The sun gets hotter, rolling overhead. The piece of wood becomes a little wren sitting on a nest. I work at it until it’s smooth then set aside the tools and roll it in my fingers, thinking. My mother taught me all about her favorite thing—birds. She was the first person to give me a field guide, to sit with me, pointing out the different species. Freya, with her insects and months, reminds me of her, both reaching out for something free.
She gave me my name. Bittern—a little resilient bird that hides away in the reeds. I sometimes think that name is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Setting the wooden bird on the railing, I lean into the rail.
At the edge of the porch, wren carving wobbling beside me, I stare out over the hill for a while. My brain is quiet; it feels good. I’m just about ready to go inside when I notice Ginny standing outside her house, somebody by her side.
I squint. That must be her daughter.
They start walking down the hill, heading towards the main house. For the first time in a long, long time, I’m looking at someone with a strange feeling creeping up on me. I swear, all the air is drying up the closer they get. I can’t get a proper lungful of it.
She’s smaller than Ginny, maybe an inch over Freya’s height. Her blonde hair is a mix of a lighter and dark shade, and it’s tousled, cut to her shoulders. Her face is real pleasant, kind of cute, with a sweet smile and light eyes—I can’t tell the shade from where I’m standing, but they’re damn pretty.
I like looking at her more than I got any business to.
I go to the step and sink down again. She stands with Ginny and talks for a while. There’s a lot of confidence in the way she’sgot her hands on her hips, one knee popped, digging her toe into the dirt.
I feel something.
A stirring, somewhere in the mine shaft beneath my ribs, down where there’s only darkness. It reminds me of the moment they rang the bell at the end of the day. We all loaded into the elevator, and I got to look up into the spark of light above as it got closer and closer. Respite, a few hours out of hell.
I clear my throat, dropping my eyes.
She’s real pretty, real bright, but I’m a hard person to love. Aiden was clear about that. I’m not sure it’s even worth figuring out if she’s single and interested in talking to anybody right now. The minute she finds out about Aiden, about me, and everything that happened with Freya, she’ll coil back in disgust. No, I’ve got baggage nobody is willing to handle.
It’s better I just keep to myself.
CHAPTER SIX
JANIE
Sunday morning, I wake up not ready to go back home. Everything about that apartment reminds me of Shane, especially the empty places where his things sat. I roll over, sitting up, and run my hands over my face. It would be easier if I was angry with him, and I sort of am, but it’s mixed with so many other things, I can’t figure out what I’m really feeling.
He wasn’t good for me. No amount of trying to make him work helped.
It’s a weight off my shoulders to have him gone.
Slowly, I peel myself from the bed. Most of my work is pretty flexible, and technically, I could stay at the ranch until Wednesday, so long as I’m reachable by phone. As I shower and put on my clothes, I think about it for a while. Mom is going to beg me to stay, and so is Dad. But they always do, and I always go back. We all know how this goes, for both me and my older siblings.
They hate that we all moved away. Sometimes, I do too.
I pull on some shorts and a t-shirt and step into my sneakers, leaving my childhood bedroom and going down the worn steps.Little marks line the wall at the bottom, where Mom measured us every year on our first day of school. My fingertips skim over them, and I’m hit with that jolt of longing. I’ve been feeling that a lot in the last several months. Today, it’s an ache for something familiar and stable.
The drip coffee machine is full, a note from Mom taped to it. She and Dad went into Knifely to grab some groceries, but they’ll be back in an hour or so. I take down a cup, one of the orange diner mugs we’ve had since forever, and fill it, spilling cream into the coffee. The house is so quiet. Dust settles in the windowsill. A sparkle of sunshine filters through the lace curtains.
Maybe I could live like this, in the quiet.
I shake my head. Everything, minus Shane, was going fine in the city. I don’t love it, but it pays well and my coworkers are alright. The whole techie startup culture, spearheaded by three guys I’m not sure are qualified to run a business, is a little stressful, but the rest is fine.
Taking a blanket, I go out to the front porch and lay it down, sitting on the step. The sun is just coming over the slate gray mountains. In the distance, I see Deacon riding Bones up the hill, the thunder of his hooves shaking the ground. He’s got Ed, one of the ranch hands, with him and somebody else I don’t recognize.
I squint, watching as they move across the yard towards the barn. The third rider sits on a Haflinger the same shade as his blond head. He’s a broad man, fit, with sturdy shoulders and a sun-worn face. It’s hard to tell, but he looks about my age, maybe a few years older. They come a little closer, circling the barn and heading in the direction of the west pasture. From here, I can make out vague facial features.
Oh, I like them.
My stomach flips like I went over a bump. It takes me a second to realize I’m clutching my mug so hard, it’s burning my fingers. I ease up, getting to my feet and walking across the lane and down the alley between the houses. That puts me at the edge of the field, watching them ride up the hill.
“Hey, Janie.”
I turn to find Ed’s wife, Leah, hanging off the porch of her house. She’s a tall woman with brilliant red hair. We went to high school together and didn’t run in the same circles, but I always liked her. When she married Ed and moved onto the ranch, we hung out a few times before I moved away.
