‘You all there?’ Genny calls out, clicking her tongue, bringing Tiramisu to a stop so she can get off.
‘Yeah, mostly.’ I let the dogs in before I close the gate behind me. My old riding boots, last worn when Jordan and I were given chores way back in June, feel unfamiliar yet again. Boo butts gently at my leg, and I kick a foot up behind me and adjust the hem of my jeans so it comes over the boot properly. ‘Thought I’d go for a ride.’
‘Huh.’ I wait for my sister to make another comment, but nothing comes. She just turns and gives Tiramisu a pat before ushering me over. ‘Wait. Let me get your saddle.’
I do. She unstraps the worn leather from Tiramisu’s back before heading inside with it in her arms, leaving just myself and the horse, a scene that probably would have made me pass out of fear a couple months ago. Instead, I reach a tentative hand out. The big beast whinnies, and eventually, he places his muzzle in my palm. I stroke the side of his neck, the brushy coat tickling my fingers. He chuffs, satisfied.
From behind me, that breeze carries the faint smell of something strong and floral into the ring. At my feet, the dogs sniff, turning their heads to the wind, too. I’ve never known my sister to plant flowers – she claims the horses would eat them before they so much as bloomed. I look over, in the general direction of Genny’s farmhouse. In the back, where there used to be open land, the ground has been well-sown, a big patch of dirt. A couple hundred square feet. There’s nothing there for themost part, but a row of it is fully blooming, faintly purple, the odour now unmissable. Lavender.
‘She got me a bunch of the stuff in bloom,’ Genny says. I watch as my sister drapes my saddle, a loose term considering how rarely I use it, across Tiramisu’s back. ‘Rest of it’ll probably take something like a year to really grow, but I asked her if we could plant some mature lavender, you know, so we get the smell.’
I inhale deeply. The air is heavy with the smell of Jordan, that aura of lavender she always had around her from working in the garden. It strikes me dead in the heart.
‘It’s nice,’ I tell her.
She nods. ‘Have you talked to Bia?’
Not since she clocked me up and down and served me a whole heaping portion of cold, hard truth on Friday. ‘Sure.’
‘You know, it might be a good idea.’ Genny pulls the strap on the saddle snug, stepping back so I can come forward. She wraps her arms around herself almost protectively, nervously, rubbing her thumbs in the fabric of her T-shirt.
‘What, so she can chew me out?’ It comes out more accusatory than I intended. I wince immediately.
‘No, honey.’ Walking past me, my sister pauses only to brush a quick kiss across my cheek. ‘So she can help you figure out what the hell you’re going to do now.’
With that thought, Genny heads right for the house without so much as a look back, her boots crunching in the pebbles on the path, her big claw clip bouncing with every step. I turn to Tiramisu, who looks just as forlorn as Genny did. Great. The horse is pissed at me as well.
‘Stay,’ I tell the dogs. They oblige – after all, Great Pyreneesare big, adventurous babies, which is part of why Genny loves them so much. They go out with her all the time. The horses adore them, and trail riding is one of their favourite activities. Of course, though, this time the both of them have that same upset look. Chalk it up to four versus one.
It takes a modicum of effort, but I haul myself onto the horse. He doesn’t complain, so I take it as a sign that I’ve done my job right.
‘Let’s go, buddy.’ I give him a little nudge of my heels to his sides, and with a ‘Come’ to the dogs beside us, we’re off, around the back and through the path that leads to the trail.
The last time I’d been down the Whittaker Farm Trail had been in the tenth grade. Genny and Reese had just bought the farm. She was over the moon, and soon, the entire Wilson clan was on the property, all off down the trail on horses. Genny and Reese were the only ones who knew what they were doing, with me, Bia, Dad and Ma screaming along behind them. It hadn’t been our greatest moment, but it was one I never, ever forgot. I’d been under a lot of pressure from Dad, starting to come into my own in lacrosse. I definitely made a fool of myself, but for those two hours, I got to laugh and yell and live.
I do the same right now. I leave everything else in the paddock, and I focus on the ride, on the path ahead of me. Trees bend over the trail, shading us from the beating sun above. As the forest opens up, the number of trees multiplies exponentially, and strong trunks shoot up all around.
‘Good boy,’ I hum as Tiramisu clops around a fallen pile of sticks. There’s foliage everywhere you look, whether in the big green canopy above us, or the thick shrubs below. Everything is quiet, save for the huffy breathing of the horse, the quietlypanting dogs, their paws gently crunching grainy sand underfoot along the path. The solitude is refreshing, welcome.
We round a curve. In the stark silence of the forest, I hear a quiet burble in the distance – the creek. In the most random location, but I haven’t seen it in ages. I just remember getting off my horse after that first ride and jumping in like I was a starving man and the creek was an all-you-can-eat buffet, while Ma yelled something about ticks. I didn’t care (and I didn’t get a tick).
I relish every bit of the solitude, at least till we get closer and closer to the creek, and as it comes into view, I slow Tiramisu down, craning my neck to see the dogs ahead of me. ‘Stay,’ I call out. ‘Stay. Stay, stay …’
My voice rises, but Boo and Scout, of course, are not to be restrained. With happy yips all around, they bound, splashing, into the shallow water, their tails flicking droplets all over. I can’t help the smile that fills my face, or the laugh that comes soon after. It’s straight out of a movie.
But suddenly, in the not-so-gentle movement of the water upset by the beautiful dogs, in the golden rays of sun peeking through the trees that part to let in light, I feel her.
Maybe before Jordan, this trail would have been beautiful on its own, but now, the feeling I get when the sunlight falls on my forehead, and I bring Tiramisu to a halt, his hooves gently clicking against the smooth rocks at the corner of the small creek, it’s how I felt even when she was just near me. The clouds parted, and it was blue skies all the way home.
Damn it, I think to myself, a gentle hand to Tiramisu’s mane, she would love this.
I can hear her voice in my head. She occupies my life, myheart, my head. She’s become a part of my family. Everyone from my daughter to my dogs can feel it now that she’s gone.
Tiramisu’s hooves kick up water. Boo and Scout bark in unison. God. I fully let myself laugh. ‘Come on!’ I call. ‘Seriously?’
They keep on barking, all kinds of raucous noise, and when Scout returns first, all excited, ears perked, he’s so big that I can lean down just slightly and feel his scruffy, damp fur. The dogs go on interrupting the silence, filling it so easily with what might sound meaningless to me, but I know is sheer enjoyment for them.
Filling the silence.
