Chapter 25
LENNON
W e leave the lake early on Monday morning. Colt drives. Luke rides shotgun. I’m squished between Caleb and Jake in the middle seat, but I don’t really mind.
I rest my head against Caleb’s shoulder, taking advantage of the opportunity to lean against him. His hand rests on my knee, occasionally drawing circles on the bare skin.
I feel closer to him than I have in a while. Not just physically, although there’s a pleasant ache between my legs that reminds me we had more sex in the past two days than the last six months.
Caleb hasn’t mentioned me attending Clarkson again since our canoe trip, but I know he’s probably thinking about it.
I am, too.
I’m completely conflicted about what I really want.
He told me I’m his home last night.
Home can be a lot of things, I’m learning.
Landry is home.
Gramps is home.
But Caleb is my home now, too.
And I can’t have all three at once besides these small snippets of time when Caleb comes back.
This trip is longer than we’ve spent together in nearly a year, and he’s leaving in two days for a baseball camp back at Clarkson before senior year starts.
I could go with him, but I’m not sure if I can.
If I should.
I don’t know who a Lennon Matthews, who doesn’t live in Landry, Kentucky, is. I’ve never been her.
Throughout the loss and upheaval I’ve experienced, my home address always stayed the same.
I spent high school knowing I wouldn’t be able to leave for college. I made my peace with missing out on that experience years ago. Part of me was relieved, honestly. I’m comfortable taking care of Gramps and the horses. They need me. Rely on me.
Caleb doesn’t. He already has far more than I could ever offer him.
I stare out the window at the countryside flashing past, dreading the upcoming conversation I need to have with him. I still don’t know exactly what I’m going to say, but I have to tell Caleb I got into Clarkson.
Purposefully keeping it from him isn’t fair. I don’t need to tell him to know how he’s going to react, though. He’ll say he understands why I’m not going, and that we’ll make it work.
There’s no other option to change our current situation besides me transferring.
I know hardly anything about baseball, but I know Caleb is good.
Really good. I know he will be able to play professionally if he wants to.
Clarkson is a three-hour drive, but it’s the closest school to Landry with a decent baseball program.
I can take journalism classes anywhere. What I can’t do is take care of the farm and look after Gramps.
I’m disappointed when the green Landry sign flashes by, meaning we’re back in the town limits. Not only because I’m happy leaning against Caleb in the close confines of the backseat, but because I’m dreading the coming conversation.
We drop off Luke first, Jake next, then head toward Matthews Farm. There’s more room to spread out now, but I remain pressed against Caleb.
I stare out at the lush green fields as Colt drives up the familiar pothole-ridden lane that leads to the farmhouse, studying the trees that need to be pruned and the sagging fence rails that need to be replaced.
Sometimes—a lot of the time—it feels like I’m failing on all fronts.
I’m an absentee girlfriend.
An underachieving granddaughter.
An abysmal farmer.
Repairs take time and money, both of which are limited resources. Having horses that are fed and sheltered and exercised is the highest standard I can strive for. Attending community college rather than the highly ranked one Gramps wants me to allows me to meet that low bar.
We pass the start of the east pasture, and I look for Dusty in her usual spot under the massive oak.
She’s not there.
A chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning blasting from the car vents spreads across my skin.
Caleb feels me tense. “What’s wrong?”
“Dusty’s not under the tree.”
To most people—to anyone except him—that sentence would make absolutely no sense. I catch Colt’s puzzled look in the rearview mirror.
Caleb realizes what I’m saying immediately. He’s helped me turn the horses out. He knows Dusty should have been let out in the east pasture along with the rest of the mares several hours ago, and the fact that she isn’t there is strange.
We keep driving along.
Neither of the stallions are in the west pasture, either.
Caleb’s hand tightens on my knee.
We round the final bend in the driveway, and there’s my worst nightmare, spread out before me like a pop-up book.
There’s an ambulance, a police car, and a pickup truck I recognize as belonging to Mike Foreman, one of Gramps’s old racing buddies who often stops by.
But there’s no sign of my grandfather. And, suddenly, I just know .
I know that I’ve lost the only living family I had left.
I don’t remember how I found out my mother had passed. I only remember Gramps holding me when I got home from school that day, telling me everything was going to be okay.
