“And Sullivan?” Jonathan asks carefully.
“He agrees. Ashley, on the other hand, hasn’t exactly been accommodating.” But Sullivan has. He cried when I told him, and I knew he was remembering the night she was conceived. Just before the murders when the world was full of promise and we believed we would be together forever. We were so naive. But Sullivan will be a good dad to our girl, I know that. He cried when he met her, too, and for just a moment I could imagine our lives turning out very differently. Still, this is beautiful in its own broken way. We’re putting together the pieces like a mosaic. It will just be easier for us all if Willa and I disappear for a while. We have daddy issues, every one of us, but I’m determined to make Willa’s relationship with her father work.
“But you and Sullivan…？” Jonathan leaves the question hanging in the air between us. I’m not even sure what he’s asking, but I know the intent.
“I’m all grown up,” I tell him with more certainty than I feel. “And far more interested in what could be than what might have been.”
I heard that Sullivan moved into the suite above the Tate Family Farms offices for a couple of weeks after he learned the truth about Willa. About us. Honestly, I don’t know why he married Ashley—if it was love or something different altogether—and I don’t know what to wish for now. But I do know that I won’t be the reason a family splinters in two, so Willa and I will stay away for as long as it takes for them to figure out what they want. And if Sullivan wants us? I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge if we get there.
“I’m going to be just fine,” I tell Jonathan. I know this much is true.
My brother nods at this and takes one last bite of cake. “I didn’t give you enough credit back then.”
“I could say the same thing.”
“Nah. I was reeling. Not exactly trustworthy material,” Jonathan admits. “When I turned eighteen and Cal told me the truth, it nearly destroyed me. Sure, legally I was an adult, but I wasn’t ready for that kind of bombshell.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.”
“Cal begged me not to. Beth didn’t know the truth about me, and he was trying to figure out the best way to break the news to her. Did you know she couldn’t have kids?”
I shake my head.
“It would have wrecked her. As far as I know, she never learned the truth. I think it’s better that way.” Jonathan sighs.
“But I—”
“You were leaving for college… You were so happy, Junebug. Your whole life was before you, and mine was falling apart. I was so hurt and confused, and I didn’t want to drag you into any of it. Especially what was happening with the Tates.”
“I could have helped.”
He nods once. “I should have trusted you.”
“You were doing what you thought was right. You’re a good son,” I tell him, and mean it from the bottom of my heart. A good son to Law and to Cal. I always understood Jonathan’s desire to protect the Murphys, but knowing who he really is has only drawn everything into sharper focus. “And I’m proud of what you’re doing.”
“Well, we’ll see what happens.” Jonathan is careful not to hope too hard, but there is another lawsuit in the works. He’s spent years gathering data and working with environmental agencies across the Midwest and beyond. This lawsuit isn’t against the Tates but the Department of Natural Resources, the state of Iowa, and several of the larger big ag conglomerates that have contributed to the over 750 impaired waterways throughout Iowa. It’s all rather chilling—and exciting that someone is finally doing something about it. My brother.
And this time around, with Sullivan at the helm instead of Franklin, the Tate Family Farms are being used as a case study of how environmentally friendly farm trends can begin to reshape rural environments. I can’t help but feel proud that Willa’s dad is working to change things. Jonathan and Sullivan are even meeting again for coffee and discussions about preserving biodiversity, reducing greenhouse gases, and conserving soil and water.
“It’s amazing. Truly.” I squeeze Jonathan’s hand where it rests on the picnic table.
“I’m just sorry that—”
“Nope.” I stop him before he can go any further. “No more apologies. We did the best we could. We’re still doing the best we can.”
His eyes well, another side effect of his near-death experience, but I wrap my arms around my brother because I know. Sometimes your best is enough, and sometimes it’s nowhere near. Sometimes the world is fire and ash, dirt and blood spilled on the ground, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Sometimes you pour out all of your love, and it returns to you brittle and empty.