Chapter 25 #2
I tug at the lead lines, and the two mares follow me eagerly.
Past Caleb, who’s watching me with a concerned expression that’s probably merited but only annoys me more.
Past Colt, who obviously just heard me snap at Caleb and is now looking at me like I’m a bomb that might detonate.
Past the skid marks that tell me the ambulance arrived too late.
It takes me an hour to let all the horses out and muck out their stalls. I can hear the quiet murmur of Colt and Caleb’s voices outside the barn as I work, but I can’t distinguish anything they’re saying.
Probably for the best. I’m sure they’re talking about things I’m not ready to think about yet. Decisions will have to be made. Arrangements too.
When I emerge from the barn, they’re still standing next to Colt’s SUV.
“I’m so sorry, Lennon,” Colt says as soon as I appear.
“Thanks.” I give him a small smile, then keep walking.
Up the porch stairs, through the front door, past the kitchen, up the stairs to the second floor, and down the hall to my room. I don’t stop until I reach the twin bed tucked beneath the eaves.
I collapse on top of my comforter, not caring I’m in clothes that are damp with sweat and smell like manure. I lie face down, inhaling the familiar scent of laundry detergent and cotton.
Quiet footsteps sound on the stairs, drawing closer and closer to my bedroom. I flip over onto my back to watch Caleb cross the room and stop beside the bed. He’s pale beneath his tan, eyes worried and jaw clenched tight.
I scootch over, until the cool drywall is pressed against my arm. Caleb takes the silent invitation, lying down beside me. The bed is way too small for both of us. It’s barely big enough for me.
“Steve Fisher came over around eight to drop a program for this weekend’s races.
He noticed the horses hadn’t been turned out, so he came inside to check on Earl.
Found him on the couch and called nine-one-one.
They think it was a stroke. It was…quick.
” His voice wavers a little, but I don’t react.
“After the autopsy, they’ll transport him to the funeral home.
You’ll have to decide about the burial then.
Steve had to leave to take his granddaughter to school.
He asked Chief Everett to pass along his condolences and to let him know if he could help with anything. ”
I manage an “Okay.”
“What can I do, Lennon?”
I roll, so I’m half-lying on him. We woke up in a similar position just a few hours ago, but it feels like days have passed. “You’re doing it,” I tell him.
And then…the tears come.
* * *
The next five days pass in a daze of wandering around the farmhouse wearing cut-off jean shorts and a ratty tank top while fielding endless phone calls with the funeral home, church, and cemetery.
Kentucky is experiencing a record heat wave, and the farmhouse only has one wheezing window unit. It’s almost as miserable inside as it is out in the barn.
I watched Gramps do this twice, for each of my parents.
But in many—most—ways, he was more a parent to me than either of my actual ones.
Their deaths were defined by the mistakes they made while living.
Gramps’s is just…sad. The farmhouse is too quiet and empty without his work boots clomping up and down the stairs or his baseball games blaring from the living room.
Caleb has barely left my side since we returned from the lake. He’s worried about me. And he feels guilty. Guilty I wasn’t here. Guilty he wasn’t here. But the coroner confirmed Gramps’s death was quick and painless and there’s nothing anyone could have done, even if he hadn’t been alone.
And as much I wish I’d been here for Gramps’s final moments, I’m equally glad I wasn’t. He knew I loved him, and I know he loved me. I wish he could have been here for more of my life. But there was nothing left unsaid between us. No regrets are haunting me now.
“Can I help?”
I don’t glance up from the old jackets I’m sorting through, just keeping making piles of wool and denim to donate to charity.
“I’m almost finished.”
There’s a pause as Caleb decides how to respond. I’ve spent the past week doing an accurate imitation of a zombie. Barely eating. Hardly sleeping, though that’s partly because of the heat.
I wouldn’t blame Caleb if he left to go stay at his family’s estate.
It has air conditioning and a private chef.
But every morning he’s asleep on the couch when I come downstairs, since neither of us want to sleep in Gramps’s bedroom.
Every meal, he makes food he knows I probably won’t eat more than three bites of.
It’s so tempting to sink. To stop thinking and stop caring and just ignore everything around me. Gramps’s friends keep coming over to help with the barn chores, so I’ve barely had to do anything lately.
Caleb is keeping me afloat. And that scares me, because he’s leaving soon. He should have already left. If I let myself lean on him now, I’ll fall over once he’s gone.
“The horses are all set,” he tells me. “Tim Wilson came over and helped.”
I look up and nod.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Len…”
“I know, Caleb,” I cut him off. “Today, right?”
He sighs. “I pushed it back as far as I could.”
“I know. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I finally glance up at him.
“You could come with me.”
It’s a relief he’s finally saying the words. The strongest string tying me to Landry has been snipped.
