Jonah flicks on the interior barn lights as soon as my knees hit the hay, and I’m hauling her into my chest, sobbing with relief. Suddenly Jonah’s arms are wrapping around both of us.
“Why on earth are you here?” I choke out.
“He’s hurt and scared,” she murmurs, half-asleep and trying her best to keep one hand on her fluffy patient.
“Oh my God, Lo.” I cry, my whole body trembling. “Don’t you ever leave the house without telling me, young lady.”
Jonah rubs her head and kisses the top of it. “He’s okay, Shortcake. He’s a big boy.” He lets out a ragged sigh and sniffles. “You scared us. We didn’t know where you were.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
In the distance, I can hear Amber’s voice calling for Lo. Jonah scrambles to his feet and runs outside. “She’s in here!”
The police arrive five minutes later, even though I had already called dispatch back to update them on my daughter’s desire to sleep like a barn animal. They question each adult and perform a quick mental and physical health screen with Lo. To my delight, she actually speaks to them. Not much, but it’s the most amazing sight to see.
Dawn turns into bright beams of light casting through the trees by the time the police leave. We wave goodbye to Officer Ryan, and I can feel my adrenaline is fading fast, but I’m still shaken.
“I need to stay away from your barn,” I tell Jonah. “Every time I’m here, I cry.” His expression softens and he opens his arms to hold me.
“Girls, let’s give them a minute,” Amber coos, and nudges their shoulders to our home. “Let’s get ready for school.”
When I pull away from his embrace, I’m embarrassed and exhausted. He studies my face. “You’re running on fumes. Don’t even think about going into work today.”
I’m about to protest, but Amber’s voice rings out from several yards away. “He’s right!”
Jonah smirks and I roll my eyes. “You’re probably right. But I am going to drive them to school. I need that confirmation of where they are.”
“I get it. But come right back here, okay? I wanna take care of you today.”
I tell work I’m taking a personal day, but I leave out the part where my child decided she was feral and wanted to live in a barn. I call the school on our drive to inform them the Wilde sisters will be a bit late, and I drop them off with the strongest goodbye hug. I cry a little more alone in the car before collecting myself and driving home.
By the time I pull into my driveway, the whole world is illuminated and the morning chill is gone, and the worst of the adrenaline has drained from my veins. My hands are still shaking a little, but in the past-crisis way—like my body hasn’t received the memo that everything’s fine now. Lo is safe, and Delta’s working on perfecting her dramatic retelling of her “barn sleepover rescue.”
I take a quick shower, blow out my hair, and apply a little moisturizer. When I make it back to Jonah’s place, he’s already made coffee and breakfast for us. I don’t tell him I stopped at the donut shop with the girls.
We sit on his porch with all three dogs and sip our coffee without talking about it. The silence is gentle, not awkward. Like the kind you get when you’ve run out of words but still want to bathe in the same air.
“Sorry you had to play search-and-rescue at five in the morning,” I say finally, my voice hoarse from yelling earlier.
He tilts his head, a soft smile through a cloud of coffee steam. “I’m glad you called me. I hope you always do. For any reason.”
The words hit somewhere behind my sternum, deeper than I’m ready to admit. I look out on the pasture insteadof at him. “She scared me,” I whisper. “One minute I was asleep, completely unaware, and the next...” I trail off. “It’s like my brain went straight to every bad headline I’ve ever read.” There’s a long pause, and he lets me work through it. “It was like those first few months after each of them were born, I couldn’t turn off my brain from imagining the most heinous situations where I would need to save my babies. I thought today was going to be one of those situations.”
Jonah sets his mug down and puts an arm around me. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about that. But for what it's worth, you weren't alone in your fear. I think my heart nearly broke this morning.”
I set my coffee down and lean into him, and our arms wrap around each other. “I know. I could tell.”
The companionable silence eases back in, and every so often, he glances at me, like he’s checking to make sure I’m okay. I sigh. “I’ll be fine. Eventually. I’m just frayed. Motherhood is a delicate balance between panic and guilt sometimes.”
“Seems like you’re doing great to me.”
“At 5:00 a.m. I was screaming in your backyard, wearing a robe and slippers with no bra, talking to the police, and crying into your shirt.”
He tucks his chin to inspect said shirt and swipes his hand down his chest like he’s dusting off invisible dirt. “Ughh, thanks a lot. Itwasa good shirt.”
I chuckle and flick his nose. “You ass.” The levity feels strange after everything, but good.
