Like He Never Left

chapter 25

"No problem." I fish Johnny's cupcake out of the bag, as well as my cookie dough. "Just promise me one thing, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," she agrees, not looking at me. Her lips close around her fork.

"Just talk to me when you feel like that again okay?"

Her fork lingers in her mouth a moment too long as she mulls it over in her head, and I can already tell she's about to lie to me.

"I promise."

At least she didn't look me square in the eye and lie.

-

"So we're going where?" I ask Brooke the next day as I put on my jacket.

"There's a plantation house that's having a winter-edition house tour. Showing how the plantations ran in winter and the livestock and stuff. I thought it would be cool to check it out," she answers, stuffing her feet into sneakers.

I shrug off the thought that it could be Free Bourne Hall because it could be any plantation that gives winter tours to make a little extra money. Of the 38 plantations in the county alone, there's no way it's Free Bourne.

A little while later, Brooke backs us out of the parking lot and starts driving down the road with the GPS on her phone giving her robotic instructions.

"You know," I trail, "you could just tell me where we're going and I'd probably know the way."

"Yeah, I could, but you're not all-knowing. What if we end up going somewhere that you don't know?" she mocks, shrugging a shoulder.

My eyebrows raise and my lips turn down. I bob my head in a nod. "Yeah. True. But what if I do?"

She rolls her eyes. "We're going to Free Bourne Hall. Know it?"

Of course. Why do I even say anything when all I end up doing is jinxing myself?

"Yep," I answer. My voice strains against the tightness of my throat, and I toss a smirk at Brooke even though she isn't looking at me.

"Wow," she drags out, though her sarcastic tone tells me she's anything but impressed. "Might as well turn off the directions on my phone then."

I say nothing, letting my face show her my triumph. I turn on the radio after putting her phone back in the cupholder. I settle on a familiar tune, one of my mother's favorites, and I start singing along quietly. Brooke gets distractedly easily when driving, so the music and anyone in the car has to be quiet.

"God, I'm so sick of this music," Brooke groans.

"It's not so bad," I defend quietly, though I switch stations quickly. Unfortunately for Brooke though, all the stations are playing country, country-pop, or classic rock.

About a half-hour later, we turn down the long driveway that is Free Bourne, the Spanish moss tree branches swaying in the breeze. A hard hit of nostalgia sucker punches me, and I drag in a long breath. Horses run in the pasture alongside the road, and I see a few familiar long faces among them.

"Wow," Brooke breathes out as her eyes glimpse Free Bourne Hall for the first time.

The white mansion extends upwards for two stories with gray tile roofing covering the top. Black shutters side the windows, and a wrap-around porch greets us from the front with stone and brick steps leading up to it, though around back, there's a stairwell that leads up to the second-story porch. A wooden barn stands fifty feet from it, buzzing with staff and livestock. Strawberry, lettuce, and other vegetable and fruit crops sit a few hundred yards away, right next to the empty corn and cotton fields. Spanish moss and weeping cherry trees surround the house, giving it a romantic feeling, and a stone path leads us from the parking lot to the admissions booth.