Chapter 26 Winnie
WINNIE
The next two weeks pass by quickly. I spend every day helping out at the barn, working with Rosie. Candice obviously does most of the training, but I help where I can and I’m learning a lot. Once Rosie is ready, Candice is going to teach me how to ride.
Shelley has asked the court to dismiss my parents’ suit and we’re waiting to hear back from the judge.
Even if we’re successful, I know that they won’t stop there.
Every day I have a small kernel of anxiety in my stomach about them.
It’s persistent and it never quite goes away, reminding me that even if I escaped, I’m still not free.
The temperature drops even further, and I find myself having to layer up more than I ever imagined possible.
Jonah always has a fire going in the evenings, though, and it keeps us warm.
We have a Friendsgiving celebration at the Wilson’s, and Jonah’s parents attend as well.
His dad gives me a hug, and his mom makes polite conversation with me, which feels like a win.
It’s my first time loading my plate up with whatever I want, and I almost die from how good Beau’s cooking is.
I feel a small twinge of guilt over how much I eat, but I quickly wash that thought away with some mulled apple cider.
Currently, it’s the evening after, and I’m watching Jonah fiddle around with his guitar. He’s trying to finish writing a song, and I can tell he’s stuck somewhere on it. He keeps playing the same few bars over and over again, and his eyes are growing stormy with frustration.
“What’s this song for, anyways?” I ask him once he pauses strumming.
“I have nine songs I want to record, but the album should have at least ten. This is supposed to be the tenth.” He sets his guitar down and rubs his face in a gesture I’m starting to become fond of. “I can’t quite work out the melody, though. It’s missing something.”
“Play it for me again.” I give him an encouraging smile. “And sing some of the lyrics as well.”
“You’ve already heard it about twenty times.” He picks his guitar up again though, and starts strumming. He just hums along though, rather than singing. I guess he hasn’t decided on all of the words yet.
I watch his fingers attentively, admiring the way he plays, and wishing that I had been allowed to dedicate myself to an instrument in the way he clearly has. Sure, I can sing pretty well and play basic things on the piano, but I’ve always wanted to have more than one instrument at my disposal.
When Jonah gets to bridge, which is the part that is causing issues, I say, “Wait, stop there. Try this.” I hum the notes that I think will fit there, and then repeat it. “What about that? I think it fits with what comes after better. And this is in E, right?”
Jonah is staring at me with a surprised expression on his face, his eyes now clear and wide. He strums the chords again, and together we hum the melody I’ve just suggested together.
“Yeah, that will work. Really well, actually. How’d you do that?”
“I’ve listened to a lot of music.” I shrug.
“So have I,” he says. “But do you write?”
“No. I don’t understand that much music theory.” I wave my hand in the air. “But I have a good ear from singing so much.”
“Clearly,” he says. “You worked that out in thirty seconds and I struggled with it for days.”
“Well, I was motivated. I’ve been listening to you play it for days and maybe I just wanted you to finally play something else.”
Jonah lets out a laugh at my joke, which makes me smile. Things are good between us. As good as you’d hope for things to be between you and your uh, fake, well, not fake but also not real husband.
“Oh yeah? What else do you want me to play?”
“Do you know Eva Cassidy?” I ask hopefully.
“Yeah, I do. A once in a lifetime voice, she had.” He strums a bit of “Fields of Gold.” “I always liked her version of this more than Sting’s.”
I nod, and listen to him play. When he stops, I say softly, “She also has a beautiful version of “Over the Rainbow.”
“You and that song.” He shakes his head and rewards me with another smile.
“I just—I don’t know. I love it. It speaks to something deep inside of me, I think. Something that feels like hope, but bigger. And more painful.”
“Careful pageant queen, that might be a complicated emotion you just expressed.”
Jonah’s comment startles me and I worry that he’s making fun of me, until I meet his face and find something strange written on it. Something that looks a lot like pride.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a pageant queen anymore,” I mumble.
“No, you’re not,” Jonah says slowly. “You’re something else entirely. Something much better.”
I blush and look away. I dig my phone out of the couch cushion and scroll until I find Eva Cassidy’s version of the song. I press play and her gentle guitar strumming fills the room.
“Judy Garland’s version is pure. It’s happy and mournful all at once. But this…this is also perfect. Eva does something with it that just shatters me,” I say.
Jonah nods, and listens to the song for a few moments, and then starts to play it on his guitar, adding his own twists here and there.
He keeps going, and then starts again and looks at me, a challenge on his face.
I know what he wants. He wants me to sing.
But I don’t do that anymore. Do I? Maybe not up on a stage, but I sang in the shower the other day and with Candice, Jenny, and Lila.
