9
Nash
I watchher pull up in her little SUV, and a weird vibration runs through my body.
She’s here.
Sure, I know she’s been here before, but that was years ago with her family. They used to come over for Sunday lunch now and then since my dad and hers were good friends. Same with our moms. They used to be thick as thieves until my dad died. That’s when my mom sort of withdrew from everything, including her friend, Grace Harmon.
I step out from behind the big barn doors and approach the rear passenger door. Opening it up, I smile down at my little doppelganger. “Hey, peanut. Did you have a good day?”
“I guess.” She gives me a look I’ve seen a million times. There’s an eye roll on the verge. “Miss Harmon wants to see Cyclops.”
I’m about to talk them both out of seeing the little calf when Isabelle says, “How ’bout you call me Izzy when I’m here? Miss Harmon seems so formal.”
Andi looks at me before she responds, checking with me before she answers, I suspect. “That’s fine.” I look down at my girl. “At school she’s Miss Harmon. Got it?”
“Yeah, got it.” Holding out her hand to Isabelle, she says, “Come on. Let’s go say hello to Cy.”
Isabelle hesitates then looks at me. I shrug. She might as well meet her. The little calf is going to be with us for as long as she lives. No one is going to want to buy her, and I’m not sure I’d sell her if they did. I follow the girls through the yard out to the horse barn. The doors are open, so the three of us walk through. “Last stall on the right.” I point to the far end of the barn.
“No horses?” Isabelle asks, looking around the barn.
Ordinarily this would only house horses, but I’ve gotten out of the horse business. It’s too expensive and too time consuming. Maybe when Andi gets a little older, I’ll get her a horse so she can learn to ride. Riding has always been one of my favorite pastimes on the farm, but there’s no time for it right now.
“Maybe in a year or two.”
“I love to ride,” she says, looking down at Andi. Then, looking at me, she continues, “We’ve still got Willow. She’s getting old, but she’s still a happy horse.” Once she gets to the stall, she stops dead in her tracks. She takes one look at the little calf, then turns her head to look at me. I see her eyes sparkle with tears. Isabelle has such a big heart. “Oh my.” She does her best to school her emotions. “She’s so pretty.” Her voice is a little squeaky.
“Pretty?” scoffs my kid. “She’s only got one eye, and that one she’s got is all foggy looking, and Daddy’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.”
Before my eyes, Isabelle is rebounding. Her shoulders push back, and her head is held high. “She’s unique. I like her already.”
I’m struck dumb by her words. Byher. My body feels like it’s stuck in cement, because it’s right there, right in that moment, I know only one thing for certain. I won’t be able to live without Isabelle Harmon. But I have to. I can’t let her in. There’s an empty spot in my chest where my heart used to be. Ivy ripped it out and took it with her. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t love Ivy DeLucas. I’m not sure I ever did. But she broke something in me. I think it was trust, or maybe the notion that people should work together to raise a child, not run off to seek fame and fortune and never speak to their kid again.
Isabelle turns to me. “Can I go in and see her?”
I peek into the stall, knowing it’s a mess in there. I look at Isabelle’s clothing. She’s still got on her pretty school things—a flowered dress and girly shoes. “You aren’t really dressed for it.”
“I’m fine. I can change into my workout clothes after.”
I unhook the latch on the stall and pull it open. “Go on then.”
My girls stroll into the stall and plop down on the straw mound next to Cy. “Well, aren’t you a sweet thing,” Isabelle coos as she strokes the calf’s head. “You’re going to be beautiful.” She looks at Andi. “She’ll be russet colored, and I see the inkling of some white markings.” Turning to me, she asks, “Is she a red and white Holstein?”
“Yep.” I nod.
“The best milk,” Andi says, nodding.
“Absolutely,” I agree with pride.
“Fun fact,” Isabelle says to Andi. “Did you know Holstein cows’ spots are like snowflakes? No two are exactly alike.”
“Really?” Andi and I say at the same time. How did I not know that? We’ve had Holsteins my whole life.
“Really,” she says, still stroking the top of Cy’s head. Talking to the little animal, Isabelle adds, “You’ll make the best milk, won’t you, girl?” The calf lifts its head and seems to look right at Isabelle, like it’s listening and heeding Isabelle’s words. I hope she’s right. But we’ll have to see. The vet will be out here later today to check her over. I’m 99 percent sure she’s blind in the one and only eye she was born with, but maybe not.
“The best milk,” Isabelle repeats.
