Page 11 of Forever Enough

I picked up the long hose and started to water the plants. Merit and Michael had built the greenhouse a few years back so that they could grow fruits and veggies all year round. In the spring, summer, and fall, their farm was a huge attraction for people to be able to come and gather their own fruits and vegetables. Something that people in the area seemed to love to do, rather than going to a grocery store and getting it that way. I loved the idea of pick-your-own farms and loved working on this one. No stress, I got to play in the dirt, and I was passionate about other people learning how to garden.

I had even pitched an idea to Merit about me teaching a class to kids on how to start their own vegetable garden. She had loved the idea, and we were going to start it this spring.

As I moved around watering the plants, I couldn’t help but smile. I had really lucked out when a college friend of mine had told me that a farm in Montana was looking for an agricultural assistant. I knew I had to apply. It was far from Georgia, and it was a job my mother and stepfather would assume I’d never accept. Not with a bachelor’s degree in agriculture specializing in crop production.

I’d graduated with honors and was offered a job with the State of Georgia as an agricultural inspector. It paid very well, and with the rest of my inheritance, and the money I’d made working for the state for a short time, I packed up my things and made the cross-country move. I wanted to get as far from Atlanta as I could. The last place my mother or George would think to look for me would be on a farm in Montana.

Merit and Michael almost hadn’t hired me, in fact, saying I was overqualified. But after assuring them this was what I wanted and needed, they gave me a chance. I was more qualified to run the farm than Lou, truth be told, but I didn’t want a management role, and I honestly didn’t have the experience. I had a fancy degree, some experience working for Georgia, but really, I was just a twenty-three-year-old plant nerd. I simply wanted to do my job and stay under the radar.

“I heard you finally met Bradly last night.”

I spun around and stared at Lou. “How did you hear that?”

She grinned. “He was here earlier this morning looking for you.”

My heart did a little weird jump. Bradly was looking for me? “Why?” I asked, confused.

Lou laughed. “Well, if I had to hazard a guess, he wants to get to know you better. Can you blame him. You’re beautiful, Mackenzie.”

I stared down at the overalls I wore. The Mickey Mouse long-sleeve thermal shirt and the bright green garden boots that were not meant for cold weather didn’t put me on anyone’s beautiful radar, either. I looked at up her and frowned.

She tilted her head and regarded me for a moment. “You don’t realize how beautiful you are, do you?”

Opening my mouth to say something, I quickly shut it. What was I supposed to say? I had a mirror. I knew what I looked like. My curly light brown hair fell just below my shoulders, and I normally wore it up in a ponytail. I liked my eyes. My grandmother used to say they changed colors with my mood. Sometimes they were green, sometimes they looked grayish blue. That was really the only memory of her I had. She was my father’s mother, and Emily and I had loved her. She died when I was only eight years old. My mother’s parents had passed away when she was in her early twenties, and my sister and I hadn’t known them at all, and Mom never spoke about them.

Besides my nice eyes, I knew I had a decent body. I wasn’t thin, and I wasn’t overweight. I had an hourglass figure and liked to work out. It was one of the few outlets I had to blow off stress and anxiety. I ran, lifted weights, and did yoga classes at a little studio in downtown Hamilton. But beautiful? Pretty, maybe, not beautiful.

What I knew I was, for sure, was the walking definition of emotional baggage.

“Honey, has no man ever told you how beautiful you are?”

The few guys I’d dated never really commented on my looks. I swallowed hard and fought to hold back a particular memory of my stepfather when he was drunk one night. He’d grabbed me by the arms and held me close. I was sixteen at the time, and the way he’d looked at me made my skin crawl. He’d mumbled something about me being “smokin’” and how, if I was older, he’d “take me.” At the time, the idea made me sick. Much like it still did. Thankfully, he’d never touched me or Emily that way.

Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I shook away the memory. I drew in a few deep breaths to calm the panic building. I really needed to go back to therapy if these feelings were going to start happening again. After I moved out and got my own place, I’d started seeing a therapist. More so for the guilt I’d felt leaving Emily with my mother and that monster. But over time, I realized how much it helped me deal with years of abuse, and understanding how my mother had allowed this monster to treat me the way he did.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Lou staring at me.

“You know, if you ever want to talk, you can trust me. Or if you don’t want to talk to me, there’s an amazing place in Hamilton that Brock Shaw created. They have counselors and therapists there.”

I let out a soft laugh. “Am I that transparent?”

She shook her head. “No, but I see something on your face that I once saw on my own when I looked in the mirror.”

I bit my lower lip. I wanted to ask her what she meant. What had she gone through? But everyone wears their armor in different ways, so who was I to speculate.

“It’s called the Kaci Shaw Wellness Clinic. It’s part of the Kaci Shaw community center.”

“I’ve driven by there before.”

“I hope you’ll look into it, Mackenzie. There are some burdens in this life that we aren’t meant to carry alone.”

I nodded. “I will. Thank you, Lou.”

Lou smiled and the anxiety in my chest slowly ebbed. The last few months, I often found myself wishing that Lou or Merit were my mother. They were both so caring and loved everyone deeply.

My mother had been that way once. After my father died, she tried to be a good wife to George, but anyone who looked at her knew she was still grieving my father. And although he put on an understanding face for a few months, it didn’t take George long to turn into a monster. It started with verbal abuse, but quickly moved to him slapping my mother and shoving her around. Then, when I stepped in one night and yelled at him to leave her alone, that was when he took the abuse even further. And I stupidly kept interfering.

I exhaled and pushed the thoughts away. That part of my life was over and there was nothing left I could do for my mother. And I’ve made my peace with the life I currently have.