“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
I turn around, and Dillon’s leaning against the entry post, watching me. “Did you write that? It’s beautiful.”
His lips twitch, and there’s a spark in his eyes that tells me he’s laughing at me on the inside. “No, I did not write that.”
“Forgive me for not knowing poetry,” I bark. He’s staring at me like I’m the most adorable idiot he knows. It should irritate me, but I know by now that half of what I say amuses him. “Who wrote it, then, all-knowing one?”
“That would be the apostle Paul. He wrote several books in the Bible.”
Oh . . . I clamp my mouth shut and scan the words again. They feel personal. A promise of things I’ve only seen glimpses of from afar. I glance back to the man who always seems to have more layers than I give him credit for. “Why did you choose this one?”
His earlier smirk dies as he steps closer, his voice turning soft and urgent. “Because I still remember what it felt like to lose my belief in all three of those things.” He slides even closer, so much so that his shadow covers me and his breath tickles the top of my head. “And without them, life is very bleak. A shadow of what it can be.” Dillon’s voice is rough when he adds, “And I’m tired of living in the shadows.”
I look up at him, and he meets my gaze, unflinching. I admire a lot of things about Dillon Kyle, but in that moment it’s his courage that astounds me. I couldn’t do it, reveal the deepest parts of myself all while looking someone straight in the eye. “Well, it’s beautiful. Thank you, I needed this.”
“Good, I’m glad. But this isn’t your surprise. Not even close.” He takes my hand and tugs until I’m following him out of the gazebo and down the steps. “Hey, Dad, mind if I take a break for a little while?”
Mr. Kyle and my aunt turn immediately, and my cheeks burn red-hot coals when I see them zero in on our joined hands. I quickly let go and stuff it in my pocket. Doreen already has the wrong impression, and if there’s one thing I’ve come to count on, it’s Dillon’s brutal honesty. He’s never once hinted at anything more than friendship between us, and considering my many romantic failures, I don’t blame him. It’s actually a relief in a lot of ways. There’s nothing to lose, so I don’t have to pretend or be anything but myself.
We get a see ya wave from his dad that I guess is our green light, because Dillon jerks his head toward the ATV parked several feet from the gazebo. “Let’s go. It’s been a wet, mushy mess the last few weeks, and today we might just be able to get out there without getting stuck.”
“Get out where?”
“You’ll see.” He pushes me toward the vehicle, behaving more giddy than a nine-year-old on the last day of school.
“Dillon.”
“What? Do you not know what surprise means?”
I wrinkle my nose but stop resisting and follow him to the ATV. The minute we get to it, Dillon pulls out a couple of aerosol cans from the back. “Hold out your arms and close your eyes.”
I comply, only to get bug spray shot in my mouth. “Sheesh.” I choke, waving away the cloud of contamination. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes. The mosquitoes are horrendous this year.” He finishes his bug-spray assault and grabs two pairs of boots next, each with a narrow white collar clipped around the ankles. “Here. Put these on. We can throw your tennis shoes in the back of the ATV.”
I take the boots and examine the strange contraption. “What is this?”
“A flea collar. It keeps the chiggers away.”
“Mosquitoes? Chiggers? What other horrible creatures might I encounter?”
He eyes the label on the boots he handed me, which are clearly marked. Snake boots. Great.
I kick off my tennis shoes, having no idea why I’m playing along. “How do you get me to do the most ridiculous things?”
His lips curl into a smile. “Easy. You trust me.”
And I guess I do, because a moment later I’m seated behind him, arms tight around his waist as we speed off into the forest.
Just five minutes into the ride, Dillon stops at a gate I instantly recognize, and dread shoots up my spine. “We can’t go back there. The owner has No Trespassing signs everywhere.”
“We both know your mom hasn’t stepped foot on this land in years. I could build an apartment complex in the center and she’d never know.” He swings his leg over the padded seat and walks to the lock, keys in hand. In two swift turns, it unlatches.
As the gate swings open, I immediately notice that the fencing Mom had installed is useless. Dillon had cut the aluminum along the side and attached it to the gate poles so they moved in tandem, leaving a wide-open gap for anyone to pass through.
And yet I can’t seem to move. “But what if she finds out?” I whisper, as if my mother’s land has the ability to swallow me whole.
“How would she? There are no cameras, and no one hired to maintain the place. I know, I come out here almost every day.” Dillon walks back to the ATV and squats next to me. “What are you afraid of?”
His genuine confusion and concern hits me deep. So often, Dillon seems to know more about my past than I do, but I guess my aunt has been secretive to everyone about what happened between her and my mom.
“Jan?”
“Sorry.” I force a smile. “I guess it just freaked me out how overgrown it is.”
“Well, no worries.” He stands back up. “I’ve cleared a path so you’re safe and sound on the ATV until we get to the lake.”
“There’s a lake?”
“Yes.” Now Dillon is smiling, and not his usual half-sarcasm, half-annoyance smile. It’s the kind that goes deeper, maybe emotionally deeper than he’s ever taken me before. “And it’s breathtaking. This whole area is, once you get past the junk.”
He swings his leg over the seat and starts the engine. “You ready?”
