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“Thomas Garrison wants to speak with you,” David says.
I glance up, freezing.
He stands, pushing his phone in his back pocket. His plate stays on the table. He won’t clean it up—that’s my job as the designated maid.
“We’re having some issues,” he says. “I need you to quit being a bitch to him.”
There’s something in his voice that makes my stomach churn.
“What issues?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Apparently, we’re in the path of the highway that’s being put in next summer.”
I frown, recalling reading about the project. “That’s ten miles southwest of here.”
“The state wants to put in an access road,” he says. “To cut building costs.”
“Where?”
He takes the cup of juice from my hand and drains it. “Through the west side of Carter Farms, through the willow grove.”
My blood goes ice cold. The grove is where the cemetery sits. Where everyone I love lies sleeping.
“That’s illegal,” I say. “They can’t do that.”
He slams the glass into the sink. “By law, they can do whatever the fuck they want if the state approves it.”
My lower lip trembles. I hate when he’s angry; it makes me want to curl up and hide. “But it’s…our family. They can’t build a highway over it.”
He walks to the hallway, pausing to look back. “I already spoke with the councilman. The state is offering to exhume all bodies in the path and put them in a government burial ground west of us.”
“No,” I burst out. “Nana asked to be buried on our family’s land. I won’t let them touch her.”
A crease appears between his brows. “Well, you take your ass to the office of Mr. Corbin Buchanan and see if you can’t convince him. Maybe it’s the one time you being a girl will be of some use. You’re old enough.”
My jaw drops. Tears sting my eyes.
“That’s disgusting,” I manage.
He shrugs. “I’m fine with using any means I can to keep the farm from being destroyed. It’s all I have.”
My stomach sinks. He didn’t say it was all we had. In his mind, the farm is his, and he isn’t wrong. Right before Nana died, she told him the land was in his name.
It’s so unfair, I want to scream.
He leaves, boots clipping angrily. The door slams, and his engine starts and dies away. My hands shake as I put the orange juice away and gather up his dirty dishes.
What did he mean by that comment?
Is he going to force Thomas Garrison on me to get in good with their family? Does he think that’ll save us somehow?
I’m a little sick all morning. Tears a breath from falling, I make lunch and lay it out, taking bread and butter to the back porch while the men eat.
After a while, the back door bangs open. David steps out and takes a cigarette from his pocket and puts it in his lip. He flicks his old metal lighter and sinks down to sit on the stairs beside me.
My body tenses. His bad mood hangs like a rain cloud over his head.
“The councilman is a cousin to the Garrison family by marriage. Second cousin, but they’re close,” he says. “That’s how they get preferential treatment.”
