Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MILLER
Holy fucking shit, this rain is like needles against my skin.
I hold the hood of my work jacket tight around my face, drop my chin to my chest and run toward the big donkeys’ paddock.
It looks like the miniatures are all inside already, so I’ll get to them in a minute.
But three of the big ones are not being so smart and are still out in the field getting soaked and cold, which makes them priority number one.
My feet slip and slide and slosh like I’m competing in a Tough Mudder competition, but without the glory.
I reach into my pocket for my gloves. Not there. Shit.
When I finally reach the gate, my wet, cold fingers fumble with the catch.
“Argh, fuck it,” I yell when it snaps down on my middle finger, which immediately starts to bleed.
Sticking the wounded finger in my mouth, I race across the field toward Doris, Waldo and Dave.
“Come on,” I shout as I get close enough for them to hear me over the storm. “Inside.”
Nothing. Three faces just stare back at me like they have no clue who this fool is running toward them, soaked through, in lashing rain they seem to be completely oblivious to.
“You can’t stay out here.” I’m almost right up to them now. “It’s bad for you. Come on.”
They still think I’m an idiot.
Didn’t Frankie tell me Waldo likes to chase her?
“Okay, let’s play a game where you run after me.”
I turn and jog away from them, my entire world consisting of the sound of the rain slapping my hood and my boots slopping in the mud.
I give it a few seconds before I turn to look back.
Yes! Waldo and Dave are trotting after me. I’ll have to come back for Doris. And Dave’s going to be mighty disappointed when he finds out I didn’t bring carrots. Fuck. Why didn’t I bring any? That was Frankie’s first lesson—always be armed with carrots.
“That’s it fellas, come on,” I encourage them, in the vain hope words might be a sufficient substitute for crunchy treats.
I jog on, head down, until I make it to the stable and hope beyond hope that when I turn around they’ll both still be right behind me.
And there they are. Relief washes over me almost as much as the rain does.
“Thank fuck,” I pant.
There’s a huge flash of light in the sky behind them and my heart rate spikes.
“Quick. Inside, inside.” I run around behind them and give them each a pat on their backsides to hurry them up.
It’s the first time I’ve touched them without gloves, but I’m terrified that if I don’t get them indoors, the impending clap of thunder might make them bolt and I’ll have to start all over again.
The thunder comes just as their rear ends are far enough inside the stable for me to slide the door closed behind them.
Oof. Thank God.
Leaning back against it for a second, I slump forward, hands on knees, water pounding my back, running off my hood and dripping onto my boots.
I take a few long, deep inhales and exhales to try to get my breath back.
There’s no choice but to soldier on. It’s the right thing to do. I know it is. And also, Frankie would be happy that I got them all inside safely.
It’s that final thought that drives me upright and looking at Doris farther out in the field.
“One to go,” I mutter and head off again.
As I get closer, she wanders slowly toward me. Oh, thank God.
“That’s it, Doris. Come on.”
Then she stops. And stares at me.
“Come on, Doris.” My voice echoes inside my hood. Can she even hear me? “Good girl. Come on.”
But she just stares. And doesn’t move.
Concerned that if I get any closer she might start going in the opposite direction, I start to trot backward, keeping my eyes on her, encouraging her to follow. “Inside. Out of the rain. This is such a bad decision, Doris. You need to get dry. Come oooo—”
My feet fly out from under me, sending me slapping onto my back. I didn’t think it was possible to be wetter or colder, but the sludge seeping through my pants proves me wrong.
This is fucking awful. Truly fucking awful.
I am never leaving the city again. Skinner can have the land.
I don’t care if I never get him back for what he did to my folks.
I need to get dry and warm and never see another fucking donkey for as long as I live.
Which might only be a few more minutes since it feels like hypothermia is setting in.
But I can’t give up. I can’t give up for Frankie’s sake or the donkeys’.
I scrabble to my feet, but it’s like trying to stand on ice in slippers, and I skid again, ending up in a weird half-crouched position.
“Fuck me. Fucking fuck me,” I yell.
Then Doris’s feet come into view.
“Thank Christ.”
As I try to push myself upright so I can encourage her toward the shelter, she shuffles sideways toward me.
“Oh, no. No, Doris. You are not rubbing your belly on my head right now. That is not happening. This is not the time for that.”
