I couldn’t be sure which sister it belonged to, but I had a feeling it was attached to the woman that captured my attention.
Chuckling, I turned the truck around and headed down their driveway and back to the main road. I’d have to get Nash to tell me who built his gate and fencing. They marveled me as I crossed the threshold. A perfect mix of modern and classical.
As I continued down the road toward the Chisolm’s house, an incoming message read through the stereo.
Brett: Change of plans. Meet at the HS.
Stopping the truck in the middle of the road, I did my best to complete a three-point turn, but it ended being six or seven due to the narrow lane, and I made my way in the opposite direction. At least it meant I could drive by my soon-to-be house one more time.
I gazed out at the Easterly’s farm as I passed their entrance and found myself sighing. Those girls had no idea how lucky they were to grow up in a place like that with the parents and family that they had. I would have given anything when I was younger to have just a smidgen of that.
My soon to be house stood proudly as a few crewmen still milled about the place. The setting sun cast yellows and golds on her faded exterior, but I swear the house looked happy. It had to be nothing more than my imagination, but it seemed like she was alive. Which was both exhilarating and terrifying. A weird horror story was not something that I was cut out for.
As I continued past the house and maneuvered slowly around the bend in the road that I was determined to tackle before leaving Tennessee, I thought back to my conversation with the sheriff. The current owners had stopped paying state taxes on the house a decade ago and despite years of trying to reach out, the state decided they’d had enough. All parties involved seemed to be thrilled and surprised that I was willing to pay everything off as quickly as possible so I could move onto the property. I had the money just sitting in the bank and needed to find a good investment. My financial advisor thought I was crazy when I spoke to him early this morning and hashed out my plan to buy the estate Brett had mentioned was going up for auction today.
Everything seemed to fall into place just as it needed.
I continued on the main road until I came about a mile outside of the hub of the town and took a turn that Brett had shown me yesterday when he gave me a drive-by tour of Ashfield. I still couldn’t grasp that he drove to this school every day and assisted with coaching the minors team. There were no quick trips anywhere in this town, everything was half an hour minimum. I’d been spoiled in the city where I could walk everywhere if I wanted. My apartment had its own luxuries in the building, so I rarely had to leave.
At the school, I quickly spotted Brett’s truck and I parked beside it. The rest of the lot had older cars and trucks splattered throughout. I was surprised at how new everything looked, from the school to the stadium. I had been expecting a century-old building in decay and an outside rink. This looked more like a well-funded private school.
Stepping down from my truck, I grabbed my duffle out of the back seat. I’d kept my practice equipment with me, just in case. And it seemed that I’d made a smart choice because, despite my retirement, I still felt alive on the ice.
My feet crunched with each step as I approached the doors to the stadium, where I assumed Brett was holding practice. Adrenaline started pulsing through me and for the first time in what felt like forever, I was nervous. What if these kids looked at me and saw nothing more than a joke? A retired old man that couldn’t hack it anymore.
Pulling the door handle, I took a deep breath. The smell of the ice immediately washed over me and I felt at home. The nerves didn’t disappear, but they changed when twenty sets of eyes turned in my direction.
“Holy shit,” a voice called out, abruptly followed by many of the same sentiment.
Brett’s voice belted over the others. “Hey! You made it,” he said as he walked over to me from the stands. “They were just running some drills.”
“They seem surprised to see me.”
“Well,” he began, his hand rubbing against the back of his neck. “I didn’t say anything just in the off chance you didn’t get my message or weren’t ready to come out.”
What he was saying was that he didn’t want to disappoint them.
“That’s okay. I was headed back to your house when I got your message. I just happen to have my practice stuff in my truck.”
“Clean, I hope,” he joked as he led me toward the ice.
Was it? Leave it to Brett to ask the hard-hitting questions, but I’m pretty sure I washed everything before I left New York, just to be safe.
His team of teens stared at me as I got closer. None of them moved except for the goalie who was slowly joining the rest of the group. Their jaws hung loosely below their helmets as I leaned against the boards surrounding the rink.
“So, I’m assuming you all know who Colton Crawford is. He’s come to watch you guys skate and offer any advice or pointers. Alright?”
The group didn’t respond but continued to stare at me. I felt like I was in a fish tank and one of those kids was about to tap on the glass.
Brett repeated, “Alright? Come on guys, don’t make it weird or he won’t come back.”
“Yes, Coach,” they said collectively, then skated off to continue their drills.
“They’re good kids. You can join them or just watch. I think a couple has what it takes to go pro or play in college, which is my recommendation to them.”
“I agree. A degree always gives them something to fall back on. Any of them play for juniors?”
“Naw,” he said as he turned to face me. “It’s expensive and most of these kids work their farms with their parents. It’s hard enough to get them here to play at the high school level. I’ve watched most of them in our rec teams since they were little, but it was never certain who would be showing up during harvest times.”
What the hell was harvest time?
“You’ll. . .ugh. . .have to tell me more about this harvest stuff later. I met the guy my house is next to and he was talking about the harvest.”
“Oh, you met Nash Easterly?”
“Yeah,” I said as I sat on the bench and tugged my skates free from the duffle bag, followed by some thicker socks. “What do you know about him and his family?” I worded the question in a way that wasn’t suspect because I really wanted to know more about one particular daughter.
Brett let out a deep-bellied laugh as he tossed his head back. “Man, in small towns, you only know what people want you to know. They used to tell me that everyone knew everything, but that’s not always the case. The Easterlys are as much a mystery as they are a staple in the town. But from what I know, the Easterly name has been part of that land since before the town existed. The majority of the land belonged to them at one point. Apparently, one of the relatives was a gambler and liked to toss around acreage like they were pennies.
“It’s probably why they were at the auction today, or so I’ve heard. The house you bought used to belong to them.”
“Yeah, Nash said as much.”
Brett nodded as he called out one of the kids’ names and told him to watch his footwork. “As for the wife and the kids, not much to say there. Marisol was married before, lost her husband in Desert Storm. Andrew, the oldest Easterly, is from her first marriage, but Nash has raised that boy like his own son. The girls came a few years later from what I remember.
“When we moved here, Nash and Marisol were some of the first people to visit and welcome us to the town. They’re good people.”
I stared at the man, trying to figure out a way to broach the topic of the daughters as I finished tying my skates blindly.
