I check the screen before answering but see that it’s Griffin.
“Hey.”
“Hey, did I wake you?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“You okay?” my twin asks, the concern in his voice clear over the long-distance call.
I scrub my face with one hand and make myself sit up in bed. “Fine. Just a long day.”
“Yeah, I saw your text. Dad fell again?”
Shit. Was that today? That feels like ages ago.
“Yeah. He was in a hurry to call me in from the fields and left his walker inside.”
“Shiiiit,” Grif draws out.
“Where are you? Back at the hotel?”
When he speaks next, I can hear the grin in his voice. “Yeah, we just got back from Hamilton. Kennedy’s in the shower. We’re doing Greenwich Village tomorrow. I just wanted to check in.”
Guilt twists my gut. “Pop’s okay. I shouldn’t have messaged you. I?—”
“Forget that. He’s my father, too. Just because we’re on vacation doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be in the loop. What if you’d had to take him to the ER? You just wouldn’t tell me until we got back?”
I blow out a breath. “It was an option.”
“Nope. Bullshit. You and I share the load.”
“If he’d just use the damn walker and not fall so much—” I gripe. “I mean, I get that having to use a walker has gotta suck, but eating dirt has to suck worse, right?”
Griffin grinds out a scary-accurate imitation of our father. “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, boy? I grew up on dirt. Nothin’ wrong with a little dirt.”
“Does Kennedy know you’re gonna sound just like him one day?”
“Uh, no, and you’re not telling him.”
My laugh is half-hearted.
“Beck. You sound like shit. What’s wrong?”
Griffin and I have never had any real twin telepathy, but he has no trouble reading me. Just like I know as soon as I hear his voice if he and his husband have just had an argument. This is why I text him more than I call him if I can help it.
I draw in a breath. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind telling him about my encounter with Hattie today. I’d trust his take. Griffin would straight up tell me if he thought I’d crossed a line into creep territory. But it’s late. Later in NYC than here. And he’s on vacation.
“I’m fine. Really. Nothing’s wrong.” And technically nothing is. Nothing new, anyway. “The new harvester is great. Just a long day.”
Silence stretches over the phone. “Javier and his guys are doing their part?”
I sniff a laugh. “Javier and his guys are life savers, and you know it.”
“Just checking, little brother.”
I roll my eyes. He’s three minutes older than me, and he never lets me forget it.
“Listen, Kennedy and I fly back to NOLA on Thursday. I’ll drive up on Friday and stay the weekend. Help with the curing and the Farmer’s Market Saturday and see what else we can modify at the house to make it easier for Pop to get around—or harder for him to bust his ass.”