I do recall how two Landry police officers came to our door one July morning to tell us my father’s body had been found at the racetrack. I also recall how Gramps told me I still had him—how I would always have him.
Colt slams on the brakes. It jars me back to the present tragedy.
Horror is appearing on Caleb’s face as he absorbs the scene before us.
I slide out of the opposite side of the car and walk straight up to Bob Everett, Landry’s chief of police.
He fiddles with his belt buckle as I approach, dread filling the lines of his weathered face.
This is a small town. He knows how many losses I’ve already faced.
Knows this one will be the hardest to recover from.
Grief isn’t something you become accustomed to.
Each time, it hits differently.
“He’s gone?”
Chief Everett nods, slowly. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lennon. Is there anyone we can call?”
“No.” I laugh, but nothing about this moment is the least bit funny. “No. There’s no one.”
He nods again, already having known the answer to the question he was obligated to ask.
I’m barely cognizant of anything happening around me as I sink down onto the bottom step of the front porch stairs and rest my forehead on my knees. Voices swim around me in a distant din of noise. The fire truck departs. Two paramedics talk quietly as they walk about our overgrown front yard.
I’ve thought about this moment.
Gramps’s health has been bad for years. There were days he barely dragged himself out of bed.
I imagined him falling on the stairs one morning or calling out to me in the middle of the night.
Pictured having to rush him to the local hospital for an emergency procedure.
Decided who I’d call to help with the horses while I sat in the waiting room.
But this outcome never occurred to me. I never thought I would leave and return to find him gone.
If Gramps had any choice in the matter, I know this is the way he would have wanted to go, though, and that’s just about the only thing holding me together right now.
Someone takes a seat beside me. I know that it’s Caleb before he even speaks. “They’re ready to go. Do you want to see him?”
His words are matter-of-fact. No pity or devastation. Caleb is good in a crisis. He’s reliable and steady, always there when I need him.
“No.” I don’t have to think about my answer before speaking.
I want to remember Gramps smiling down at me from the porch before I left for Colt’s birthday party. Telling me he’s proud of me.
Not cold and still and no longer breathing.
My gaze is still aimed at the ground, but I hear Caleb stand to tell the ambulance to leave with Gramps’s body.
Tires roll aways a few minutes later. I don’t move, trying to reconcile what my life will look like with such a central component of it missing for good.
There’s a distant whinny a few minutes later, and that’s what finally sends a jolt of direction through me.
Gramps wasn’t the only one here who relied on me.
I raise my head, taking in the surroundings.
The front yard looks normal, and it’s worse than having the emergency vehicles out front as a beacon of bad news.
The stretch of grass that’s more weeds than blades looks the same as always.
As it did when Gramps was about to walk out of the barn or drive up in his old truck.
Colt’s SUV is still here, closer to the barn than it was when I climbed out of it. He must have moved it to let the other vehicles leave. Colt is leaning against the driver’s side door, talking intently with Caleb.
They both glance over as I stand and walk toward the barn. Colt’s expression is somber. I don’t look at Caleb. I’m worried I won’t be able to keep it together if I do.
I know this must be hitting him hard. Not only were he and Gramps close, but I’m sure it’s occurred to him by now this means he’s all I have left.
I head straight into the tack room, grabbing halters from the row of hooks just inside the door. Impatient hooves clang against wood panels as the horses realize someone is finally paying attention to them.
Her stall is furthest, but I walk to Dusty’s first. She nuzzles me as soon as the door is open. I’m tempted to bury my face in her mane and cry. But if I let myself fall apart right now, I won’t be able to pull myself back together for a while.
I slip Dusty’s halter on and lead her out into the aisle, pausing to put Stormy’s halter on her as well. Stormy tosses her head, making her displeasure about being cooped up all morning known. She is blissfully unaware of how badly I wish Gramps had woken up this morning to let her out.
I’m struggling to buckle her halter in place when I hear Caleb’s voice. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” There’s a bite to the words that I don’t mean to include but can’t seem to curb. Shock is ebbing away, leaving behind a whole host of ugly feelings swirling inside of me like a tornado.
“You don’t have to. I can…”
“It’s fine.”