The rain is a gentle patter against the windshield now, and there’s no reason for Sullivan to stop, but he pulls down a gravel road and parks in a field driveway anyway. I’m about to let him have it, to unleash all my frustrations on the nearest Tate brother, but when he turns to me, he’s the Sullivan I’ve been getting to know. Softer, kind. His expression has changed completely from the hard irritation of only a moment before, and the first words out of his mouth are: “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He’s been so hot and cold, back and forth, that I lean away from him with my back pressed into the passenger-side door. I can’t get an accurate read on him.
“First of all,” Sullivan says, “I don’t know what’s going on with your brother. I know he’s been like a son to the Murphys, but in the last few months he started hanging around our farm. He met Dalton at a party and they started talking…”
It sounds far-fetched to me, but I can’t deny the signs—or the rapport that Jonathan seems to have with the Tates.
Sullivan shrugs. “They’re tight. I don’t know what to tell you, June. I think Jonathan feels taken advantage of.”
“What do you mean?”
He passes his hand over his face, and when he looks at me again, he seems reluctant to speak. Still, Sullivan asks: “Jonathan works a lot for the Murphys, right?”
I don’t understand the question but I nod. “Sure.”
“And have they ever paid him?”
“Jonathan would never accept payment from Cal or Beth,” I say, maybe too quickly. Years ago, when Jonathan would simply mow their lawn or help feed the calves, I remember Cal paying Jonathan in trips out for ice cream or tickets to the movies. But as far as I know, Cal has never truly compensated Jonathan for the time he spends on their farm. And if I’m being honest, my brother has put in a lot of work there over the years. Hard labor that would have earned him very good money anywhere else. What would that add up to over the course of, well, a decade? Maybe more. I couldn’t begin to guess. But, I remind myself, it doesn’t really matter. Jonathan loves the Murphys. He would never hold something like a little—or even a lot of—money against them.
“I think you’re wrong,” I say, but I don’t sound very convincing.
“I’m just telling you what I know.”
“What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“What are they up to? Why did you show up at the campout a couple weeks ago and why does my brother keep disappearing?” A thought hits me, and all at once I know that I’m right. I speak around a lump in my throat. “What are they planning?”
Sullivan doesn’t deny anything. “You know the Murphys are suing us, right?”
I nod.
He heaves a sad, heavy sigh. “It’s a really big deal, June. Like, we could lose the farm. My family could lose everything.”
“And?”
“And we just want them to stop.”
A sense of dread washes over me. “Sullivan—”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he says quickly. “We would never hurt anyone. But if they’re scared or distracted or feel like they can’t win… Maybe they’ll give up.”
“So you—and my brother—are planning to ‘scare or distract’ the Murphys?”
Sullivan looks pained. “Not we. Not really. I mean, I want the lawsuit to go away just as much as everyone else, but I have no part in what they’re planning. In this.”
“But Jonathan does?”
I can tell it’s hard for Sullivan to say it. He swallows visibly and then nods. “Yeah.”
The betrayal I feel is a scalpel to the heart: sharp and clean. I can’t even begin to imagine how Cal and Beth would feel if they knew. I’ve never sensed an ounce of bitterness in my brother toward the Murphys, but if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that it stands to reason. All that time, all those years of free labor and last-minute phone calls for help for nothing but a warm handshake and paternal pat on the back when the work was done… It’s not unrealistic to imagine that Jonathan has had enough. But I can think of at least a dozen ways forward that don’t include intimidation and property damage. Or worse.
“How could he?” I whisper, and don’t even realize I’ve said it out loud until Sullivan has reached for my hand. When I don’t pull away, he laces his fingers through mine.
“People are complicated.”