Page 76 of Once Upon a Fall

“What else can we do? Is there an alternative?” she asks.

“I don’t think so,” her brother says. “Well . . . actually, we could cover it with wood.”

“How would that work?”

“The wall’s already open,” says Dom. “I nail boards straight to the studs. No tape, no mud, nothing to dry. It’d be up in a day.”

“That could work,” Rosie says, looking excitedly from Dominic to me, as if I’ve had any input in this conversation. “I could put the bed in front of it. It would look rustic.”

“Let’s do that, then,” says Dom.

“Where do we get wood?”

“There’s a salvage place in Burlington. Reclaimed barn board, if they’ve got it. It’s not cheap, though.” He shrugs. “They also might not have enough for a whole wall. It might take a bit to find it.”

Rosie’s shoulders fall. It’s a small movement, but I catch it. I can guess that she’s doing the math in her head. The cost of the wood, the time it will take to get it. The fact that we still need to finish grouting the bathroom we’re in now.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s just hope we can find some.”

“Actually,” I say, finally having something to contribute to the conversation. “I think I might know where.”

“Really?” Rosie’s eyes light up at the prospect.

“In my grandparents’ barn. I saw it a few weeks ago when I went for a ladder. It might not work. It could be rotted, and I have no idea if there’s enough.”

“Where’s the barn?” Dom asks.

“Alden Farm. The one past the bridge,” Rosie says.

“The one that burned?”

“That’s the one,” I say.

“Well, somebody go check it out.”

“Dean, it’s perfect,” Rosie says from her knees, holding a piece of dirty lumber on its side as she inspects it.

“It’s yours, then,” I say, squatting down beside her.

She squeals and drops the wood. It lands with a thud, kicking up dust.

“This is going to work. And I think it might turn out better than my original plan.” She looks at me. “You’ve saved the day once again, Dean. I could just—”

She stops herself.

“Kiss me?” I say.

She stares at me for a second. “It’s just a saying,” she says.

I give her a smile, letting her know that I’m teasing.

Even if a part of me is very much not.

We spend the next half hour carrying heavy pieces of wood out to Dominic’s truck, backed up to the barn doors. It’s an old red-orange Ford he let us borrow while he stayed at the inn to clear the furniture out of the room.

Rosie dusts off her hands when the last piece has been loaded into the bed of the truck.

“So, this is the farm,” she says, looking around at the burned trees and the dilapidated house.