Chapter 8
By the time Friday rolls around, it seems that Julien and I have had at least a dozen conversations with each other.
At first it was emails here and there asking specific questions.
Then it was a text thread of reactions from the bookstore.
That led to more texts and emails while he was in the office, some requesting my professional opinion on one matter or another, but others were just funny anecdotes about his coworkers.
I about died laughing when he sent me a screenshot of a message from his assistant apologizing for the inconvenience of coming in late due to a dental appointment but autocorrect had changed it to I’m sorry for the incontinence.
The worry-filled text about his father’s nosebleed that lasted longer than normal wasn’t so funny.
I’m really not sure what to call this development between Julien and me.
We have a mutual need of the other for our careers, but the way I instantly want to text him when something happens lately—like when I sent him a picture of the most adorable infant gumming on a Squire board book, or how it was him I wanted to confide in with how hard it was saying good-bye to my last LEGO Builders group—makes it seem like we’re more than just colleagues.
It makes it seem like we’re genuine friends.
Like we’ve been friends all our lives, even.
Honestly, it’s a bit strange. Nice. But strange.
But I don’t have the time to dwell on any of that right now because a billow of dust plumes out behind an unfamiliar car coming up the Andersons’ unpaved driveway.
I wave when the car gets closer and motion for the driver to park beside my old Ford Focus.
A young woman steps out of the driver’s side a few moments later, tall and willowy and sharing the same thick brown hair as her brother.
“You must be Trinity,” I say as I hold out my hand.
She gives a firm shake along with a bright smile. “That’s me.” She sweeps her gaze around the property, taking in the white fencing around the two pastures and the Tennessee Walkers grazing contentedly on short shoots of grass. “It’s really nice out here.”
“Thanks. I think so too. C’mon and let me show you around. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson will be down in a little bit to meet you, but before that, let me run you through all the chores you’ll be responsible for while I’m gone.”
“Sounds good.”
I lead her through the open barn doors into the stable.
The stalls are empty as all the horses are currently turned out to pasture.
I open the first door and flick on the light switch.
“This is the feed room. Everything is clearly marked, and I have all the instructions printed out here.” I pull down a clipboard hanging from a nail on the wall.
“They get fed in the morning and the evening. In fact, it’s time to get their feed ready.
Want to help me so you know what to do?”
Trinity readily agrees so I walk her through knowing which feed bucket goes to which horse—they’re color-coded—and how much feed to give.
After we’ve scooped everything out, we take the buckets to the stalls and refill all the water buckets as well as distribute flakes of hay for the horses to munch on.
“I’ve already mucked the stalls, and you can decide if you’d like to do that in the morning after you turn the horses out to pasture or in the evening before you bring them back in, but the stalls need to be cleaned every day.
” I point out where the wheelbarrow, pitchfork, and sawdust are. “Any questions so far?” I ask.
Trinity looks around, seeming to consider if there’s anything she needs more clarification on. “Levi said you trade rent for the work you do here. I didn’t know arrangements like that even existed. How’d you hear about it?”
“Word of mouth.” I brush off a piece of hay clinging to my shirt.
“My parents work in the private service industry and caught wind of this opportunity. I was able to meet with the Andersons before they put any official notices out, and I’ve been living and working here ever since.
” I turn toward the stairs that lead to my apartment above the stables.
“Speaking of, would you like to look around the living area? See where you’ll be staying? ”
“Lead the way.”
It’s a studio-style apartment, so it doesn’t take too long to show Trinity the features.
I assure her I’ll have clean sheets on the bed for her and that she’s more than welcome to help herself to anything I have in the fridge while she’s there.
She’s looking at some framed photography I have hanging on the wall when I glance down at my watch and notice the time.
“We should head back down. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson will be down from the main house any minute.”
Trinity follows me out of the apartment and down the stairs.
I’m introducing her to the horses in the pasture, pointing out the different colored halters they wear that match the feed buckets and the name plaques on the stall doors when footsteps crunch on the gravel behind us.
I turn and smile at my employers/landlords/friends.
“Trinity Redding, I’d like you to meet Alan and MaryAnn Anderson.”
They shake hands, smiling in greeting at one another.
“It’s so nice to meet you, my dear,” MaryAnn says, all politeness and sincerity. “Martha tells us you go to Clemson?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“What’s your major?” Alan asks.
“Occupational therapy, sir.”
“Well now, that’s terrific.” MaryAnn beams. “Alan and I have been talking for years about looking into using our horses for therapeutic needs. Do you know anything about that?”
Trinity’s grin widens. “I would love to use hippotherapy when I’m fully licensed.”
“Is that what it’s called?” MaryAnn asks.
“Hippotherapy refers to the practice that occupational and physical therapists use that incorporates a horse’s movement to engage sensory, neuromotor, and cognitive systems,” Trinity explains.
“Oh, I’d love to learn more,” MaryAnn says.
Trinity launches into the subject with the enthusiasm of a Trekkie at Comic-Con.
Both Alan and MaryAnn seem thoroughly engrossed, and I relax a bit now that everyone seems to be hitting it off.
The Andersons are sweet people. They usually don’t mind if I take a couple of days off here and there, and they look after the horses themselves while I’m away, but they’re also going out of town the same time I am, so it’s fortuitous that Trinity is available and the Andersons are comfortable with her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I don’t want to be rude. It buzzes again. And again. Who’s trying to get ahold of me so impatiently?
When it buzzes a fifth time, I start to worry. Is there an emergency? Has something happened to Mom or Dad? No, they’d call, not text. It buzzes again.
Well, now my curiosity is overpowering my good manners.
I glance at Trinity and the Andersons. They seem to be in their own little bubble discussing all things equine therapy.
I take a half step back out of our small circle and turn away slightly, pulling my phone out of my pocket.
There are two separate text notification bubbles, so all that buzzing hadn’t come from one person. I tap on the first one.
Mom
Can you come for dinner an hour earlier than planned tomorrow?
I quickly type out yeah, that’s fine, then send the message and open the other unread text thread.
Julien
*picture of a pigeon perched on the windshield wipers of a parked school bus*
Julien
Do you see this? Is this a children’s book come to life right now?
Julien
Should I warn the bus driver not to let the pigeon drive the bus?
Julien
You won’t believe this, but it just jumped off the bus onto the sidewalk where IT FOUND A HOT DOG!
A bark of laughter I’m unable to contain punches out of me. The sound draws everyone’s attention, and I try to cover my interruption with a cough behind a closed fist, followed by a mumbled apology.
“Do you need to get some water, dear?” MaryAnn asks.
I pat my chest. “No, no. I think I’m fine now.”
“If you’re sure.” She turns back to Trinity. “It was so nice to meet you. You’ve given Alan and me a lot to think about.”
“It was so nice to meet you as well Mrs. Anderson, Mr. Anderson.”
The Andersons both meet my gaze and give a small head nod, their approval for Trinity to take over my duties while we’re all out of town. I smile and dip my chin. With that, they stroll hand-in-hand back up the drive toward their house.
“That went well. Want to help me bring the horses in for the evening and we’ll finish up?” I hand Trinity a lead rope, grab another, and make my way toward the pasture gate.