Finally I get to my feet. “This is not the time for anything but going inside and getting dry and warm.”
But how can I be pissed off with this face? With these giant eyes that are staring into mine as rivulets of rain run between them.
I rub her broad forehead like I’ve seen Frankie do. “Come on, girl. Let’s get inside.”
And, thank whoever the patron saint of donkeys is, with me holding onto her mane, she walks by my side as we head back to the stable. It would be nice if it was a lot quicker than this, but I’m now so wet it doesn’t even matter anymore.
When we finally get inside, I slide the stable door closed behind us, and the sound of the rain deadens slightly.
“All right.” I lower my hood and look around. “There should be ten of you.”
Three at the back are lying down. Two are nuzzling each other off to the left. One is having a drink. Dave and a friend are nibbling hay. Waldo seems to be staring out of a window, probably wondering where the hell Frankie is. And Doris is still here right next to me.
Halle-fucking-lujah. That’s ten.
I let out possibly the biggest exhale of my life.
Mission a-fucking-complished.
I head straight to the rear of the stable where the pile of donated old blankets is kept.
I just need to get some draped over the three soaking-wet fools to dry them off a bit and keep them warm, run over to the miniatures and lock them in, then I can go back to the house, strip off these dripping-wet, mud-soaked clothes and lie in a steaming hot bath with a beer in my hand for about the next three hours.
By which time Frankie should be back and maybe I can tempt her to join me.
Another rumble of thunder sets off a ripple of brays around me as I do the rounds, draping blankets over Dave and Waldo before making my way to Doris, who’s still just inside the door.
“Here you go.” I throw a large fleece with an underwater scene of fish printed on it—how appropriate—over her back, and give it a rub to try to soak up as much of the rain as I can.
“I’ll come back and switch it for another dry one in a bit.” I pat her side. “Thank God I got you all in. Frankie would never let me kiss her again if one of you got pneumonia or something.”
This is not a moment when my brain should be prioritizing thoughts of kissing Frankie. Yet it’s pretty much all I think about all the time. And now the image of her naked breasts passes across my mind—which is not a distraction that I need right now.
With a shudder, I put my hood back up. “Let’s hope the little guys aren’t as much trouble as you all.”
When I slide the door open, I’m faced with the most ridiculous weather I’ve ever seen in my life.
But, to be honest, for all I know, it might rain like this in Boston once a week and I never notice because I spend most of my time either indoors or in my car. And these last few days have taught me that getting out in the fresh air and doing practical things feels pretty damn good.
It’s just not so great when that fresh air is pouring buckets of water on you.
Taking a giant breath, I step out, shut the door, slide the bolt across, and sprint for the other stable—well, not so much sprint as do a weird dance on ground that’s constantly shifting under my feet.
Thankfully, the miniatures’ gate is held shut with a nice simple loop of rope, because my finger’s still stinging from the catch on the other one.
And finally, after what feels like ten minutes but was probably about forty seconds, I’m inside and being met by a welcoming chorus of miniature donkey brays, whinnies and hee-haws.
“I know, folks,” I reply. “It’s shit, isn’t it?”
Three of them crowd around, nuzzling my pockets.
“Sorry. I’m a completely useless helper and forgot to bring treats.
” I pat them each on the head in turn, more concerned that they need reassurance not to be scared than about the damp donkey smell that might linger on my hands for days.
“Your safety is my priority right now, not your bellies.”
There’s another burst of lightning.
I turn just in time to see my first ever clear, unobstructed, view of actual fork lightning against a clear black sky. It’s unreal. Like someone’s drawn it. Of course we have storms in the city, but there, the tall buildings and lights take the edge off it.
At the crack of thunder that follows, the little donkey with his nose in my pocket jumps, his front feet landing back on the floor with a clatter.
“It’s okay, little man.” I scratch his ears the way Frankie does. The backs of the ears seems to be a universal donkey pleasure zone that takes their minds off everything, making them close their eyes and push into your hand for an even deeper rub.
“You’ll be fine now that you’re inside.” I’m reassuring myself more than them, who obviously have no clue what I’m saying. “You have water and food.” I point to the troughs over by the door, and they follow my gaze like they actually do understand.
I do a quick count to make sure all seven really are here, then head for the door and that impending hot bath and beer. “I’ll see you in the morning.”