I sighed while staring at the front door closing. “Look, I need to get to it. Chores, cooking supper, and my English paper won’t get themselves done.” Before I could move, Vance wrapped his hand around my wrist. It was a soft grasp as always. Never forceful, conveying a choice that I could accept him or pull away at any time.

“You take care of this place, but who takes care of you?” The corners of his eyes tightened with nothing but concern reflecting in them.

Focus around Nolia Farms was either on Pa or my siblings, never on me, so Vance directing concern toward me was more of a gift than he realized. And that right there made me realize just how much I liked him, probably much more than I should.

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself,” I answered with a false confidence, brushing off his hold on my wrist as well as his worry.

“It’s not fair how hard you have to work all the time.” Vance sounded genuinely peeved by that. He scanned his surroundings, as if looking for what he was missing.

Before he could figure it out, I gave his firm bicep a nervous squeeze, then another, and then a pat. “Yeah, well, life ain’t fair. Goodbye.” I followed the awkward arm touch with a spastic wave and started toward the packhouse.

I’d learned the lesson of life not being fair a long time ago, but once Vance had started coming around, the truth of it was getting harder to accept.

Chapter 5: THE DEAD
SHOULDN'T DRIVE

February 1983

Fifth-period study hall was my time to sit without the world bearing down on me. That one hour allowed me to just be, with no expectations or responsibilities past being a normal teenage girl who could choose to get her homework done or shirk it altogether. Of course, homework always took precedence over goofing off, but the idea that I could was comforting. Because of this extra time, I was able to double down and actually get ahead in my classes. Hands down, it was my favorite period of the day.

To be honest, that also had something to do with a certain senior who had the same study hall as me. Vance could be depended on to show up to class with his easy, dimpled smile and a pack of Razzles. He was good at sharing with whoever stretched a hand toward him, but I was the one who got all the purple ones. He knew somehow that they were my favorite.

To say I was ticked was putting it mildly as I found myself sitting in the ER waiting room with a police officer instead of sharing Razzles and flirty remarks with Vance during study hall.

“Your father is lucky those kids cut school.”