Why not just go to a hotel? Why not disappear to Europe or some island no one’s heard of? Why here? Amelia was quiet for a long moment, a can of soup frozen in her hand. Because hotels are empty, she said finally, and islands are lonely, and Europe is full of people who know my name. She set the can down carefully. I came here because I needed to remember what real life looks like, what it feels like to be around people who don’t want something from me.
You think I don’t want something? I know you don’t. You’re barely tolerating my presence. Trust me, it’s refreshing. She went back to unpacking. Lucas watched her for another moment, then gave up and went outside to finish the chores. Mason came with him, strapped to his chest in a carrier that smelled like sour milk and defeat.
The afternoon sun was brutal. Lucas worked through it, patching the fence with wire that wouldn’t last another month, hauling water to troughs that leaked faster than he could fill them. Mason dozed against his chest, deadweight and warm baby breath. By the time Emma’s bus rumbled up the driveway, Lucas was covered in sweat and dirt and the bone-deep exhaustion that had become his permanent state.
Emma jumped off the bus and ran to him, backpack bouncing. Daddy, we learned about photosynthesis today. Mrs. Patterson actually let us do something instead of just coloring. That’s great, sweetheart. And guess what? Amelia’s still here. Lucas looked up. Amelia was on the porch, leaning against the railing watching them.
She’d rolled up her sleeves at some point and her expensive jeans had dirt on the knees. What did you do? He called. Fixed your porch step. It was about to collapse. You what? YouTube, she said simply, and your toolbox. Which is organized terribly, by the way. Emma was already running toward her, chattering about school.
Amelia listened with the same focused attention she seemed to give everything, asking real questions, actually interested. Lucas followed slowly, Mason heavy and warm against his chest. You didn’t have to do that, he said when he reached the porch. I know, but I was bored and it needed doing. She straightened. Also, your roof is about to cave in.
The barn, specifically. You’ve got water damage and rot in at least three beams. I know. When were you planning to fix it? When I had money or time or both. What if I No. Amelia stopped. I haven’t even said what I was going to offer. You were going to offer to pay for it. The answer is no. Lucas, I said no.
He brushed past her, heading inside. Emma followed, still talking about photosynthesis. Amelia stayed on the porch. Dinner was tense. Amelia had made chicken and rice, real food, actual vegetables, and Emma ate like she’d never seen a home-cooked meal before. Which, Lucas realized with a sinking gut, she probably hadn’t. Not in months.
He’d been feeding her frozen pizzas and canned soup, telling himself it was good enough. This is really good, Emma said through a mouthful of chicken. Emma, don’t talk with your mouth full. But it is. Manners, sweetheart. Amelia was quiet, pushing food around her plate. Lucas watched her from the corner of his eye.
She’d pulled her hair back again, tight and severe, and there were shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there this morning. Are you okay? He asked before he could stop himself. She looked up, surprised. Fine. You look tired. So do you. I have an excuse. You don’t. Don’t I? She set her fork down. I’m not used to manual labor or being useful. It’s exhausting.
Emma giggled. Amelia smiled, a real smile, small but genuine. After dinner, Emma begged to show Amelia her room. They disappeared upstairs together, leaving Lucas alone with Mason and a mountain of dishes. He could hear them above him, Emma’s voice high and excited, Amelia’s lower and calmer. The baby was asleep in his carrier, tiny snores whistling through his nose.
Lucas washed dishes and tried to think. One week. That’s what he’d agreed to. One week of this strange, unsettling peace. And then she’d be gone. And everything would go back to falling apart. He was drying the last plate when Amelia came back downstairs. She wants you to tuck her in, she said. Okay. Lucas? She hesitated.
Thank you. For what? For letting me stay. I know it’s not easy. You’re paying rent. That’s not what I mean. She looked away. I haven’t felt this normal in years. So, thank you. She left before he could respond, heading upstairs to the guest room. Lucas stood in the kitchen, dishtowel in hand, trying to figure out what the hell normal meant to someone like her.
Upstairs, Emma was already in her pajamas, tucked under her unicorn blanket. I like her, she announced as Lucas sat on the edge of the bed. You mentioned that. She said I was smart and she wants to teach me real science. She knows about chemical reactions and stuff. That’s nice, sweetheart. Daddy? Yeah? Can she stay longer than a week? Lucas smoothed hair back from Emma’s forehead.
We’ll see. That means no. That means maybe. Emma frowned, but didn’t argue. Lucas kissed her forehead, turned off the light, and headed to his own room. He fell asleep within seconds, too tired to dream, too exhausted to worry. He woke to Mason crying at 2:00 a.m., stumbled through the feeding, collapsed back into bed, woke again at 4:00 for another feeding, got up for real at 6:00, groggy and disoriented.
When he went downstairs, Amelia was already in the kitchen making coffee. Morning, she said without looking up. You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep. She looked worse than yesterday, pale, drawn, the shadows under her eyes darker. Lucas poured himself coffee and sat at the table. You want to talk about it? He asked. About what? Whatever you’re running from.
Amelia was quiet for a long moment, then Not yet. Okay. They sat in silence, drinking coffee as the sun came up. Outside, the chickens started making noise. The farm woke up around them, broken, but still alive. I’ll make breakfast, Amelia said eventually. You don’t have to. Lucas, she looked at him. Let me help, please.