No, but I can’t tell him that now, not when he’s so excited to share the property with me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; every step I’ve taken has had Dillon Kyle somewhere in the wings, pushing me farther than I want to go. Why would connecting with my mom’s past be any different?
“Yeah,” I say, ignoring the anxious swirling in my stomach. “I’m ready.”
thirty-six
The minute we cross the threshold into my mom’s territory, I’m ready to take back every word. Dillon’s “path” is barely wider than the ATV, and I spend most of the ride tucked into his back, trying to fend off the slapping branches. The only thing I can say about my mom’s land so far is that it’s very, very bumpy.
I don’t look up until we slow to a crawl and the engine cuts off. But when my eyes open, I’m breathless.
“This is . . .” Words fail me because they pale in comparison. Nestled in a valley is a lake that easily covers five of my mother’s thirty acres. On the other side, about a hundred yards up a small hill, sits a small horse stable, and up even farther at the very top, where the clearest view likely is, there’s a house. Pawpaw’s house.
Memories I’d long ago forgotten flood my mind: sitting on his lap while he teetered back and forth on the porch rocking chair, in the small kitchen with Doreen, rolling out dough to make blackberry pie, playing in the attic with Mom’s old dolls.
“I used to come here as a kid,” I say half to Dillon and half to myself. “There are three blackberry bushes in the back along a stick fence.”
“Yeah?” Dillon twists in his seat so he can look at me. “Do you want to go see if they’re still there?”
My heart dances with excitement. “Can we?”
“Of course. In fact, my surprise is over there anyway.”
“You mean there’s more than this?”
Dillon chuckles. “Wow, you really haven’t been treated well by the men in your life, have you?”
I smack his arm, even though it’s not far from the truth.
The engine roars once more, cutting off the serene quiet
, but this time I hardly allow myself to blink as we take the slope down near the water. Dillon seems to know instinctively where to turn to avoid wet spots in the grass and zigzags up the embankment until we crest the hill near the stables.
This close, it’s easy to see why none of my memories include horses. The roof has caved in, and both large barn doors are crooked and hanging off rusted hinges. Weeds climb up the side and poke through the broken, dirt-stained windows.
A chill sneaks up my spine, and I find myself holding on a little tighter as we drive by, like there’s a darkness surrounding the building that could easily steal my soul away.
The unease fades slowly, then finally disappears once we reach the hilltop. Surrounding Pawpaw’s house is a clearing of thick beautiful grass so manicured it looks as if it were dropped from the sky.
Dillon stops a good twenty feet from the house and cuts the engine for a final time. “We’re here.”
“How is it possible the lawn looks this good?” I ask, willing my shaky legs to stand and keep me upright. “No one has lived here in ten years.”
“You’re looking at hours of sweat and tears, let me tell you.” Dillon pulls a backpack from under our seat and straps it over his arms. “The first time I came, the grass was at my waist. It took me two weeks with a Weed Eater just to get it low enough to mow.” He cringes at the memory. “Then I nearly flipped my ATV twice because I’d strapped a push mower to the back.”
My confusion must be written all over my face because Dillon’s expression turns sheepish.
“If you think I avoid my house now, you should have seen me last summer.” He picks at his fingernail. “Having this project kept me sane.”
I look toward my pawpaw’s house and back to Dillon. “You stayed out here?”
“In the house? No, unfortunately it’s structurally unsafe. But I’ve camped out here a few times.” He puts his hands on his hips and sighs, staring across the lake with longing. “I’d love to buy this place someday.” He smiles at me, and I don’t have the heart to tell him the dream is unlikely to come true. Instead, I listen as he talks about where his new house would go, about the fishing dock he’d put on this side of the lake, and how he’d turn the stables into a greenhouse.
“It all sounds perfect.” And it does. Dillon has something most people don’t possess: vision. He can see past the hurt and pain into a better time. My mom never had that ability. She was broken when she left Texas, and while she’s functioned for thirty-something years since, she’s never once thrived. I don’t know why I haven’t recognized that until today. Or worse, seen that very trait in myself.
“So . . . you ready for your surprise now?”
His eagerness makes me more excited than I let on. “Would you let me say no?”
“No.” He winks and takes off running toward the house he just said could collapse at any second. He stops under the sagging porch awning and lifts a tarp to expose a large ice chest and a folded blanket.
“Need some help?” I call out.
“Nope. In fact, look somewhere else or close your eyes.”
I pretend to comply but watch his every move through my fingers. He shoves the blanket under his arms, pulls the handle on the chest, and is in the center of the beautiful lawn in ten easy steps.
It takes me only a few seconds to realize Dillon’s setting up a picnic for us. He carefully lays out the blanket, then removes a covered dish from the chest, two plates, forks, and a bottle of something.
I press my lips together to keep from smiling and truly close my eyes this time. “Can I look yet?”
“Almost.”
I continue to stand there waiting, a cool breeze sending chills to my neck and bringing with it the potent smell of nature. So different from the B&L Ranch. Hardier, wilder. . . . It smells like Mom, even when I know that’s impossible.
