Violet pinched her lips together, her fingers tight on Trudy’s arm. They watched as the bird took flight, soaring over the blue-green water, its wings flapping once or twice to keep it aloft. They watched until the bird and the bones faded, then disappeared over the horizon.

* * *

Tyler was moving bags of potting soil to make room for a few pallets of canning tomatoes a farmer had brought in that morning. He’d been at the store since six, and he was hot and dirty. So when Maya walked in the front door, he stepped behind a rack of spades and shovels and brushed the dirt from his pants and tried to smooth his hair as best as he could.

Peeking out from behind the rack, he saw her approach the counter and say hello to his dad. His dad gave her a small smile and a nervous tug on his cap, then went back to his logbook, where he’d been writing down each day’s transactions for decades. He’d probably be doing the very same thing for years to come.

Tyler thought back to the conversation he’d had with his dad the day after the art festival. The wind that had made such strange things happen that night seemed to follow him home, and over breakfast the next morning, he found himself admitting he wanted to be a teacher.

His dad had tugged on his cap, much like he’d done just now, and studied his son. “You don’t want the store.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, sir, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

His dad took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist. “Son, you don’t have to apologize. I’ve known for a while you didn’t want this life. I guess I was waiting for . . . I don’t know what. But I shouldn’t have made you feel like you didn’t have a choice.” He replaced his glasses and popped a piece of bacon in his mouth. “This is my life, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do, but you have yours. I won’t get in the way of that.”

Tyler sat back in his seat and exhaled. “But what happens when you retire? Who’ll take over the store?”

His dad laughed. “I’m forty-nine years old, Ty. I don’t plan to retire anytime soon, but when I do, I’ll figure it out. You do what you need to do, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Tyler wasn’t sure what his dad would do—bring on someone else who could take over the business one day, talk to his sister about possibly coming in to help, or something else Tyler couldn’t think of because deep down, he wasn’t a businessman. But Dixon Holt had always figured his way out of tight spots. It was what good business owners did. And Tyler had no doubt his dad would figure his way out of this one too.

As Maya stepped away from the front counter and scanned the store for Tyler, he stepped out from behind the shovels. Her dimpled cheeks made the blood run faster in his veins.