Sunlight sparked from the blue sky along the shards of plowed snow, along the silver in the pony’s coat, making a beautiful, fairy-danced morning. Even more beautiful than that was the shine in Bea’s green eyes, the joy beaming from her face, her sweet smile.
“Give me the reins, Daddy Clay,” said Bea, her voice carrying in the bright, clear air. “Please, please, please?”
Clay stopped amidst the sparkle of snow coming downgently from the roof of the barn in a sudden, invisible gust of wind. Then he looked back at the open doorway to the barn, where Austin stood, clutching an old barn sweater close around him.
In that stillness, Ty was close enough to see Austin’s emotions as they flitted across his face.
This was his little girl, and the second Clay handed the reins over to Bea was the second she began to move into her own future where she would be a grown up young lady, independent of her two dads. She would be her own person, then, and not his little girl though she would, as with the way of little girls, always be in her father’s heart.
Dashes of hot tears swept down Ty’s face, though he didn’t understand why and besides it hurt like hell to be feeling what he was feeling: the movement of time, like an arrow, which would take them all from this crystal-laced precious, precious moment of perfection.
Ty swiped at his face and, as Clay carefully looped the reins over Cinders’ neck and handed them to Bea, Ty heard Bill swallow hard and looked over to see him palming his mustache as though to hide the gentle quiver of his mouth.
“Go on, then,” said Clay, his voice thick. “But not too far, okay? Not this first time.”
In spite of the fact that Bea probably wanted to go dashing through the snow as fast as she could, she urged Cinders forward gently.
In response, Cinders walked onto the snow-covered road, careful and steady, her ears pricked forward, her silver mane floating over her gray-spotted neck as though fairies danced along the strands.
“Easy now, honeybee,” said Austin.
He moved into the road now, too, as if oblivious to the cold. He didn’t have his cell phone, it seemed, to record the momentous occasion but perhaps he felt the moment too sweet to needrecording, too deep within his heart to need anything but what it was, right there, right in front of them.
Bea walked Cinders down the road perhaps a few yards, or it could have been a few miles for all she seemed so small amidst the bare-branched, snow-dappled trees. Her back was straight, puffs of warm air from her lungs dancing around her head, lacing her strawberry blond hair with licks of frost, it was just that cold.
“C’mon back now, Bea,” Bill called out, breaking through the silence, the stillness.
Bea turned Cinders around and leaned forward to urge her into a trot. She was only a little girl, but it was easy to see, even to Ty, how much she was in sync with her pony.
Cinders lifted her head and, with a small snort, moved into a low canter, much to Bea’s obvious delight, as she laughed out loud. Which startled Cinders into a little buck of her hindquarters, which sent Bea off her back and into a heap of snow left behind by the plow.
Ty’s heart was in his throat as he moved forward, only seconds behind Bill, but by the time all four men reached the snowbank, Bea was already on top of it, reaching for Cinders, gently taking the reins and patting her neck with long strokes.
“I shouldn’t have laughed like that,” she said to Clay as he brushed snow from her hair. “She’s still new and shouldn’t be scared.”
“You both scared me,” said Clay, a shake in his voice, and then Austin was there, scooping up his daughter in his arms, holding her tight while Cinders sniffed his shoulder, looking for treats.
Bea led Cinders to the barn, and Ty watched as her two dads helped her brush the pony down, doing it as carefully as if she’d just finished running a steeplechase, rather than having participated in the briefest of walks down a snow-plowed road.
“Let me warm that coffee up for you,” said Bill, coming up to Ty’s side. “You did a good thing there.”
He handed Ty a cup of hot coffee, plain this time, black, with plenty of sugar.
“You always that good with engines?” Bill asked.
“Mostly,” said Ty. “I like working on them. And I like driving trucks.”
The coffee felt good as it reached his belly and the barn, while still chilly in the mid-morning air, felt a great deal warmer than the outside.
He shrugged, his eyes lighting on the sight of Austin and Clay kissing, of Bea’s head shake of young exasperation, as surely petting a new, sweet-faced pony on Christmas morning was more important than a silly tumble into the snow.
“Though soon I won’t have trucks to mess with.” Ty clamped his mouth shut tight, but it was too late, the words were out.
“What’s that?” asked Bill. He tipped his head back to drink the last drops of his coffee. Then, out of the corner of his eyes, Ty could see Bill’s raw-edged and experienced hands as they laced around the white china mug.
“It’s the trucking company.” Ty shrugged, waving his now-empty mug in the air as if to dismiss all of his concerns about the empty, jobless future that stretched out before him. “They don’t want to keep any of the old staff on so I’m history. Me and a lot of other good folks.”
“Well,” said Bill. He palmed his mustache again, and seemed to be studying Cinders as Bea led the pony into her box stall and carefully filled the net bag hanging from the wall of the stall with some very appetizing looking dried hay. “You could come to us, if you’ve a mind to.”
