Cal could hardly believe how much work had gone into making sure the hay loft would carry tons of hay for the winter, or how much he would enjoy the smell of the barn, with the hay and bags of feed grain and the scent of the mules themselves.
Currently, they only had four mules, four young males with glossy coats, long legs and ears, and big brown eyes. Together, he and Zeke had named them Bailey, Candlewick, Dancer, andClover. At first, Cal had felt leery around them, but Zeke had shown Cal how smart mules were, and how steady they were, and patient, and even funny.
Cal’s favorite part of the mules was that although Zeke had shorn their manes short along their necks, he’d left a handful at each of their withers.That’s so the fairies have a way to make reins and stirrups for their midnight rides, Zeke had said, which made Cal love him more than he ever thought he possibly could.
“Don’t feed them like you would a horse,” Zeke had said more than once. “Until we start training after the New Year, they don’t get grain, only hay and water. Then, when we start working them, we can treat them to grain and horse cookies.”
Zeke knew best, so Cal stuck to the plan, though he sometimes snuck each of the mules thin slices of carrot, which they very much enjoyed.
Once inside the old farmhouse, basically three rooms, a bedroom, a living room, and a kitchen that had a small rectangular table in it that they ate all their meals on, Cal shook the snow from his shoulders. He slipped off his pea coat and leather gloves and shook those out, hanging them on hooks on the wall to dry. Then, at long last, he could change from his work boots and into the fringed moccasins that Zeke had once sewn together for him.
The same beads that Zeke had tied on for him dangled softly against his ankles, and the thin soles let him feel the surface of the wooden floor that Zeke had refinished with his own two hands.
The small ranch, which had once belonged to Zeke’s grandmother, was located east of Cloudcroft, New Mexico, at the intersection of Highway 82 and Eight Mile Canyon Road. Their water came from a well, and was the sweetest, coldest water Cal had ever tasted. They also had tons of peace and quiet, except forthe wind in the pine trees, the hoot of the occasional owl, and the soft thunder of geese wings when the weather had turned cold.
Since they were around half an hour out of Cloudcroft, Zeke was on his weekly run for groceries and anything else they might need from town. Cal had done his morning chores in the barn, so all he needed to do was make sure there was hot coffee ready for Zeke upon his return.
Cal started the coffee in the metal coffee pot on the stove, checked his phone, and was pleased to see there was a message from Mr. Simms.
Hey Cal, can you help me? I’m not getting my emails. Carla said she thought she saw a notice about it, but can’t find the message. I’m here until this afternoon, and then Carla, Mitzi, and I are going for a pontoon ride in the swamp.
The Simms family had, at last, moved to St. Augustine to be near Bert’s sister, Rose. The last Cal had heard, they were still talking about getting their own pontoon and naming itCalypso—from the John Denver song, Cal had finally discovered—but, in the meantime, they were having fun exploring their new world.
Cal relished every single photograph they sent him, every single alligator snout, every single palm tree, every single sunset from a snow white sandy beach. Every single photo of Bert and Carla sitting on their back porch in the glowy tropical sunset, with their furbaby Mitzi on Carla’s lap.
As he sat at his computer in the corner of the room furthest from the wood-burning, pot-bellied stove, he grabbed his phone and dialed Mr. Simms’ number.
“Hello?” asked Mr. Simms in his upbeat way, as if the person on the other end of the line was one of his best friends.
“Hey, Bert,” said Cal, making sure to call BertBert, rather than Mr. Simms, because Mr. Simms—Bert—would get so riled when he did. “How about that computer?”
“Do you have time now, Cal?” asked Bert.
“Sure, do,” said Cal. “The coffee is brewing and Zeke’s not back yet, so it’s the perfect time for me to help you.”
Technically, Cal was barred from ever working in IT again, andtechnically, he wasn’t supposed to be helping anyone at all with their computer. This was because of the crime he’d committed. The Feds were supposedly watching him, particularly the Cybercrime Department.
Cal had been keeping himself far away from any trouble. Except for the fact that, as part of his making amends, at Zeke’s suggestion, Cal had reached out to Call-me-Bert Simms.
It had been one of the hardest things Cal had ever done.
Sure, he couldn’t call Bert directly, but Zeke, as his erstwhile parole officer, could.
Bert had called back less than a day later. Cal had gripped the cell phone and started rambling on about what had happened, trying to explain and apologize at the same time, then Bert said,Take it slow, son. Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.
If tears had sparked hot in Cal’s eyes, there was only Zeke to see, so Cal didn’t mind very much. Then he started from the beginning.
He told Bert about Preston, and about Cal’s desperate attempts to get away, and how, when he’d illegally logged into Bert’s account and transferred money from it, he made sure to leave a digital trail so wide that even the newest F.B.I recruit could have followed it.
I never wanted you to lose any money, Cal had said that day.I just needed to borrow it so I could get away from Preston.
All the way to prison, son?Bert had asked in a gentle, fatherly way.
Yeah. Cal’s voice disappeared and his throat had gone dry for a long, hard minute. Then he’d said,I’m supposed to make amends, but I don’t know how.
At the time, at the beginning of fall when this call had occurred, the Simms family was already in the process of packing up to move to Florida, and with Cal down in the heart of New Mexico, it wasn’t like Cal was able to help them with chores or anything and make amends that way.
Well, how about this, Bert had said,Carla and I always need help with our computers. Especially since between the two of us we don’t have the sense of a newt not to click on the wrong thing.
