Chapter 27
River
I’m mid-yawn when I glance over and see that Gabriel Tate is in my bed. And the urge to spoon with him this morning hits me so hard I have to physically draw my hand back from his face, back from moving a lock of his golden hair out of his sleeping face.
We kissed last night. Hallelujah and praises be. I palpitate my lips, shuddering at the memory.
I have to think, without the cloudiness in judgement that will come the longer I’m in his bed, so I’m up, sloppily dressed, and out of the house and into the morning light. Hey, this way, Gabriel is stuck with dog duty this morning!
But I know that’s not the real reason I’ve fled.
First, I pace in front of the cottage. Then, I start out down the mountain in earnest, batting away a couple of wasps who dare get in my way. If I’d had time to buy myself a new journal, since my old ones are still lost somewhere in storage, I’d be venting in that. But I don’t even have a car, and I haven’t gotten around to asking Gabriel to take me to buy a new one.
I half wonder if someone stole my journals and they’re going to put them up on Reddit and have the whole world critique them. And then everyone would know that though I look like a functioning adult, I really am just a tween still, with zits to pop and crushes on boys.
Which leads me to also wonder that if I had a journal, what would I write about last night? Would I inhale a long drag of my strawberry-scented pen and then launch into all the ways Gabriel Tate is delicious and charming? That the way he kisses is so good it shouldn’t even be called a kiss? I need to invent a new word for what that was.
Would I write all that? Followed by “River and Gabriel Tate”
with a bunch of hearts written in pink ink?
I want to.
Which is why I’m walking like a stampede of bulls is heading my direction. Because, as has been noted, I don’t run. But I can speed walk with the best of them, and I’m positively murdering this mountain road with the slap of my sneakers.
Last night, for the first time, our relationship felt real. All the fake stuff was gone. And when he kissed me, I wanted it. It was just him and me, nothing else.
I was disappointed when he stopped at kissing.
It’s all for the best and hallelujah he had the wherewithal to stop.
Doesn’t mean some small part of me wasn’t disappointed. I can be a woman who’s disappointed I couldn’t have more with my husband.
He said he wants us to be married for real. To come clean about our less than favorable beginnings and have an honest marriage.
Of course, I was in his bed, half-naked in my old bathrobe that he, for whatever reason, loves. That could have been why he said those things, right?
The small splotches of color beginning to form on the quakies’ leaves are shining in the sunlight. Up ahead, I see Sebastian-and-Elianna-shaped forms. I guess walking along their own road is a normal thing for a married couple to do on a Sunday morning.
“It’s River! Hey!”
Elianna’s blonde curls piled into a high side pony bounce as she and Sebastian make their way to me.
Elianna is in an adorable teal Lycra get-up that screams ‘90s Barbie doll. However, The Sebastian Tate in an old holey T-shirt with a faded graphic of Honey Grahams and basketball shorts with one of his pockets turned out like he just picked them up off the floor?
Did I wake up in a different dimension?
He gives a formal wave—which is more on brand, thank heavens—and then Elianna says to him, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m going to talk to River.”
And she kisses his cheek and joins me on my rage walk.
I don’t feel much like talking, which she senses immediately, so we just walk for a while. When we reach the black Hardi Board house she helped Sebastian finish, we keep walking.
“Being married to a Tate is complicated,”
she finally says. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s amazing. Those men know how to love strong. They are just big hearts in nice bodies, I’m telling you. But you guys moved so fast, I guess I’m just wondering how you’re doing? Now that you’ve been married a whole what . . .?”
“Two weeks!”
“It’s a lot of changes all at once.”
“It is,”
I agree. “But we don’t regret it.”
She gives me side-eye but nods. “How’s Skye doing with the transition?”
“Far too well. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“You think something’s going to happen? Like, she’ll want to come home or something?”
“No. I mean, I was convinced we were days or weeks from her wanting to come back home to me. Not that she and I have a home anymore.”
“Could she stay with you in the cottage?”
“No room.”
Our pace begins to slow to a less murderous one. “Anyway, no, the problem is I’m scared she won’t ever want to leave Caring Souls.”
“And that’s a problem because . . .?”
“It’s new, is all. And I don’t know about the care she’s receiving.”
I think of Jana and amend my words. “They’re great there, but fairly hands-off. It’s not like Skye’s used to.”
Elianna lifts a shoulder. “If she likes it, maybe she’s ready for more freedom.”
I hope she’s right. I do want more freedom for Skye. “Maybe she is. I can’t help wondering if there will come a time when she’ll get overwhelmed and need help and no one there will know what to do. And I swear she’s eating more junk than ever before.”
To be fair, I saw a chart of what they’ve been serving, and it’s not all that bad. It’s certainly more balanced than every variety of pretzels the grocery store carries.
It’s strange not having a say on what she eats anymore.
Am I trying to control?
A wasp buzzes in my ear, and I whoosh my head out and away from it. The buzz feels like an answer to my question. Maybe I am trying to control something that’s impossible to pin down. Maybe by letting go—only a tad, mind you—I’d be opening Skye up to more possibilities.
Which is exactly what my parents wanted for her. And for me.
“I’m sure it’s hard not to be living with her anymore,”
Elianna supplies. “I’m sure you miss her.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Yeah. I do.”
“River, you’re an incredible sister. Your parents would be proud.”
I want that so badly. “Lately I’ve been thinking more and more about my mom and dad.”
