Page 62 of This Broken Heart

She tilts her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “What?”

I point at all three of them. “No.”

The girls exchange looks, rolling their eyes with a smattering of giggles. Nothing can unite these little banshees like making their big brother squirm.

“You three are my little sisters and they are my friends. And since I don’t want to have to remove their balls, please stay away from them.”

Charlie sashays into the kitchen, pouring herself some coffee. “You tell your man whore friends to stay away from us, then.”

41.

Erin

Josh’s friends arrive in a procession of oversized pickup trucks. Between their trucks and Josh’s, they almost don’t need the cattle trailer that’s backed up to the house.

It’s the strangest moving day I’ve ever witnessed because they don’t move all the furniture—only the boxes and things with pink sticky notes attached to them. The rest of it is staying behind.

Lisa wanders around with a balled-up tissue in her hand, oscillating between excitement and nostalgia. The girls, on the other hand, are firmly rooted in gloom. This is their childhood we’re dismantling. When tempers come to a boil over a grandfather clock, I lead Maven and Trace outside.

They love fresh air, no matter how chilly it is. Trace bounds ahead, making a beeline for an overgrown apple tree. I take Maven’s hand and walk with her as she tries to put her little feet in Trace’s boot prints. Despite the fact that he’s wearing bulky snow boots, he grabs hold of the lowest branch and scrambles up. Maven and I make our slow progress, finally arriving below the branches. I crane my head back, a little dismayed at how high Trace has gotten. The branches have a thin skim of ice coating them. “Trace, come on down, bud. That isn’t safe.”

“Look at how high I am.” He calls back.

“Like an eagle.” I reply. “But come on back. Grandma will want us back in the house.”

He doesn’t hear, or doesn’t want to, because he’s climbing ever higher. I look down at Maven, torn. I can’t climb up after him, not without leaving Maven alone. There’s a scrabbling sound and I look up in time to see Trace’s boot struggle to find purchase. He rights himself, but my heart is in my throat. “Trace. That’s enough, now. Come down.”

After a few heartbeats, his voice comes out in a squeak. “I can’t. I’m stuck.”

“Shit.” I mutter, scanning the farmyard.

I spot Dusty carrying a stack of boxes to the bed of his truck. He glances in my direction and I wave him over. He trots across the yard, coming to a stop just a little too close to me. I have to tip my head back to look at him. These boys never cease to amaze me with their sheer size. My memory never does them justice.

“Trace is stuck.” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

He peers up through the branches, a laugh tumbling off his lips. Glancing back at me with a grin, he squeezes my shoulder. “If I had a nickel for every time one of us boys got stuck in this tree.” He grabs the lower branches. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this tree charted out.”

He pulls himself up into the branches, climbing up like an oversized kid. I hear a brief exchange between Trace and Dusty, along with a smattering of laughter. Then Dusty’s on his way back down, his body caging Trace as they descend. I grab Trace when he gets close and lift him to the ground. Wrapping my arms around him, I squeeze him tight. “Don’t do that again.”

“No way.” Trace agrees. “I thought I was a goner.”

Dusty drops the last four feet, landing lightly on his feet. He grins at Trace. Cuffing him gently on the jaw. “Little hellion.”

I’m so relieved to have everyone back on the ground, and in one piece, I fling my arms around his oversized frame. After a little pause, he puts his arms around me.

“I was so worried.” I admit. Disentangling myself from his arms, I look up at him with a sheepish smile. “Thanks, Tarzan.”

He grins back. “Any time.”

Trace and Maven both take the opportunity to wrap themselves around his legs. The four of us make our way back to the house and I make a mental note. Stay away from trees.

Bo and Josh stand by the trucks, watching our slow progress. Trace scampers ahead. “I almost fell out of the tree!”

Josh’s gaze flits back to me before he bends down to scoop Trace in his arms.

His expression was completely neutral, but I can’t help but feel horribly guilty. Like he’s disappointed in me.

“Let’s head in.” Josh says, glancing at me over Trace’s head. “We’re all done and mom and dad wanted to make a toast.”