My Forever Billionaire

by Katie Evergreen

  “No, no… I came back to Willingham yesterday to… to see to the farm. It’s in a bit of disarray. I’m only here for a few days. My sneakers are what brought me here from the farm. I forgot how muddy it gets out there.”

  Clementine smiled sweetly, sending a wave of happiness shivering over his skin.

  “I only arrived back here yesterday too, isn’t that a funny thing?” She looked down at the floor and Jackson could see a faint pink blush spread across her cheeks.

  “Um, pardon me.”

  The voice drew them both back to the store, they looked down and realized the poor cashier was still trying to clean up the mess of fallen groceries. They stepped to the side and Clementine bent down to help her. Jackson watched as she picked up the undamaged goods and put them back in her paper bag, brushing off the flour as best she could. He saw the worry etched in her face as she looked around at the mess, then back again to her bag—which was now half empty. She took out her purse and counted the change she had left, biting her lip as she did so.

  “Let me help,” he blurted, digging into his pants to find his wallet. “It’s my fault, I was in the way.”

  He kept the wallet low by his hip so Clementine wouldn’t see the stash of bills inside, they felt a bit out of place here. He drew out two twenties and handed them over. Clementine’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” she spat, scooping up as many of the unbroken eggs as she could and grabbing the block of butter that had remained sealed.

  She stood, wrestling with the groceries and her purse.

  “I need to get home,” she indicated to the half empty bag of food. “Mom needs them.”

  She stepped past him, over a puddle of milk that was working its way toward the magazine shelf, and headed for the door. Jackson felt his heart stutter to a halt. Shouting an apology to the cashier, he chased Clementine out of the store.

  She was walking fast, car fob in hand, and Jackson had to break into a jog to reach her. There was no way he was leaving it like this, their first meeting in ten years could not end in another disaster just because he had been uncouth with his money. He wasn’t used to having so much money, it was still relatively new to him, so offering to help others was how he felt okay about it. But somewhere along the line this had gone horribly wrong.

  “Little O, wait!”

  It was out of his mouth before he knew it. Clementine stopped dead in her tracks, still facing away from him. He caught up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The heat radiating through their bodies was like electricity.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called you that. It’s just habit, even after all this time. Clementine, please turn around.”

  Her body moved slowly, as if she was having to force her feet to turn. When she looked up at him, he could see her eyes brimming with tears. He held his breath.

  “Little, O?” she said breathlessly. “That just brought back a whole bunch of feelings that I wasn’t quite ready to deal with.”

  “I know,” he agreed, exhaling with relief that she hadn’t told him to leave her alone. “The last few minutes feel totally surreal. I feel as though I’m in some sort of bubble. But at the same time it’s like we’ve never been away from each other, or this place.”

  He glanced around at the high street, at the place they had grown up together, spent weekends in the diner drinking shakes together, the place that each of them had sworn they’d never leave. She chewed the inside of her mouth.

  “I’m sorry about back there,” she said eventually. “It’s a long story that I won’t bore you with, but my ex was rich and used to flash his cash at me. Now he’s pretty much going to bankrupt me. It was a reaction to my situation, not to you. I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s start over,” he said, running his hands through his hair.

  Clementine nodded. “But I do need to get back to mom, and I have something I really need to start today. Maybe I could come over later? Assuming you’re staying at the farm? We could have a chat, it would be so wonderful to catch up properly. Now I’m over the shock of seeing you.”

  The excitement in Jackson threatened to bubble over.

  “That’d be great.”

  He watched her climb into the car, and as she drove away an ice-cold fear replaced the giddiness churning in his stomach. Clementine was such a good person. Even after all this time of not hearing from him, she hadn’t lashed out or hinted at all at years of built up hatred. Her kind heart was what he’d fallen for when he was younger, and it was still there, beating away. And now she was coming to the farm, maybe they could slip right back into the friendship they’d had before it had all gone wrong.

  The fear pulsing around his body was nothing to do with the state the farm was in, although that didn’t help. He had a lot of work to do to make it habitable enough for him, let alone for the wonderful Clementine. He cursed himself for not having the forethought to ask to meet in the diner instead.

  But actually, the setting was not what was worrying Jackson. It was the thought of spending more time with Clementine. Because the truth was he couldn’t rekindle a friendship with her, because if he did he would have to tell her what had really happened the day his brother had died. He would have to confess the real reason why his parents had upped and left, dragging him along with them.

  He would have to tell her his secret.

  No. He knew right then that he needed to get out of Willingham again, and this time to leave for good. But he also knew he couldn’t do that. Because the girl who had been standing in front of him just now was the only person he had ever loved, and the thought of leaving her behind again would render his heart truly broken.

  7

  “You look like you’ve seen ghost.”

  Clementine’s mom took the groceries from her arms and guided her to the table. She was glad of the support. Now, back home, the shock was starting to sink in, and Clementine wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would hold her up. She looked up at her mom, who was looking back at her with concern.

  “I kind of have,” she said.

