Back WHERE TIME STANDS STILL
Chapters (43)
  1. Title Page
  2. Table of Contents
  3. Dedication
  4. Author's Note
  5. Prologue
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Chapter 23
  29. Chapter 24
  30. Chapter 25
  31. Chapter 26
  32. Chapter 27
  33. Chapter 28
  34. Chapter 29
  35. Chapter 30
  36. Chapter 31
  37. Chapter 32
  38. Chapter 33
  39. Chapter 34
  40. Epilogue
  41. Acknowledgements
  42. About the Author
  43. Also from the author

“It’s okay, Dad, I got it,” I say, rushing to his side.

His mouth opens, and he makes a sound, as if he’s trying to tell me something. A few muffled words come out, but none that make sense. My stomach twists. I look away as I help him get up, then drape his black dressing gown over his T-shirt and pajama pants, teeth clenched.

This.

This is why I can’t wait for Wren to win our case. Not because I now need to take care of the farm, or because my dad isn’t in the same physical shape as before. No, it’s because my father was my best friend. The one person I could talk to about anything and who would never judge me. I love my mother, but when she doesn’t agree with my choices, she’ll never let me off the hook. Dad was the kind of person who would listen to all you had to say, then think about it and give you one or two sentences that clarified whatever situation you were in. He was a man of few words, but the words he did use were reflected on and always pertinent. And now he can’t even tell me what he’s thinking, no matter how much he wants to. And what kind of son would I be if I told him about my problems when I knew he couldn’t help me with his advice, no matter how much he might want to? It would for sure make him feel even worse than if I said nothing, which is what I’ve decided to stick with.

Staying behind him, I make my way to the kitchen, where Wren says, “Good morning, Dennis.” She’s apparently less bothered than I am by the fact that he won’t answer.

Hopefully, I’ll eventually be able to learn from her.

“So,” Ma says to Wren with a giddy expression once we’ve all sat down, “are you ready for your taste buds to be blown away?”

* * *

“So people just come here and pick the tree they want?” Wren asks me as we walk through the small portion of trees we keep for customer access. Fairy lights are strung above—a real pain to put up, trust me—zigzagging around the trail. “Baby Please Come Home” by Michael Bublé is playing in the hidden speakers while a light snow falls softly. That last part wasn’t planned but definitely adds to the atmosphere.