I pull into the gravel driveway at Martin’s Highpoint Orchard just as the sun dips below the tree line, turning the barn’s string lights into fuzzy golden orbs against the October dusk. The parking lot is already half full of cars I don’t recognize, sleek sedans that belong to the investor crowd my sister Kendra has been courting for months. Country music drifts from the open barn doors, something twangy about pickup trucks and Friday nights.
My stomach clenches. I’m late to my own son’s thirteenth birthday party. Six months of overnight shifts at the warehouse, every Thursday and Saturday from ten until six in the morning, all to scrape together enough money for the camera I gave him this morning.
A professional DSLR with interchangeable lenses, the kind Silas has been circling in YouTube reviews for two years. I handed it to him before school, barely able to keep my eyes open, but the look on his face had been worth every hour of lost sleep. I hurry toward the barn, scanning the grounds, hoping to catch him testing it out in this light.
I can already picture him, one eye squinted against the viewfinder, completely absorbed in his own world. The barn looks like something from a magazine spread. White tablecloths, mason jar centerpieces stuffed with wildflowers, a dessert table that probably cost more than the camera I bought.
This isn’t a kid’s birthday party. This is a showcase, another opportunity for Kendra to parade the Martin family brand in front of people with money. I spot Silas near the entrance before he sees me.
My breath stops. He’s ghostly pale, his left arm encased in a fresh white plaster cast that practically glows under the lights. Sweat beads across his forehead despite the cool evening air.
His eyes have that unfocused glaze I recognize from the one time he had his wisdom teeth removed, when the dentist sent him home with painkillers that made him sway on his feet. I’m moving before I think. “Silas, baby—what happened?”
He turns toward my voice, and the relief that floods his face nearly breaks me.
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