Page 5 of The Second Dance

My hands feel sweaty. I haven’t had the heart to look at the divorce settlement. I knew my mom took a healthy chunk of land with her, but we were going to keep farming it for her. To be honest, just having her leave us was hard enough. Seeing how our family heritage got chopped up was too much to face.

Dad leans against the counter. “We can either go with it or give up the rental rights.”

“Rental rights? We can’t farm ground that’s a dedicated wildlife habitat.”

Guys will occasionally work with wildlife foundations and the county to dedicate ground to the squirrels and crows. Usually, it’s some dry ass corner of untenable land.

The Warton eighty is irrigated ground. We just put a well out there five years back. Eighty thousand down the drain.

Maybe she doesn’t know which field she donated. I know she’s pissed at dad, but this feels almost aimed at me. “I’m going to call her.”

“Good luck, bud.”

Leaving dad to sweep up his temper tantrum, I step into the front sitting room and dial her number.

I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. It’s been too hard.

She picks up on the second ring. “Bo.”

That one word packs a punch. I miss the melodic sound of her voice. I hate the sadness I hear there.

I wish my parents could just get over whatever shit is between them and fix it. They might not have been happy before, but they’re sure as shit not happy now.

“We got your letter.”

“My letter?” She pauses. “The Songbird Foundation?”

“Did you realize you dedicated the Warton eighty? That’s the one east of town with the little pond…”

“I know exactly where it is.”

The hardness in her voice scrapes against me, grinding against an open wound. “Then you know that’s the piece of ground I always planned to build on.”

She’s quiet.

I hoped for a denial.

Hoped that once she realized she was hurting me too, she’d back off.

“I know, baby. But you’ll find another place to build.”

“Can’t you pick another spot?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She sighs. “Ask your dad.”

My mind is reeling. She was always the picture of patience with us Thomas boys, my dad included. This hard woman is in direct contrast to the big softy I grew up with.

I get off the phone and find my dad pouring himself whiskey.

He scans my face, shaking his head. “Won’t budge?”

“She says you’d know why it’s got to be the Warton eighty.”

He laughs at that, knocking back a gulp of alcohol. “How’s your buddy? The one with the new baby.”