Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” It had honestly felt good to grow it out the past year, but also strange and a little bit like a betrayal to my former battalion. It didn’t make much sense, except that there were rites of passage from becoming a soldier, and closely cropped hair was one of them.
Once I retrieved my suitcase, I followed Sienna to the parking lot. Her pickup truck with the Firefly Farm insignia splayed across the door in bright green and blue colors was instantly recognizable from the photos Mom had shown me.
“Why the Firefly name, by the way?” I asked as I slid onto the passenger seat. “If I’m not mistaken, there aren’t any in the Northwest.”
She smiled as she turned the key in the ignition. “Remember the summers we visited you guys in the city?”
A childhood memory flashed through my mind—all the cousins from both sides of the family camping in the backyard of my paternal uncle’s house on Long Island. There was a bonfire and s’mores and tons of fireflies lighting up the sky along with the moon.
“That’s right, you were fascinated by them,” I said as we exited the parking lot.
“I think I even tried to bottle a couple and bring them back with me,” she mused. “Didn’t work out so well.”
“Now it all makes sense.” I cracked a smile. “It’s a good name. I like it.”
“Thanks.” We slid into the busy traffic from the airport, likely filled with visitors since summer was a popular time for the national park. But once we were driving on the mostly deserted backroads through Cottonwood Creek, everything seemed so wide open.
For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe.
“Thanks for inviting me here.” The sun warmed my skin, and my chest felt lighter. “I don’t know if I’ll be of much use, but I was going a bit stir-crazy in the city.”
“You used to love it there. What do you think changed?” she asked, then sobered immediately. “Never mind, dumb question.”
“It’s not dumb,” I replied, my eyes meeting hers. “But yeah, deployment definitely changes you.”
She glanced down at my knee, then quickly away as if afraid to put a spotlight on my injuries. But I wasn’t ashamed of my discharge, and by now I was used to people asking all sorts of questions.
“I was sorry to hear about your injury.”
I adjusted my leg, which had begun to ache on the cramped plane, something I’d had to get used to. “Could’ve been much worse.”
I pushed the visions of the bomb exploding out of my brain and focused on the rolling green landscape out my window. You’re in Wyoming, which is located in the United States.
“Will you need…” She shook her head, pink dotting her cheeks. “Forgive my ignorance. I’m sure you’re very capable, but if there’s anything you might need, let me know.”
“No worries. My knee shouldn’t slow me down that much.” I held in my wince as we shifted onto a dirt road. “I’ve become adjusted pretty quickly.”
Being in a constricted space for too long, as well as bending too much, were probably the only things that aggravated it. That and long walks in the middle of the night on hard pavement.
As we drove through the city limits with the mountains as a backdrop, I couldn’t help thinking how pretty this area was. So many vibrant colors after being in the desert far too long. And so much quiet after the maddening buzz of city life.
“Was it always your dream to have your own ranch?”
“More a farm, actually. Kerry and I had discussed it early in our marriage, having somethin’ of our own, but then everything got turned upside down with…” She took a deep breath. “Our divorce and Ainsley getting sick, and we…well, we always wanted a simpler life, especially so she could focus on getting better.”
“Looks like it worked,” I replied, thinking of the news Mom had emailed me when I was still on deployment. It had been awesome to hear good news from back home, like something was finally going right when everything around me was so unstable.
I detected the wariness in her expression as she added, “She’s in remission now, so she’ll have to get scanned regularly. We won’t be able to relax until we reach the ten-year mark.”
“I get that,” I said, the anxiety of it filling my chest. It was hard to worry about someone you loved. After Dad passed, I stuck close to Mom, afraid she might break apart, but she ended up being stronger than all of us.
“We keep goats, cows, and chickens, and sell organic eggs and dairy products to a local market,” she said as we drove past a herd of cattle. So they didn’t involve themselves in the cattle trade. Interesting. “I’ve been dabbling in creating other products with the goat milk, which is where the silo comes in, but we have time to talk about that later.”