Chapter 29 Samantha #2
Richard’s giving me Cachacco for Christmas, even after we broke up?
It makes me wonder whether Richard’s trying to work it out, too.
I can’t imagine him giving that horse away unless he was pretty sure he’d still own her.
I’m half-smiling when I open the papers.
Surely he included a note, right? Maybe he had to go home, because he said he would, but he wanted me to know that he’s sorry.
Maybe he’s decided I don’t need to try to have kids.
Maybe I am enough.
Dearest Samantha,
Off to a good start.
I tried at first to send you flowers. I thought you’d understand. Then I sent you chocolates. I bought you dozens of rings. I tried everything I could think to let you know what you meant to me.
But none of it was enough.
I can’t quite tell you how angry I am with God. How could he send you to me, how could I love you as much as I do, and the one thing I need, the one thing I can’t do without, is the one thing that will break your heart?
I love you so much, and I swear, in all the world, the very last thing I can ever imagine doing is hurting you. For the rest of my life, I will always cheer you on. You thought you looked horrible at that last show, but you looked perfect to me.
I can’t wait to see what you can do and how far you can go with this horse.
She’s the most perfect horse I’ve ever owned, so it felt like she had to go to the most perfect woman I’ve ever met.
Please know that I wanted to be the man who gave you everything, but I think you’re right.
If we stay together, I’ll hurt you more simply by being who I am.
But I can’t stay in Ireland, not with you there.
I’m still hosting the ball; I just won’t be present for it. I told Natalie all of this, and she tried to help me see how stupid I am. The problem is that I know just how terribly dumb I am for losing you, but we’re like opposing magnets. Any way I turn things, we can’t seem to reach one another.
I wish you all the best in life, forever, truly.
Love,
Rich
Cillian’s upending his life to be with Natalie.
Jack told off his own mother.
But me?
I get the guy who gives me a horse and tells me we’re diametrically opposed. It figures.
Cachacco is stunning. She’s well-behaved, for such a spirited horse. I get her settled in, and I thank Aodhán for bringing her on Christmas, and then I head over to Natalie’s. I do my very best to smile, and to say the right things, and to go through the motions so no one panics.
But inside, I feel pretty mangled.
My heart’s battered worse than I thought it could be from breaking up with someone I was only with for a few months. Shouldn’t it be easier, when you’ve known the guy for a short time? Natalie seemed fine after she dumped him.
Then again, they weren’t really dating, and he didn’t break up with her because she has a faulty uterus.
“You okay?” Natalie’s at my elbow, holding a squirming puppy. “You look. . .hollow.”
I chuckle. “You always know.”
“We both noticed.” Vanessa hugs me then, pulling me tight, and Natalie wraps her puppy-free arm around me from the back.
“Love you,” Natalie says.
They hold on for long enough that their kids notice, and instead of looking at us like we’re insane, Bryce and Trace, Hannah and Clara, and the twins all just pile on.
Trish starts to laugh. “You guys look like some kind of performance art.”
“Or like a play-doh creation.” Trina tilts her head.
“Get in here,” Natalie mutters.
The others rush over, too. It’s not a bad way to celebrate Christmas, even now. I have to feed the horses after that, and both girls insist on helping me. I don’t argue. I think they can tell I need them.
Plus, I want them to gush over my new mare.
When I finally get back home, it’s late, and I’m exhausted.
I should just drop right into bed. I can shower in the morning, and I can wash my sheets then too, if they smell like horse.
But I can’t help refreshing my email just one more time.
There’s no email from the agency, which I sort of knew there wouldn’t be.
But there is an email.
It’s from my friend Jan.
Crazy, weird thing happened. Long shift, as usual, and this kid comes in. OK, not a kid, but like a kid, ya know? She’s pregnant, duh, and she can’t keep the baby. But she won’t have an abortion, and she told me she wants to get the baby away from here.
She drops in a photo of a tiny girl with big, cornflower blue eyes, and long, whitish blond hair. She looks like a startled anime character, honestly.
And Sam, here’s the thing. I told her how you wanted a baby, and how you live in Ireland, and she asked if you spoke Irish.
Not that smart. BUT she loved the idea of having you adopt her baby.
Weird, right? She said she hasn’t found an agency, and she thought God would bring her to the right person.
My hands are trembling.
So I asked her if she could talk to you, like a video chat, and she said yes!
If you get this, call me, and if she’s still here, maybe you guys can talk.
She said her dream—you aren’t going to believe this—is that her kid can grow up with a pony.
A PONY. Who could give this kid a better pony than you?
Right? I showed her photos of you and she started crying.
I mean, she cried when I told her we were out of Jello too, but still.
Typical Jan, no sign off. That’s just the end.
I call her immediately, and she picks up. “I’m running into a room, but here.” The line goes quiet for a moment, and then there’s a rustling sound.
“Hello?”
I burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” I say. “This is really, really strange.”
“My name’s Angela,” she says. “And I hear you like horses.”
“I have fifteen,” I whisper. “I think I might have been waiting my whole life to meet you.”
“I have a question,” she says. “If you found out you were having a little girl, what would you name her?”
I can barely get the words out. “Is it a girl?”
“I’m not sure yet, but names mean something, right? Have you thought of any?”
“I have,” I admit. “I googled a few, and since I’m in Ireland, I think I’d want to name a little girl Aisling. It’s a traditional Irish name, and it’s part of their folklore. Aisling means dream, or vision, in Ireland. To me, having a little girl or a little boy has been the dream of my lifetime.”
I hear her sniff. “I like that,” she says. “And I think I like you.”
It’s very premature, I’m sure, but it feels like I’m finally headed toward something amazing, and I can’t wait.
**THE END**
I hope you loved The Shabby Old Cottage.