Elianna knows about what happened to them. We’ve talked about it before, when it was the third anniversary of their deaths in the spring and she and Sebastian brought me a huge bouquet of hydrangeas.
“Getting married and having Skye moving on with life is bound to bring up memories of your parents. I’m sorry they couldn’t be at the reception the other night.”
She reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder.
“Me, too.”
Real or not, I wish they could have been there. The ache over them missing it curls through me, leaving a heavy grief behind my breastbone.
And the thought of Gabriel has me aching even more. I’m falling for my husband, and that’s something you want to talk to your mom about.
I promptly change the subject to the upcoming play Elianna is producing. Tate International is putting on My Fair Lady with the community acting troupe. She asks me to help her with content creation to promote the play and soon, our conversation is back to safer territory: work.
By the time Elianna turns around to go home, I’ve settled on the realization that, after last night with Gabriel, there’s no going back to our pretend relationship.
I simply cannot.
The need to see him and talk with him causes actual pain in my bones. I want to wrap myself in the smell of him.
Except, I haven’t opened up my heart to anything since my parents died. Why would I run the risk? Feeling hurts too much.
Besides, did he even mean the things he said?
I pick up my pace again, taking long, fast strides as I continue down the mountain on the road’s shoulder. I don’t remember the last time I could go on a walk like this. When I lived with Skye, I certainly couldn’t be away this long. And when her caregiver was there, I always had to be at work. I couldn’t be this frivolous with my time.
But breathing in the cool air, I feel alive. Free. It feels un-frivolous. It feels essential. And I can’t get thoughts of a future with Gabriel out of my head.
I pass the wild shrubbery on either side of the road, the scrub oak eventually giving way to a small pond and pastures on either side. I’m not far from Tate International now. The sun has risen enough that it’s fully light, the rays illuminating my vision. My path.
I have to get back to Gabriel. My feet turn right around, and I start the arduous task of heading back up the mountain.
Which is . . . strenuous. It would help if I exercised more. And now that Skye doesn’t need my undivided attention, maybe I will. I swallow down a sadness I don’t understand. Because it’s good that she’s becoming more independent. It’s good that she’s where she’s at, and I can tell she’s happy.
So why am I gutted when I think of her?
The road vibrates under my feet, and it takes me only a moment to realize what’s going on. I’ve nearly reached the bend in the road that opens up to cow pastures, above and to the west of Tate International. The vibrating ground tells me it’s cattle drive time.
A sea of cows, mostly black and brown, headed by a rancher on horseback, approach the road, belting and bleating out their unhappiness at having to walk such a long way. Their faces hold a dramatic woe as they bellow at me to help them.
I hear ya, buddies. My body is screaming, too.
Dust flies in the air as the throng presses against itself in a swarm in front of me. They’re crossing the road in a mass of bovine power, like a river of cows has poured over the road and is flowing across to the other side. There must be hundreds of them. One of the ranchers, from high above me on her horse, scowls resolutely as if to say, Settle in because this is going to take a while.
I didn’t count on this. I want to get to Gabriel, and I didn’t even bring my phone. Now I’m stranded by the crossing cattle, and he doesn’t know where I am. To be fair, the cell service on the mountain top sucks, especially for my phone. But I could have left him a note.
Is he awake and worried about me? And not just because he has to take care of Lunch Lady Liz?
Finally, I trudge up the rise off the side of the road and above the press of cattle. I walk uphill several yards until I’m high over the cattle drive. A large stump, halfway toppled over from some unseen force years before looks like a good place to sit. The rancher’s expression was right. I’d better settle in. For all the cows’ belly aching, they’re not moving very fast. Besides, there’s a sea of them. How in the world does anyone keep track of all these ladies?
My thoughts again turn to Gabriel while I sit and wait. It’s going to be a long while until I can head back up. And although I appreciate being forced to rest, it’s taking too long. I want to see my husband.
The thought of him being my husband doesn’t feel strange or make me feel like I can’t be there for Skye, that I’m failing her somehow, or indulgent, or shirking my responsibilities. I’m excited. I’m married to Gabriel Tate, and it feels good.
“River!”
Now I’m imagining his voice. The cattle’s mooing is starting to reverberate in my head, conjuring up all sorts of fake sounds. Listen to the cows long enough, and you’ll start to imagine they’re speaking English to you, too.
But I hear it again, more clearly this time. So I stand from the stump and look down the rise at the cows filing past guided by the ranchers on horseback.
It’s then that I see him, across the great cattle drive of the century on the ridge opposite mine, waving both arms over his head. I lift a hand to let him know that I see him. I raise my shoulders to convey I’d come over there, but I’ve got a hundred half ton beasts in between us.
I brighten in a smile, mostly because he’s so cute across the great divide. Like he’s my hero come to rescue me from the mean and ornery old cows. He grins and waves again, but it’s insistent, like he wants me to make it over to him.
Gabriel, in what universe do you think that is going to work?
I raise my shoulders and hands in an exaggerated move and shake my head.
The need to get to him presses on my stomach and throat.
I need Gabriel.
I fantasize about grabbing handfuls of cow hair and pulling myself up on one of them bareback and somehow getting her to turn and go towards him in the sea of her friends.
But that would never work, obviously.
That fantasy is interrupted by a sharp, stinging pinch on my neck.
And then another one on the back of my arm.
And another on my shoulder.
Ow!
Did I not hear the buzzing because of the noisy cows? Now I’m surrounded by them.
Still, all I can think about is getting to Gabriel.