36. Thirty-Six #2
“There’s not a huge profit in it,” I continue.
“But it builds our customer base. It’s little work for us, and nice for them to have a comfortable, safe space.
Thanks to the studio, we have a new meeting space.
Dot and I are planning another structure and an expanded playground where the garden is now.
So, with two new spaces, we can accommodate more groups. ”
“What about scheduling?” Trisha asks.
“With the new software, they book themselves. Trisha and I will approve any new groups that want to use the facility. Once approved, they’re given an access code for scheduling, select refreshment packages, and pay online.
Our app will let us know what’s on that day’s schedule.
It’s hands-off for me, which means less chance of mistakes.
I’ve contacted more support groups. Soon, we’ll have two UNCW dog training classes here, Pets for Vets, and WPD’s mounted police division doing their annual safety training at Saddletree.
We always envisioned Saddletree as a retreat and place of connection for groups that need it.
This move will prioritize them and get us back to our roots. ”
Applause breaks out, filling me with relief and pride. Saddletree’s future feels hopeful, even if other parts of my life don’t. Still, I glance at Ben, standing opposite me by the house, and I nearly fall out.
A warm smile stretches over his lips, and he drops his folded arms to sign, “I’ve never been more excited for Saddletree. Excellent work. I’m proud of you.”
With the group distracted by chatter and unable to understand us anyway, I sign back, “Thanks for helping me. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
Warming admiration flashes over his face like my words have stirred forgotten feelings. He signs, “It’s no trouble.”
A brief chuckle escapes, and my fingers work furiously to ask, “Ready to come home yet?”
His brow pinches with surprise, even though I ask it whenever we’re together, in case he wants to but can’t say it. His face quickly morphs with pity—a look I hate from anyone, most of all him—and my sadness compounds like blood thickening around my heart.
Still, I wait him out, staring until he answers the question, however much it hurts. I think of Dr. Reese’s advice at our last session that I shouldn’t hold back, that Ben needs my openness. I sign exactly what I’m thinking. “Please, Ben. You are killing me. I love you, and you’re killing me.”
He breaks eye contact to stare at his boots—that’s my answer. But then, as hope oozes from my pores with my anxiety sweat, his hands move again. “Let’s talk after.”
“All of this is well and good, Lena,” Alice says, breaking my trance, “but will you still host Jack’s poker nights? If he’s not helping you with spring planting—”
“Don’t worry,” I say, perking up. “I’ve already scheduled some groups as recurring bookings, including poker night.”
She sighs. “Good. Those idiots get even dumber on poker night.”
Now wanting to end this meeting as soon as possible, I continue, “The app is ready for scheduling starting in December, so until then, we’ll continue training, fine-tuning the menu and staff, and advertising our grand reopening.
I want to do a huge social media kick in November to excite people.
I’ll also be looking for ideas on how to make Christmas at Saddletree very special this year… so think about it.”
Murmuring starts between the tables.
“What about the new logo?” Trisha asks between conversations. “We’ll need that for social media.”
“Cherry has her portfolio with her.” I motion to the large leather binder propped against the railing. “Let’s see it.”
Her eyes cut to Ben, but she squares her jaw, slaps the leather binder on the table, and unzips it. She extracts the large, penciled sketch, holding it up for everyone to see.
My breath catches, and my heart quickens.
It’s the perfect logo for Saddletree.
Almost. As beautiful as it is, what’s missing is obvious.
Mom’s tree, outlined in apple green, stands out against a gold half-moon.
The artful lines of the detailed leaves and Spanish moss give the impression of movement—it looks like it’s swaying in the breeze.
A pink swing hangs from its thickest branch, holding a little girl wearing distinctive rubber boots.
Leaning against the tree trunk is a stenciled version of me, one knee up, hair waving.
It’s Ruthie and me sharing a tree moment, as we’ve done hundreds of times.
Trisha gasps. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s Saddletree,” Mr. Wickers agrees.
“Gorgeous, really. It makes me so happy, I could cry,” Marnie gushes.
“I love it,” Alice says. “Such happy colors.”
“Pink, green, and gold. It’ll never get old,” Shakespeare says.
“The colors are nice, but it’s, um…” I suddenly feel hot, like it’s high summer, and I’m mid-marathon. “Um…”
Ruthie hops closer. “It’s me! And you, Mommy. But where’s—”
“Ruthie,” Ben’s voice is sharp. He waves her over, and she quickly complies.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him leaning down to Ruthie’s level, talking, but I focus on the group. “It’s not right, Cherry. It’s missing Ben.”
Dot and Cherry stand like a united front, pulling me into their circle.
“I didn’t include Ben for a reason,” Cherry argues in a heated whisper. “You don’t want a logo that doesn’t fit anymore.”
“Cher has a point, Lena, babe,” Dot says. “This is about the future of Saddletree.”
Panic rises at the idea that this could be my future—a life here without him. It’s certainly my present. But he wants to talk. And he belongs here. With us. With me.
“I don’t care,” I say between labored breaths. “Saddletree is our story. His, mine, and Ruthie’s. I want him in the logo.”
Dot and Cherry give me a stare-down before Cherry shrugs. “Fine.”
She pulls out a second drawing, identical to the first, but with Ben beside me, his arm perched against the bark, leaning close like he’s telling me a joke.
It takes my breath away.
“This is the first one I did,” she explains, “but I wanted to see if you’d go for the revised version for your own sake.”
“That’s Saddletree,” I tell her, smiling through fresh tears.
I look for Ben over the gathered crowd as they wriggle in to see the other design. But he’s gone.
Ruthie bobbles over, sloshing her lemonade.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Had to go,” she says.
I circle to the front of the house, but it’s too late. His Jeep bumps quickly down the driveway. So much for talking later.
I end the meeting, and the group lazily disbands, offering muted encouragement and brief congrats on the changes, while I nod, smile, and secretly fall apart.
Alice leaves last, giving me a pointed look. “Hang in there, Lena. The world ain’t over until we see the zombies or feel the blast.”
I nod. “Might be soon.”
“Okay, well, find us in the basement… you know the door, right?”
“Yes, thanks, Alice. You’ve never steered me wrong.”
She smiles. “No, I haven’t. You remember that.” She squeezes my hand before leaving.
In the barn’s open doorway, I watch Ruthie play with dogs and try to bring my roller coaster emotions back into the station. My feelings aren’t my reality.
But it’s no use.
A dark, unthinkable reality strangles my leftover hope. The longer he’s away, the more I know my worst fear is coming true.
Ben’s not coming back.