“Calm down,” I soothe her, tightening the reins even shorter and reaching out to stroke her neck. Her skin quivers beneath my palm, damp with moisture despite how sedate our pace is. She’s worked herself into such a state, she’s sweating more than she should. “Just a little rain, no need to fuss.”
Annabelle apparently thinks there is something to fuss about, and every roll of thunder comes with a struggle to keep her from bolting. Holding the reins in a firm grip with my left hand, I keep her controlled mainly with my legs as I lift my phone and check my signal. There are just enough bars to send Marcos an audio message.
“Hey, Marcos. Hopefully you’re okay back there, I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. Annabelle and I are headed back now, taking the Fern Loop down to the Paulsons’ place. It’ll be easier to ride back that way. Anyway, just wanted to check in. Love you, hate this fucking horse. Okay, bye.”
I send it, wiping water off the screen to watch as the message attempts to go through despite the low signal. Locking it and tucking the phone back away in my pocket, I focus once more on keeping the horse in control. She is a full-time-fucking-job.
The tree line begins to break and Annabelle’s hooves click against the rocks poking through the dirt. The rain isreally starting to fall now, and I’m grateful I thought to put on a ball cap this morning. Water trickles down the back of my neck, and drips from the brim. It’s already turning cold, the temperature at least ten degrees cooler than it was half an hour ago.
The next boom of thunder is so loud it echoes off the mountains. Annabelle spooks forward, trying to run. Her body tips to the side as her hooves slip on the slick rocks underfoot, and she gives a shrill whinny. Fully panicking now, she tries to bolt and slides once more on the sodden ground. This time, she isn’t able to catch herself.
The saddle creaks ominously as she stumbles, and I’m just able to get my right foot out of the stirrup before she falls.
22
Marcos
I’ve been standingoutside the front door of the main house for two minutes, trying to decide what to do. I knock again, a little louder. Nate told me the doors are left unlocked and I could just let myself in, but this is his uncle’s house and I’ve only been here when Nate was with me. I can’t just go in. I knock a little louder. Sighing when there is still no answer, I open the door a crack.
“Jesper? Are you home?” I call, and then try again a little louder when I catch the sound of a TV in the background. “Jes?”
When I hear footsteps, I take a step back from the door. Nate’s uncle comes into view, still wearing his jeans and plaid shirt I’d seen him in earlier, socked feet muffled on the wood floors.
“Sorry, kid, I didn’t hear you. Come on in, what are you doing knocking?”
He holds the door open with a palm as I pass, and patsme on the back. Feeling a little ridiculous, I gesture in the direction of the kitchen.
“Felt weird just walking in,” I tell him. “Is it still okay for me to use the kitchen?”
I lift the bag of groceries I brought with me, like an idiot. I wish Nate was here. I’m so shit at this sort of thing.
“Of course, anything you need. Help yourself.” He shuts the door behind me and peers out the picture window, frowning. “Storm’s rolling in already. I assume Nathan isn’t back yet, or he’d be hanging on to your pocket.”
I pause for a split second, still unused to hearing someone call him Nathan. “Oh, right, no. Nate’s not back yet.”
“Put that boy on a horse and don’t expect to see him until dinner is served,” his uncle jokes with a smile.
“Do you think he’s okay?” I ask. The storm clouds are dark above the mountains—it could already be raining where Nate’s at.
“Oh, he’s fine. Don’t worry.” He pats my back again, a touch awkwardly, and clears his throat. “You need me, I’ll be in the sitting room, okay?”
“Sure, thanks.”
The kitchen in Jesper’s house was redone last year, according to Nate, and it’s easily the nicest kitchen I’ve ever been in. The appliances gleam as though they were installed yesterday, not a year in the past, and a massive marble island looms in the center of the space. I put the groceries down, and start pulling open cupboards in search of utensils.
By the time my abuela’s pozole is simmering on the stove, it’s well past six and the sky is rapidly darkening outside. It’s been thundering off and on for the last hour, each time making me a little more nervous. Why the hell isn’t Nate back yet?
I reach for my phone just as a text message comes through, and relief immediately floods my system. Leaning on the counter, I listen to his voice message and frown. He’s only just coming homenow? The relief of seeing his name pop up on my screen is short-lived—now I’m twice as nervous as before.
Leaving the kitchen, I follow the sound of the television until I come across the sitting room. Nate’s uncle is sitting in a recliner, eyes on a baseball game, a beer in his hand and resting on the arm of his chair. I clear my throat.
“Jesper?” He looks over just as my eyes catch on the TV again, and I’m distracted. I recognize that game. “Is that an SCU game?”
“Nathan showed me how to watch the old games,” he says, lifting the beer to his mouth and taking a sip. “I can figure out the live ones just fine, but I didn’t know I could see old ones too.”
I watch the TV as Vince winds up to take a pitch, and the balls cracks against my glove. Strike.
“This is…two season ago?” I ask.
