I took a step toward the wall, the setting sun glinting off a portrait of a very young Jim and Taylor’s mother, Diane.
“Where is she?” I asked, turning to him. “Your mom.”
Taylor rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s … not here. She passed away when I was a kid.”
My mouth fell open, and I snapped it shut. “Why haven’t you told me?”
“It hasn’t come up.”
“It sure as hell has—at least twice. All that talk about trusting each other, and you failed to mention that you grew up without a mother?”
Taylor let his hand fall to his thigh. “I don’t like to talk about it. It’s kind of like the twin thing. People see me differently when they know.”
“Who gives two fucks and a shit about someone who might think less of you because your mother died?”
He laughed once.
“I’m serious,” I said. “You should have told me.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re friends.”
He stared at me, hurt. “Really? We’re going to hinge our friendship on sharing? Because I only have a vague idea of why you’re here.”
“Was it an accident?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Cancer.”
“Jesus. That’s awful.”
He pointed at me. “That look on your face right now is why I didn’t tell you.” He began unpacking our things, pulling them out of the bags as if he hated them.
“You’re lucky I didn’t ask your dad where she was. I would never have forgiven you.”
He sighed. “I didn’t think about that. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“I should tell you one more thing,” he said.
I braced for it, crossing my arms over my middle.
“My dad doesn’t know what I do. He made us promise a long time ago that we wouldn’t go into a line of work that could put us into danger. He was in law enforcement, and Mom asked him to give it up before she passed. It’s kind of a pact we made with each other.”
“So, you applied for a hotshot crew?” I asked in disbelief.
“No. While we’re here, Tyler and I sell insurance.”
I laughed, incredulous. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
“What does Tyler do?”
“Forest Service, like me.”
My mouth hung open. “He’s a hotshot, too?”
“Yeah. He’s usually on different shifts. Just don’t mention it, okay? I don’t want to upset Dad.”
“You all have a pact to be safe, but your baby brother fought in an underground fight, and you and your twin fight wildfires. What is Thomas? A spy?”
“No, he’s an ad exec in California. He’s a type-A personality, always doing what he’s supposed to do.”
“At least one of you is.”
He held out his hand. “We should probably go back down.”
I stared at his outstretched fingers and then shook my head. “I don’t want to give them the wrong idea.”
A deep line formed between his brows, and his cheeks flushed red. “Give me a fucking break, Falyn. You’re here. Can we stop playing the game?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He took a step toward me. “I’m done pretending that you didn’t say what you said.”
“What?” I squawked.
“On the phone the other night. Granted, you were drunk, but … this isn’t just me. I’m not alone in this.”
Taylor’s family’s laughter floated up the stairs and down the hall to where we stood.
“You’re right,” I said.
Taylor expectantly stared at me.
“We should go downstairs.”
The scowl on his face made me wince. He opened the door, waiting for me to lead the way.
Travis was standing behind Abby at the stove, his arms wrapped around her, bending over to nuzzle her neck.
“Can I help with something?” I asked.
They both stopped their giggling and swaying back and forth long enough to look at me, making me regret the interruption.
With the fork in her hand, Abby pointed at a stack of brown glass plates. “If you’d like, you can set the table.”
Taylor passed me and picked up the plates, gesturing with his head for me to follow. I grabbed the silverware and trailed behind him into the next room where Jim sat alone.
Taylor set a plate in front of his dad, and I placed Jim’s knife and fork down. Abby hadn’t set out spoons, but I didn’t imagine a soup course would be served. Any home where I felt I belonged wouldn’t have courses—or maids or life-changing selfish agendas.
Travis came in, positioning hot pads on the table, and Abby quickly followed, lowering a glass casserole dish with several juicy, heavily spiced pork chops. They were young but clearly in love, always sure to kiss or touch when they passed one another.
Taylor pulled out a chair next to Jim. “Have a seat.”
The maroon fabric was stained and faded, but the cushion was nicely worn in, just like Taylor’s family.
Jim pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He smiled at me, the slightly swollen skin under his eyes pulling up.
When the bowls of mashed potatoes, white pepper gravy, and snap peas were on the table, Jim nodded. “Looks good, son.”
“I got me a good one,” Travis said, smiling at Abby.
“Yes, you did,” Jim said, winking at his daughter-in-law.
Once Jim took a bite, I picked up my fork and dug in, not realizing the three bites of Taylor’s sandwich I’d mooched on the way to Eakins hadn’t been enough to tide me over like I thought.
“Oh God, this is good,” I said, closing my eyes.
Phaedra was a good cook, and I always ate well at the Bucksaw, but eating from the same menu every day made someone else’s home cooking feel like eating out.
“Do you cook?” Abby asked.
Her gray eyes pierced straight through mine into the deepest parts of me. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect her family from anyone unworthy. They’d been through a lot, and any woman important enough to bring home deserved a thorough evaluation.
“Only some things. But what I cook, I cook well,” I said.
“Like what?” She grinned sweetly as she chewed.