A Risk Worth Taking by Heather Hildenbrand

inwardly. She was attracted.
    “How
bad is it?” Casey asked, his shoulders drooping in defeat as he took in my
expression.
    “How
bad is what?”
    “Judging
by the look on your face, you’ve got the itch. I just want to know how bad. And
whether I should seek cover now or wait for the fallout.” He finished his beer
and chucked it into the trash can against the wall before going to the fridge
for another.
    I
took another swig of my own without really tasting it, trying to come up with
some sort of response to that. The truth was, Casey was right. It was an itch.
And I was compelled to scratch.

 

     

Chapter Six
     
    Summer
     
    “Someday you
will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” ―C.S. Lewis
     
     
    Casey’s
laughter trailed down the hall, announcing his arrival before he came into
sight. Mazie’s scolding response—too muffled for me to understand—made him
laugh even harder as he marched toward my door. I exited the spreadsheet I’d
been working on, happy for a distraction.
    My
mom had called again last night. That made three times in the nine days since
I’d come home. I’d refused to speak to her—again—and I could tell it upset my
dad. He’d gone to bed shortly after and we hadn’t spoken yet this morning.
    My
head wasn’t in the work today. Not when I still saw her everywhere I looked—in
my office and in this house. She was still here whether she lived across the
county or not. And my dad’s lack of anger only heightened mine. I kept waiting
for him to lash out or at least mutter something under his breath, but the tone
he used with her while they chatted about weather and crops and mutual friends
was pleasant, friendly even. How could he not be furious? How could he even
speak to her after leaving him like that after twenty-five years of marriage?
    Fine.
He wasn’t going to be angry? I was mad enough for both of us.
    I
looked up as Casey entered. In one hand, he held a toothpick that he twirled
between his lips. In the other, he held up a sheet of paper, yellowing at the
edges, and threw himself into the chair across from me. “Hey, remember this?”
    “What
is it?” I took the paper and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles as I read the
contents. My temper and foul mood instantly vanished as I recognized the
handwriting. “I can’t believe it. Where did you find this?” I asked, running my
fingertips over the fading blue ink.
    “I
cleaned out the spare room when Ford moved in. Found this in one of the boxes.”
    “How
old were we when we made this list? Ten? Eleven?”
    “Somewhere
around there.” He shrugged and leaned forward, reading the paper upside-down.
“It was hot as hell that summer. I think the only time we got out of the creek
was to make this damn list.”
    I
smiled at the memory of summers spent on the farm. Growing up here had been an
adventure, always something to do, new places to explore. And Casey was a more
than willing sidekick. It wasn’t until I got older, wanted more than a midday
swim in the creek and an ice cream cone after dinner, that this place became
one to escape.
    When
had life started to seem so much more exciting out there than it did here?
    I
turned my attention back to the day Casey spoke of, the day we’d made our
“before I grow up” list. “We snuck into Dad’s office—this office—for paper and
pen,” I recalled.
    He
spoke around the toothpick in his mouth. “I still don’t see why you wanted all
this written so badly.”
    “It
came about from that conversation you and I had down at the swim hole. A lie,
if I remember correctly.”
    “Pssh.
I would never do such a thing.”
    I
threw a sticky pad at him.
    “Ow!”
    “You
told me you kissed Jenny Matthews.”
    “Ahh,
yes. Jenny Matthews. Prettiest girl in the sixth grade.” He leaned back, a
dopey smile on his lips.
    “You
gave me this elaborate story about fixing her bike chain after finding her
stranded. You said she almost swooned when you were