Page 111 of Feels Like Home

“Was pretty ticked off at first, but that old tractor wouldn’t have lasted another season.” He adjusts his hat and quirks a brow in my direction. “One could argue y’ did me a favor.”

“I don’t see it that way,” I say. Thing is, in order for people around here to make a living, they need their equipment. This wasn’t a small prank. It affected their livelihood. I didn’t get that then, but I get it now.

The door opens and Joni reappears, this time carrying two glasses of lemonade. “We say you did us a favor.” She hands me a glass, and I thank her.

“That doesn’t mean it was right,” I say

“That’s a fact,” she says. “It was a very stupid thing to do.”

“Pretty inventive if you ask me,” Rip says, chuckling.

“That’s one word for it.” I take a drink. “You don’t seem too broken up about it anymore.”

“Nah.” He flicks his free hand in the air. “Be pointless to hold onto something like that after all this time.”

“And we knew you were going through a hard time.” Joni opens the screen door again, but doesn’t go inside. “What happened to that boy, well . . .” she pauses, and shakes her head. “It’d be too much for anyone to deal with.” Her voice is calm, quiet. “It’s not an excuse, but it makes it a little more understandable.” She watches me. “Besides, I have a feeling you beat yourself up plenty over the years. You did your time as far as we’re concerned.” She waves and walks back inside, the door shutting behind her.

I go still.

Hunter’s death affected everyone in town. Even people who didn’t know him well. How could it not—this is a tight-knit community. When one person hurts, everyone hurts.

It’s part of what makes this place so special.

“I, uh, didn’t handle it very well,” I say. “Started acting like a fool trying to process it I guess.”

“There’s no processing that,” Rip says. “No handbook for how to handle that kind’a grief.” He shakes his head. “Such a waste. Tragedies like that can turn you into someone you were never meant to be.”

“That’s a fact,” I say, thinking about who it turned me into. I became someone unrecognizable after Hunter’s accident. Someone I’m ashamed of. Embarrassed of.

Someone who doesn’t deserve the kindness and forgiveness of the people I hurt, but that’s what I’m being offered. Again.

Rip takes a drink, then sets the glass down on a small table between our two chairs. “Find your way back yet?”

“I’m working on it,” I say. “Been a tough journey.”

“Well, don’t quit,” he says, leaning in. “That’s the worst thing you could do.”

I take a drink and stare out across the meadow. “Awfully big of you to forgive me so easily.” I squint over at him. “Not everyone would.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know anyone who wants to be measured by their worst day.”

If I stick around Silverwood, I wonder if I’ll become one of these sage old ranchers giving out advice like Rip and Briggs.

I hope so.

He glances over. “You can stop punishing yourself now.”

I blow out a slow breath. “How’s that?”

“You been all over town, trying to make up for a past that a whole lot of people already forgave you for,” he says. “But maybe the person you need to forgive is wearin’ your shoes.”

I’m quiet as I process that.

“You ever really grieve what you lost that day?” Rip asks.

I think back to the night of Hunter’s accident and the days that followed. “Depends what you mean by grieve.”

“Mourn your loss,” he says. “Scream at the moon. Cry your eyes out.”