What’s the harm in singing here, where only Jonah can hear me?
And the music is calling to me. I’ve never tried to sing Eva’s version of this because I always sang the classic version of it during the talent portion. But I want to give it a go, and Jonah is just playing the same opening chords over and over again, waiting for me to join in.
I open my mouth, and the first notes come out weak and rough, and I realize my throat is dry.
I take a gulp of the tea I’ve let get cold, and then I start again.
This time, I actually sound okay. I get through the first verse and start feeling good.
I get to the second, and start to make it my own.
I add runs where I want to, not just where Eva does, and I throw a little Judy in as well.
Jonah plays beautifully and together we fill the house with music that makes my heart ache.
I don’t realize that I’ve started to cry until we reach the final lines.
And Jonah must know I’m going to struggle to sing them, just like I did in the shower the other day, because he joins me, lending me the support of his strong, soulful bass.
The tears come even more quickly now, but I get the last lines of the song out.
I hastily wipe my face and feel it getting hot. I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of someone.
No, that’s not true. I do. It was in front of my mom and dad, after I didn’t place in the Miss United States pageant and they spent an hour berating me for it. Even pageant queens crack, I said. Not the ones who win, was my mom’s retort.
The memory just makes me cry harder, and I bury my face in my hands, hoping to shut everything else out.
But then I feel Jonah’s weight dip the couch seat next to me, and I feel his arms come around me.
He pulls me against his chest, and then wraps one arms under my knees, completely encircling me. Holding me safe.
“You can cry as much as you want,” he says gruffly. “But I hope at least a few of those tears are happy tears, Win.”
“Why?” I gurgle.
“Because we sounded good together, and you should be proud.”
It’s freezing outside, with snow piled in heaps around the paddocks and icicles hanging from the roofs. Nathan and Tomás are currently clearing them off. I offered to help, but then took one look at the ladders they were using and decided to make hot mash for the horses instead.
“Here you go, you cutie,” I say, plopping down the bucket in front of Fuzz. He’s short and stocky, and his coat is now long and shaggy. “You look like an Icelandic pony, Fuzz.”
He snorts in response and then buries his face in his mash.
He’s currently on a diet since he can’t exercise much with his hooves being in the state they’re in, but he still gets a half portion of mash.
Jonah has been keeping a close eye on him, and apparently the treatment he devised with Beau is working well.
Fuzz has even developed a budding friendship with Rosie, who is in the stall next door.
“Hello princess,” I say to her. She pops her head over the door to greet me, and even presses her muzzle against my chest briefly. She’s still an anxious horse, but she’s come a long way since her first day here. “It’s a bit too cold outside for you today, isn’t it?”
Rosie looks extremely cute with her now shaggier winter coat, but it’s still not as long as some of the other horses, and she doesn’t enjoy being outside in the snow as much as Maggie and Brown Sugar do.
She’s content being in her warm and cozy stall for part of the day, and I suspect that’s because she used to live in Florida.
“That’s one thing we have in common, Rosie,” I say. “Enjoying the warmth.” I’m wearing as many layers as I could fit under my coat today, and reluctantly traded in my pink boots for warmer work boots.
I set the mash down in Rosie’s stall, and she immediately dives for it, sounds of her slopping away filling the barn.
I pull up a stool next to the stall door, and perch on it.
I’ve got a lot on my mind and Rosie is the perfect listener: she never presses for more information or judges me.
Candice wouldn’t either, but I still feel too conflicted over what Jonah and I shared last night to tell anyone about it.
“I thought I never wanted to sing for anyone else ever again,” I tell Rosie. “I thought that part of my life was over. But singing with Jonah felt good. It hurt too, but the good kind of hurt.”
Rosie pauses her slurping and then answers by making an utterly obscene sound with her mash, and I can’t help but smile.
“I thought that I had to let go of my past life completely in order to become someone new. But what if there are parts of my past life that I want to keep? What if singing is one of those things? I could sing at the Neon Horseshoe sometime…” I trail off, too unsure to finish the thought.
Singing with Jonah is one thing, but singing for a bar full of people?
I’m not sure I could do it without being reminded of my pageant days.
Rosie pops her head over the doorway, finished with her food and looking expectantly at me for more. Her muzzle is covered in mash and she looks ridiculous—and a world away from the sleek, high strung thoroughbred she was a mere month ago.
“He held me while I cried,” I say softly, acknowledging the other part of the evening that’s been on my mind. “He held me while I cried, and it made me feel like everything might be okay.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Alone in the barn, with no one but Rosie and Fuzz to listen, I finally admit what I’ve been feeling for the last week.
“Something is going on between me and Jonah. And it scares the shit out of me.”