“Okay, we’re ready now.” His voice is next to my ear, and I feel the brush of his hands on my arm an instant later. A new wave of chills assaults my arms and legs, which has nothing to do with the wind.
I uncover my eyes as Dillon leads me toward his surprise, and warmth quickly replaces all other feeling. “You did this for me?” In the center of the blanket is a basket of flowers, flanked by two place settings and champagne glasses made of plastic.
“Truthfully, I did it for both of us.” He extends his arm, and I sit crisscross, careful not to knock over any of his masterpiece. “My mom loved Saint Paddy’s Day. She spent a semester in Ireland while in college, and it became a tradition of ours every year to have a picnic and eat key lime pie.” He plops down next to me and unzips the cloth container that must be keeping the pie safe. “We didn’t do anything last year. It was too soon, and Dad was still in a bad place, but this year, I don’t know, I didn’t want to miss it.”
I feel an overwhelming sense of humility that he would choose me to share this moment with him. “I’m glad. This is perfect.”
“Well, hold that thought until after you see the pie.” He makes a face I’ve never seen before, a mix of embarrassment and humor. “I went a little heavy on the food coloring.”
He lifts the top from the pie plate, revealing a circle of neon green edged with whipped cream. I know I should say something kind or at least praise the effort, but instead I burst out laughing. “That looks absolutely disgusting.”
Dillon’s grin covers half his face. “Yes, it does, and you are going to sit there and eat it anyway.”
My laughter comes harder, my words squeaking out between fits. “It’s literally glowing . . . like I think you might . . . have used . . . radioactive food coloring.”
“It’s not glowing, and it’s not radioactive. It’s delicious. You just have to get past what it looks like.” The steadiness in his voice only makes the situation funnier, even though I’m trying with all my strength to pull myself together.
I clamp a hand on my stomach because it hurts and focus on the careful way he’s cutting slices, as if every action is a tribute to his mom. It does the trick as significance replaces the humor of it. “Why didn’t you do this with your dad?”
Dillon shrugs. “I didn’t want to be sad today. And even though Dad tries so hard, grief still comes through whenever we talk about her.” He slides a Play-Doh-like slice onto my plate. “Whereas you . . .”
I’d feel guilty except that I know Dillon well enough to recognize he’s paying me a compliment. No pretense. The one promise between the two of us.
He fills our glasses with bubbly grape juice, then screws the cap back on. “Can I make a toast?”
I lift my glass. “By all means.”
“To things not turning out the way we wanted them to.”
“And to little green men, pots of gold, and rainbows at the end of every storm.”
Our eyes lock at the same time our glasses touch.
“And to unexpected friendships,” he adds in just above a whisper.
My heart doubles its pounding, and my hands suddenly feel intensely warm. I swallow, unsure whether I like or hate the uncomfortable sensation.
Dillon must feel it, too, because he clears his throat and his voice rises. “But more importantly . . . to key lime pie that I pray will not kill us both.”
“Hear, hear!” I chime and drink the same time he does. Whatever Irish spell we fell under for that brief second has thankfully vanished.
Dillon lifts his fork and scoops a heaping piece of green sludge. “Here goes nothing.”
I know the minute he puts it into his mouth that it tastes better than it looks. His eyes roll back, and his chest caves as if he’s experiencing the best moments of childhood in that one tasty bite. My hesitation crumbles as I shove an equally large piece into my mouth.
Flavor tickles every taste bud, the perfect mix of sugar and tartness coming together. Even the slight bitterness of the food coloring isn’t enough to lessen the enjoyment. “Okay . . . I concede. This is delicious.”
Dillon drops his fork and leans back on his elbows, hi
s feet stretched out in front of him. It’s a posture of peace. A posture of acceptance. And oddly enough, a posture of absolute contentment. “How can you look at that water, this land, the sky, and not believe in God?”
I know he doesn’t expect an answer, but all the same, that familiar pressure seizes my chest. The same one I felt in Mrs. Cox’s hospital room. The same one from the night I heard the praise band sing together. And the same one I’ve felt every day since telling Dillon about my stepfathers.
“Can I tell you something without you reading too much into it?” I look down at my fingers and fiddle with a chipped nail.
Dillon shifts to his side, his body still horizontal. “Maybe.”
I guess that’s good enough. “I’ve been talking to . . . I don’t know . . . the sky, I guess. At night and sometimes when I take my walks.”
“What do you talk about?”
I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “Things. Feelings. Sometimes I just yell and ask why.” I glance at him and then away just as quickly. I feel the heat in my cheeks as embarrassment makes me wish I’d just kept my mouth shut.
“Do you ever get an answer?”
I’m not quite sure how to respond. Audibly, no, never. I would check myself into a psycho ward if that were the case. But inside, it feels different. Less tumultuous. “I guess in a way I do. There’s just so many things I don’t understand. Mom raised me to believe that faith is ignorant. That Christians were stupid and judgmental and racist. And then I came here, and nothing is what I expected. People are kind and unselfish and willing to move to another country to teach little kids about their faith. The two worlds don’t fit, and now I can’t figure out where I do, either.”
Dillon sits up. “Have you ever asked your mom why she hates this place so much?”
Love and a Little White Lie Page 24
