“No. Don’t say anything. Don’t tell me I’m wrong or I don’t know what I’m talking about.” I took a step back and held up a hand. “You asked for proof. I’ll give you proof.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I jogged down the stairs, across the kitchen, into the small den where I stored my books from college and law school and everything else I wanted to keep separate from farm business. On the farthest corner of the highest shelf sat one of my dad’s old cigar boxes.
The last time I’d thought about this box was a few years ago when construction on this house ended and I’d moved in. I’d raked myself over the coals for keeping it that long but even then I hadn’t been able to let it go. I’d never been able to let her go.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I tucked the box under my arm to answer. “What?” I growled.
“Welcome home. We got some goats on the loose,” Bones said. “The wind is really slapping our asses today. It took out fencing all over the property. We got most of the goats back in but it looks like two are pulling an REO Speedwagon taking it on the run. We’ve got some guys patching up the fence but we’re also dealing with a few fallen trees behind the farm stand so we’re shorthanded.” He cleared his throat. “Any chance you want to fetch some goats before the skies open up?”
I ran a hand down my face. “Motherfuck,” I groaned.
“That’s the kind of enthusiasm I like to hear.”
“Any idea where these goats are headed?”
“Goats don’t announce their plans,” he said with a cackle. “They’re probably tearing up whatever is left of the pumpkin patches.”
“I don’t have time for this today,” I grumbled. “Catch me on the radio if these goats figure out what’s good for them and go home before I find them.”
“Unlikely, but I’ll do it,” he said.
I ended the call and slapped a sticky note on the cigar box, scrawling a quick message for my wife, the woman who didn’t see family birthdays and fresh bread, and ice cream scoopers sent to organize her classroom and general contractors sent to overhaul her farm as evidence of my love for her. As bottomless devotion. Just as soon as I rounded up these goats, we’d have a good long talk about the real reason—the only reason—I married her.
The shower was running when I climbed the stairs. It was better this way. I didn’t think I could pull together the appropriate words to explain this box or why I’d held on to the contents all these years. I needed Shay to figure it out for herself. I needed her to remember and maybe then she’d understand. Then she’d believe me. Then she’d have all the proof she could ever want.
I stepped into her room. The mountains were exactly where I’d left them. Sweaters and jeans on one side, sundresses and shorts on the other. I set the cigar box on her bed, the hot pink note on top screaming for attention. I paused for a minute, the weight of all the vulnerabilities contained in that box pulling me back. If this didn’t work, we’d never recover. I’d never recover.
With that realization heavy in my chest, I walked down the stairs and out into the storm. November afternoons had a way of turning into night in the blink of an eye, and the storm clouds only intensified the darkness overhead. Rain was spitting down sideways and the wind was howling. Any late season apples we had left were likely to fall tonight.
I found Gennie hurrying out of the shed, Blackie and Brownie watching her as they paced near the door. “There’s no rain on me,” she called.
That was not true but I didn’t care. “I have to check on some fencing,” I said, intentionally avoiding all mention of her goat friends. “Stay inside. Play with your iPad. I’ll be back soon.”
“Is it okay if I read a book?”
“What?” I peered at her, certain I’d misheard in the roar of the wind.
“Can I read a book in my room instead of playing on the iPad?”
“Yeah, of course. Why would you need permission to do that?”
“You said I should use the iPad but I want to read instead and I didn’t want to blow off your directions.” She shrugged before skipping off toward the house.
“Who is that kid and what the actual fuck is happening to my life?” I muttered as I settled behind the wheel of my ATV.
When I started up the machine, I realized I hadn’t grabbed my radio on my way out. I patted my pockets for my phone but didn’t find that either. I probably left it on my desk in the den.
But I couldn’t run back inside now. I’d have to deal with Gennie or Shay—who would want a ton of answers that I didn’t have the time to give her. Instead, I drove down the hill, past the orchards and toward the pumpkin patch on the border of Twin Tulip land as rain and wind lashed me from all sides.
I was wet and tired when I spotted the first goat picking her way through the remaining gourds. The second goat came out of nowhere and darted across the beam of my headlights. I swerved around her—and promptly rolled the ATV into a stream.
chapterthirty-six
Shay
Students will be able to make wrong choices for all the right reasons.
There wasa time when I believed I was free. I wasindependent. I was unencumbered by the gridlock of family expectations or tradition. I could invent myself in any way I wished and no one would know any different.