I’m no longer tethered to this farm. To this town. But the lack of a link only makes me want to hold on tighter.
I stayed here with the horses I helped Gramps raise and train after my mother died. After my father died. After Caleb left for college. It feels right I remain here after Gramps is gone, too.
“My place off-campus is nice. The guys won’t mind if you stay with us for a while. And if you liked it, we could get our own place.”
Anxiety tightens in my chest. Not at the thought of living with Caleb. That part sounds wonderful. But about leaving Landry. It feels like losing what little I have left.
“I can’t.” I want to shove the words back in my mouth when I watch Caleb’s face fall, but I can’t bring myself to take them back. Or to explain them.
To Caleb it must seem like I’m still picking a falling-down farm over him, after almost three years of barely being together. He still doesn’t even know I got into Clarkson, and I feel guilty about that too.
“He’s gone, Lennon,” Caleb says softly. “And he wouldn’t want you to be sitting here, making piles.”
“I know he’s gone. And since he’s gone, I don’t know what he’d want.”
It’s a lie Caleb doesn’t call me out on.
He’s right. If he could see me now, Gramps would call me a coward and push me out the front door in the direction of Clarkson. He wanted me to go. He told me to go.
I gather up the pile of jackets and stand, picking my way past Caleb and down the hallway.
The entire farmhouse is in shambles. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to change anything, so I’ve gone to the opposite extreme. I’ve emptied bookshelves, strewn clothing, removed paintings from the walls. Anything and everything to stay busy.
There aren’t any empty boxes left in the hallway, so I head into my room. Caleb follows, studying me as I dump the jackets into a cardboard box and neatly label the side with a marker. I stay in motion, moving to my bed to fold the load of laundry I did at two a.m. when I couldn’t sleep.
Caleb takes a seat on the mattress next to the pile of clean clothes. I should have known he wasn’t going to drop this so quickly.
I didn’t ask him to stay, but he has. I knew it wouldn’t—couldn’t—last forever. He has a life to get back to.
I only heard Caleb’s end of the conversation, but I know his baseball coach is not pleased with the delay of his star pitcher’s attendance at a mandatory team camp.
“I’ll come back next weekend,” he tells me.
“It’s fine, Caleb. Really. I’m a big girl.” I force a smile, but he doesn’t look convinced.
“I’m worried about you, Lennon.”
“What do you want me to say, Caleb?” I ask as I fold my favorite T-shirt. “I’m sad and upset and I don’t see either of those things changing anytime soon.”
“Exactly why you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“I have the horses.”
He doesn’t reply right away. At first, I think it’s because he’s trying to come up with a way to tactfully tell me he meant company of the non-equine sort. But he’s no longer looking at me. He’s staring the piece of paper he pulled out of the book I stupidly left out on my bedside table.
“You got in.”
I bite my bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. “Yes.”
“You got in weeks ago.”
“Yes,” I repeat.
Caleb looks up at me. I watch him visibly push the anger away to keep his voice even. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“You think I’d lie to you about this?”
He stands. “You did lie to me about this, Lennon! I asked you if you’d heard back from Clarkson, and you told me that you hadn’t!”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I toss the T-shirt I’m holding back on the bed. “I didn’t know what to tell you, okay?”
“You should have told me what we both knew all along: that you were never going to go.” He shakes his head, dropping the letter onto the mattress.
“It was complicated, Caleb! I didn’t know what to do.”
“I told you we’d be fine if you stayed here, Lennon. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me. It didn’t need to change anything.”
“It would have, though,” I reply. “It would have been a choice, that I made. It would have been me choosing this farm. And I was worried it would seem like not choosing you.”
“It doesn’t have to be one or the other, Lennon. You don’t have to stay here to keep the farm. I could hire staff, or we could move the horses down the road to my family’s stables.”
“I can’t let you do that, Caleb.”
“Because of the money?” I can tell he’s fighting it, but more anger trickles into his expression.
“That’s part of it,” I admit. I was raised to work hard. Not accept hand-outs.
“I have plenty, Lennon! I could easily—”
“I know you have plenty,” I interrupt. “ You , Caleb. It’s your money.”
“To spend how I want.”
I open my mouth.
“Just think about it, Lennon.” He walks past me, headed for the doorway. “I’m going to change for the funeral.”
“Caleb.”
He stops, but doesn’t turn around. “I am sorry. I should have told you as soon as I got the letter.”
Blue eyes meet mine as Caleb glances over one shoulder. “I should have told you congratulations, Lennon. I never doubted that you’d get in.”
Just that I’d go . Neither of us say the words, but I’m certain we’re both thinking them.
As soon as he’s gone, I push over the stack of folded cloths and curl up in the center of my bed.