  A cup of sweet-smelling black coffee was set on the table in front of her, she hadn’t even noticed her dad was back in from the fields. Beads of sweat sparkled on his forehead, his eyes looked red, and the bags underneath them looked big enough to carry all of Clementine’s worldly goods.

  “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, slurping from his own full mug.

  Clementine held her breath. She wasn’t sure how to even start this conversation. She’d drawn her strength from her mom and dad when Jackson had upped and left a decade ago. They had seen her through the weeks of tears and encouraged her out of bed when she’d decided that there was no point in getting up anymore. They’d seen what he had done to her, how the pain had swelled in her with each passing day he didn’t make contact. Clementine wasn’t sure how they would react to knowing he was here in Willingham. Her dad had a shotgun locked away in a cabinet somewhere on the farm, and a piece of her wondered if she should hide away the key before she told them.

  “Well, love?” Her mom broke her train of thought. “Are you going to tell us why you look as white as a sheet and have come back covered in flour with half of the groceries missing from the list?”

  Clementine took a moment to study herself. Her mom was right, from the knees down she had a dusty covering of flour and her boots had the crusty sheen of dried egg. A snort of laughter bubbled up from her stomach and erupted from her mouth. A tide of giggles followed, and Clementine could do nothing to stop them. Her stomach hurt with the laughter, tears streamed from her eyes, but even through her blurry vision she could see her mom and dad glance at each other in the same way they had when she had told them she was moving to the city. They were worried about her. Perhaps they were right to be, as Clementine’s belly laughs turned to uncontrollable sobs and soon she was a wet, snotty mess.

  Her mom’s warm, strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and all the pain of the last
few weeks came pouring out. The break-up with Pete, the hurt he was still putting her through with the bills, the stress of closing the business, then moving back home. It was all too much, spilling out of her in great, heaving sobs. Her mom just squeezed her harder, holding her as tight as if she was in danger of sinking into a cold, dark lake. The more Clementine cried, the more she realized that she wasn’t just crying over the past few weeks or even months, her tears and pain were rooted in the here and now and the feelings that Jackson had brought hurtling back when she’d walked into him.

  “Jackson,” she sniffed when words were once again available to her.

  She felt her mom’s body go stiff, and unless she was very much mistaken her dad had cursed under his breath. Her mom sat back in her own chair, her eyebrows knotted together.

  “We thought coming home after a while away might bring lots of feelings back, especially when your relationship with Pete has just broken down.” Her mom was trying to keep her voice calm, but she still spat Pete’s name like it was poison. “It’ll be okay though, Clemmie. We’re here—your dad and I—and we can help you if you need it, financially too, I mean, until you’re back on your feet. We don’t want you ending up as low as you were before, so just tell us what you need to keep your mind busy?”

  They were trying their hardest, Clementine knew that. The best thing to do was be honest. That’s what they had always told her. Tell the truth because lies will make life harder. The ones you love will stay close if you let them. She took a huge breath and spoke.

  “You know I love you both, don’t you? And I really appreciate you letting me come home, and looking after me through yet another failure.”

  Her mom tried to interject but Clementine held up her hand.

  “Sorry, I need to get this out now or I won’t be able to.”

  Her dad held on to the back of one of the chairs, his knuckles white with the exertion. Clementine wished he’d just sit down.

  “When I was in the store earlier, I saw him. I’m not stressing about the past because I’m back home. I’m stressing about the past because it’s back. Jackson is back.”

  Now it was her parents who looked as if they had seen a ghost. Neither of them spoke, all the color had drained from her dad’s face and with the droplets of sweat still stuck there he looked like he was about to keel over.

  “Are you sure?” her mom said. “It was probably someone who looked like him. You haven’t seen him for ten years, love. You don’t know, really, what he looks like now. It could have been anyone. I know that the Trumans, over on the other side of town, have got some exchange students staying with them, perhaps it was one of them? Maybe it was the Barker boys? It probably wasn’t Jackson. Maybe you just thought you saw him because you’re back home and your mind is playing tricks on you with all the stress you’re under at the moment.”

  “MOM!” Clementine raised her voice to stop the tide of words spewing from her mom’s mouth. “Sorry, but no. It was Jackson. He’s back. I walked right into him. And I dropped your butter all over him. And my eggs and flour. And he spoke to me.”

  She chewed the inside of her mouth.

  “And then he invited me over to his tonight.”

  Her dad’s eyes grew so wide she could see just how red they were. A wash of guilt streamed through her. He looked exhausted, and now she’d just added this extra worry to his list of things he already had to stress about. She really was the world’s worst daughter.

  “And you said, ‘no thank you’?” her mom asked hopefully.

  “No, I’m going. I need to speak to him. To find out why he never talked to me, what I did to make him hate me so much. I need to do it, please don’t make it harder for me.”

  She could see the concern on her mom’s face and hated herself for opening this can of worms. She knew they would both be worried that, once again, they’d have to pick up the pieces from the fallout, but this was something that Clementine absolutely needed to do. It was the uncertainty that had almost finished her off, and this was an opportunity to get the answers to all of those questions.

  “Be back here by nine,” her dad said, his voice gruff and unsteady.

