I COULDN’T REMEMBER THE last time I’d been alone at the farm, without Sam there, for longer than an evening. He never went away overnight, because he knew the chores and the stand were too much for me to handle on my own. Or at least that was his story. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was just too much of a control freak to trust that I could run everything as well as he could.
But he’d left for Florida early this morning, borrowing my car, which was much more fuel-efficient than his truck. Yesterday, I’d dragged him to Farleyville, the closest town with a department store, and together with Bridget, we’d picked out a few pairs of shorts, a couple of new T-shirts and a pair of flip-flops. He’d complained about those the most, grumbling that a real man didn’t need anything that left his feet so bare. I’d ignored him and tossed a cheap pair into the basket.
I could see his nerves when he drove off this morning. But I’d also felt his undeniable excitement, his anticipation of seeing Meghan again. I loved the big idiot, but it had been all I could do to keep from knocking both of their heads together during those last couple weeks before she’d left Burton. It was so clear to me that they belonged together.
Then again, I thought sighing, maybe when a person was too close to a situation, she couldn’t see what was in front of her own damn eyes.
Talking about Flynn with Sam the other night hadn’t been easy. I worked hard to suppress those memories. Sometimes, I could convince myself that the girl who’d been madly in love with Flynn Evans had been another person, or at least had lived in a different lifetime from me. Those days and that life felt so distant from who I was now: the hard-working single mama, the woman who ran the farm stand or the little sister who struggled with her brother to hold onto their family farm bore very little resemblance to eighteen-year-old Ali Reynolds, who was spunky and sassy and knew that she’d be in love with Flynn for the rest of their lives.
But as I sat alone at the kitchen table that night, after Bridget had finally gone to bed, the silence began to gnaw at my heart. For the first time in years, I let myself remember. I gave myself permission to feel what it had been like to love with such abandon and to know the indescribable certainty that I was loved the same way in return.
Almost against my will, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and dragged an old box from beneath the bed. I should’ve gotten rid of this stuff years ago . . . but I hadn’t. I’d left it here at the farm during my brief and disastrous marriage to Craig. Once I’d returned with my baby daughter, I hadn’t been able to make myself throw away these reminders of what had been.
Inside the box was the evidence that the old Ali really had existed. I picked up a photograph and found myself smiling through tear-filled eyes at the image of Flynn standing behind me, his arms around my waist and his chin on my shoulder, making a face at the camera. He’d been goofy, but my own expression was what killed me. My eyes had been soft and luminous and my smile huge as I’d leaned my back against Flynn’s body, the very epitome of teen love.
Beneath the picture was a piece of paper folded into squares with my name scrawled on the outside in Flynn’s writing. I knew what it was. Back in high school, we weren’t allowed to have our phones with us during class—not that it mattered to me, since I didn’t have my own cell. Sam and I were so pitifully poor in those days, trying to do anything to keep the farm, that any additional bill wasn’t an option. But Flynn never let that stop him from communicating with me. He’d often pressed a piece of paper into my hands as we passed in the hallway between classes. Sometimes they were quick bits of information about his afternoon schedule or questions about mine. But often, they were just a few lines to remind me that he loved me or to tell me that he couldn’t stop thinking about me . . .
My fingers shook a little as I opened the note and read what he’d written:
Ali~
I know I said it last night, and maybe you’ll think I’m acting like a girl—no offense—but God, babe, that was so incredible. I’ve thought about what it would be like if we were together, really together, for so long, but you blew away all my expectations.
I just wanted you to know that I meant everything I said. I love you, Ali. You and me, forever.
Love,
Flynn
My breath caught. That note had been written the morning after we’d finally gone all the way, after we’d had sex for the first time, lying on a blanket on the bank of the river that separated my family’s farm from the Nelson place. I could still smell the lilacs and feel the soft breeze against my bare skin. I could see the way Flynn’s eyes had gone molten when he’d slid into me, struggling to be careful and take it slow.