thought.
Emily was the one who’d been brave. And I’d let her walk away. I’d seen the look in her eyes, and I’d known that she’d been waiting for me to decide to lay my heart on the line…or not.
I swore under my breath. I’d let her down. I’d let myself down.
And now, maybe she’d found not only safety in San Diego, but purpose and friendship. She was back among the people who’d once called her Nova. Maybe she’d remember who she’d been and who she wanted to attempt to be again—whatever that looked like now—and my chance had come and gone.
She’d be home once it was safe to travel to visit her parents, whether or not that was years away. But even if I stayed here in the San Fernando Valley, rebuilding what we could, would Emily want to stay?
Our moment had passed.
My stomach roiled. I felt sick. I hadn’t fought for her. I hadn’t responded to her attempts to break through to me, just like I’d done after my mother died. Again, I’d shut her out. I’d wanted to suffer, and so emotionally, I’d pushed her away. But in pushing her away, I’d hurt us both. What I should have said at that border near LA when we’d said a teary goodbye was, Fuck no, you’re not leaving with them. You’re coming with me. We’ll find our own safety, wherever that is.