  “Dad,” she replied, feeling like a teenager again. “I’m not meeting him until later, I’ve got a cake to bake first. I’ll be back, I promise, but I can’t guarantee what time.”

  She saw her mom place a gentle hand on her dad’s arm and hated herself even more.

  “But I will try to be home by nine,” she added, grateful to see her dad smile. “Now, if it’s okay, I really need to get on with this cake. It’s for a wedding and I can’t let the bride down at such short notice. I’ve arranged for it to be shipped tomorrow night, so I need to bake this afternoon, then ice tomorrow.”

  She looked at the grocery bag sitting on the table and wondered how on earth she was going to perform such a feat with minimal ingredients and a kitchen and stove she wasn’t used to working with. She bit down the nerves, pushed her chair back, and went to find her apron. Her dad stopped her on the way out and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her on the top of the head. He smelt of sweat and fields and her childhood, and Clementine felt safe. Tears pricked at her eyes again, but she swallowed them down, determined not to fuel her parents’ anguish any further.

  “I really appreciate you both,” she said. “And I love you. I promise to make you proud one day.”

  Her dad’s arms squeezed any breath out of Clementine’s body.

  “You do make us proud,” he said, his voice catching on the words. “What with the business you developed, the dedication you put into everything you have ever worked for, your kindness and compassion, you’re the most caring person I kn...”

  His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, patting Clementine on the back.

  “Right,” he said regaining his composure. “Those fields won’t sort themselves. You know where to find me if you need me.”

  He pulled the door open, drawing in a chill from the late afternoon air. Clementine pulled the shawl further around her shoulders and shivered, though she wasn’t sure that the shivers were anything at all to do with the draft that was winding its way around her ankles.

  8

  Jackson scrubbed at the kitchen sink as if he was trying to see his face in it. After Clementine had driven off, leaving him standing at the edge of the sidewalk feeling like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer, Jackson had gone into overdrive. He’d marched back into the store and bought every single cleaning product they had on sale, some rubber gloves, and a pair of rain boots. He’d only lost his concentration momentarily when he’d spotted a pack of Sweet Sensation gummy rings at the cashpoint. He’d thrown a few packs in the basket to see him through the evening. The cashier had looked at him as though he was going mad.

  “There’s no need to buy your body weight in bleach,” she had said to him quizzically. “I’ve already cleaned up the mess.”

  But she’d rung it up and bagged it for him all the same. He’d thrown in another fifty-dollar bill to apologize for the mess she’d had to clean up. He knew hurling money at things didn’t automatically make everything come up rosy, but he wanted to do something to make it right, and this was all he had time for.

  He’d ridden back to the farm on the motorbike, narrowly avoiding some serious potholes. He told himself it was because he needed to be back in time for the workmen due to measure up the windows and door, but deep down he knew that had nothing to do with the breakneck speed he built up. Jackson wanted the farm to look habitable for when Clementine came over, he didn’t want her to see how neglected and sad it had become. She’d spent half her childhood in the farm, and he’d spent half of his in her farm, they had been one and the same. And now the Harper Farm was thriving—as far as he could tell—and the Brodie Farm looked bleak and uninviting, a skeletal ruin. He felt as though he’d let Clementine down, not just the farm.

  He scrubbed harder at the kitchen taps. Green mold and limescale ripped his cloth to shreds and
almost tore a large hole in his gloves.

  “Argh!”

  He threw down the cloth, peeled off his gloves, and tried to pick off the cement-like scale with his finger nails instead. It wasn’t working, he had too many pent-up emotions swirling around him to concentrate on something so minute. He decided to focus on the thick layer of dust instead, at least that way he could keep moving around. Rummaging through his bags, he picked up the dustpan and brush and stepped out into the hallway. He began sweeping the floor from the door all the way to the kitchen and living rooms, emptying it periodically into a black sack as it filled with years of dirt. The floorboards started to blink at him from underneath, slowly showing their faces after hibernation.

  Jackson had worked up a sweat, so he pulled off his denim shirt and flapped at the white t-shirt he had on underneath to unstick it from his chest.

  “Jeez, way to make us mortals feel insecure about our bodies,” a loud voice shouted from the front door.

  Jackson span around in shock. A man stood there, probably only about a decade older than Jackson but with a lot less hair and a lot more stomach.

  “O’Grady, I’m here about the windows.”

  He held out his hand for Jackson to shake. Jackson dropped the brush and pan by his feet, wiped his hands as best he could on his dusty jeans, and walked over to shake the man’s proffered hand. It felt rough and dry, but his grip was firm.

  “Thanks for coming at such short notice,” Jackson said, watching the man’s face drop as he entered the house. “It’s, um, a bit run down.”

  O’Grady sucked air through his teeth. He picked at the door frame, and they both watched as it crumbled around his fingers.

  “Yep,” the man said, picking some more frame away with the nail on his forefinger.

  Jackson wished he’d stop doing that, fearing that the farm might crumble around them. A thought flashed through his mind that he would normally offer a cup of coffee, but he had no electricity, and no kettle, let alone any coffee.