Beneath the Barnwood Sky

Chapter Two: New Roots

The bus wheezed like it might give out entirely as it pulled away, leaving Vera Morgan alone on the edge of Mill Creek’s cracked sidewalk with nothing but a battered suitcase and a silence she hadn’t heard in years.

No honking. No sirens. No voices stacked on top of voices.

Just the whisper of wind through cornstalks and the low drone of crickets waking in the fields. She stood still for a moment, letting the quiet settle over her shoulders like a blanket. It was heavier than she remembered.

Mill Creek hadn’t changed much. The gas station still had the faded “Hot Coffee & Cold Beer” sign swinging crooked on rusted hinges. The diner still leaned like it was tired of standing. The sidewalks still cracked under the same patch of sky she used to lie beneath, tracing the constellations through the mosquito bites and the buzzing hush of summer.

And the road leading out to Carter Farm stretched ahead like a memory she’d spent half her life trying to bury. Her grip tightened around the handle of her suitcase, knuckles white against the fraying canvas.

She wasn’t here to look back.

“Vera?” a voice called behind her.

She turned. Aubrie Lane stood next to a rust-colored pickup, wiping grease from her fingers onto a rag that looked older than either of them. Same squared shoulders. Same steady stare that could strip a lie down to the bone. But there was a new tiredness about her now, the kind that sleep couldn’t fix.

“Hey, Aub,” Vera said, voice soft. She tried for a smile that felt too big for her face.

Aubrie stared, eyes narrowed, assessing. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“I said I would.”

“That was four months ago.”

“I needed time.”

Aubrie studied her a beat longer, then nodded once. She moved past Vera without another word, hauling the suitcase like it weighed nothing and tossing it into the truck bed with a dull thud.

“Come on,” Aubrie said, sliding behind the wheel. “Ben’ll be glad to see you. Not that he’ll say it.”

Vera climbed in, the cracked vinyl seat squeaking under her weight. The cab smelled like engine oil and old sunbaked vinyl, tinged with the faint trace of coffee grounds and pine air freshener.

“How is he?” she asked after a moment.

Aubrie hesitated, fingers drumming the steering wheel. “Worse. He’s losing weight fast. Pain’s bad now. He won’t admit it but—” She stopped herself. Swallowed whatever else she’d been about to say.

Vera turned her face to the window as they pulled onto the county road. The fields stretched out on either side, an endless tide of gold swaying against the breeze like they didn’t care who they belonged to or what secrets they held under the soil.

“And Emmett?” she asked, voice so low she wasn’t sure Aubrie heard.

Aubrie let out a dry laugh, humorless. “He’s back. Stormed in last week like it hadn’t been three years. Acting like nothing ever changed.”

Vera said nothing.

Aubrie glanced over, her jaw tightening. “I don’t know what you expect from him, Vera. He’s not the same. Hell, none of us are.”

“I don’t expect anything,” Vera said, softer than she meant to. She pressed her thumb into the seam of her jeans. “I just needed a place to land. That’s all.”

The rest of the drive hummed with the quiet only a country road can carry—fields whispering secrets in the wind, a lone bird tracing lazy arcs across the sky. Gravel popped under the tires as the Carter farmhouse came into view, leaning and weather-worn, stubborn in a way that felt almost comforting.

“You know he asks about you,” Aubrie said, her voice quieter now.

Vera’s hand tightened on her bag strap. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“I’m not saying you have to.” Aubrie’s tone was gentle but edged. “But you’re gonna see him. He’s been hanging around the shop. Helping out. Acting like—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.

“Like what?” Vera pressed.

“Like he’s still yours.”

Vera’s gaze drifted to the fields again, overgrown and humming with the last breath of summer. “He isn’t.”

Aubrie’s laugh was a sigh. “I didn’t say he was.”

They pulled up in a swirl of dust, the porch light flickering weakly against the dusk settling in like a secret you keep under your tongue. Aubrie killed the engine and turned to Vera, like she might say something else—some warning, some truth Vera didn’t want to hear—but instead, she just said, “Just don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”

Vera didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m too tired to pretend anything anymore.”

They sat there for another heartbeat before the truck door creaked open. The farmhouse rose ahead, sagging under its own memories but still standing.

Inside the screen door, Emmett Carter waited.

He was broader than she remembered, shoulders squared in a way that said he’d tried to outrun something and failed. The porch light threw shadows across his face, highlighting the edge to his jaw, the restlessness behind eyes she used to dream about.

He looked at her like a ghost had come to collect a debt.

“Vera.”

She swallowed the ache in her throat. “Hey, Emmett.”

They stood frozen, a triangle of words unsaid until Aubrie brushed past them both, the screen door snapping behind her. “Don’t worry,” she muttered. “I’ll get the sheets.”

Emmett didn’t move. His boots scuffed the porch floor, but he didn’t look away.

“I’m not here to stir things up,” Vera said finally.

“You don’t have to.” His voice was low, softer than she expected. “They’re already stirred.”

Behind him, the wind tugged at the edges of the porch, the scent of cedar and old grief drifting out to meet her. Fireflies blinked around the edges of the yard, tiny stars trying to remember how to shine.

“You look tired,” she murmured.

“I am.”

They held each other’s gaze until the air got too heavy with everything neither could say.

“I just need a few days,” Vera said. It wasn’t a question.

Emmett nodded, his jaw working like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the fight. “Stay as long as you want.”

She almost thanked him but the word stuck in her throat like a splinter. Instead, she stepped inside, the screen door sighing closed behind her. She felt, more than heard, the porch boards shift as Emmett stayed where he was, trying to memorize the shape of her moving down the hall.

In the kitchen, Aubrie snapped out a fresh set of sheets, her movements sharp but her eyes soft when she met Vera’s.

“You hungry?” she asked.

Vera shook her head. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” The house settled around them with a creak and a sigh, old bones remembering.

Vera pressed her hand to the counter to steady herself, the smell of cedar wrapping around her like her mother’s perfume in a memory she hadn’t dared to keep.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” she whispered.

Aubrie’s mouth twitched, something like a sad smile ghosting across her face. “I know.”

Outside, the porch boards groaned once more, then stilled. For a heartbeat, the old farmhouse seemed to hold its breath.

And Vera did too—just for a moment—before letting it go.