10. Tess
Tess
A fter a week of living in ‘the back,’ as Shel and I have both adapted to calling it, the place is finally starting to look a little less like a post-moving disaster zone.
There are still some random boxes stacked in teetering piles in a few corners of the living room and Shel’s loft, but we’ve excavated pretty much everything we need for daily life.
I’ve even gotten a few decorating tasks done, mostly just hanging up some photos of us and my parents, installing a cute polka dot shower curtain Shel fell in love with, and filling the kitchen windowsill with mason jars I snagged at one of the several vintage shops in La Cloche.
I haven’t bought any flowers to put in them yet. While I’m washing my hands at the sink, I make a mental note to ask Gabrielle if there’s a florist in town she recommends.
Through the window, I can catch a tiny glimpse of the highway, where Shel’s school bus will be trundling up to the farm any minute now. I slump with the relief of getting home in time to meet her.
I’m still wearing my work clothes, my back coated in dried sweat and my arms streaked with dirt.
I drove over an hour to visit a riding school today.
I almost turned the job down since I knew I’d be cutting it close on timings, but considering how much I spent on brand new bed frames and mattresses, along with a whole host of secondhand necessities, I really couldn’t say no to the money I’d get shoeing a whole fleet of school ponies.
Once my hands are clean, I set out a glass of milk, some apple slices, and a cookie from the Tupperware of treats one of Jacinthe’s aunts left us.
Jacinthe wasn’t lying about the whole town bringing us offerings of food. Our mini fridge is stuffed to bursting with casseroles. I haven’t had to cook all week.
A flurry of movement by the window draws my eye, and I look over to see Shel sprinting up the driveway, with the yellow flash of the school bus disappearing behind her. Her huge messenger bag thumps against her hip. Her hair is streaming behind her, along with the ears of her trusty bunny hoodie.
She’s worn it every day this week, but I haven’t tried to stop her. If it makes her feel safe amidst all the change, she can wear it as much as she likes. I am planning on discreetly tossing it into the wash tonight, though.
“Hey, Mamma!” she says after yanking open the door.
“Hey, Shelly Belly!”
She grimaces at her most dreaded nickname, but her disdain doesn’t stop her from dumping her bag and going straight for the snack I prepared.
I wait to see if she’ll share anything about her day before I ask. She’s the kind of kid you usually get more out of if you give her the space to start the conversation herself.
Sure enough, I only have to spend a couple minutes hovering at the sink pretending to do dishes before she slurps down a gulp of milk and starts talking.
“I sat with that boy on the bus again today. Ali. I think maybe he wants to be friends.”
I press my lips together to keep from whooping. She’s mentioned this Ali kid from the bus a few times. As far as I can tell, he’s on the quieter side too. They bonded over a copy of a young adult fantasy series he was reading that Shel devoured last year.
This is the first time I’ve heard her bring the word ‘friend’ into it, though. So far, she hasn’t met anyone at her new school she really clicks with.
“It definitely sounds like he does,” I say, forcing myself to stay in Cool Mom mode instead of sliding to the floor in relief. “Does he live in La Cloche?”
“Up past it,” Shel answers. “He said he lives a couple stops from here. He’s jealous I live on a farm. He said his house is in the middle of nowhere and it’s really boring.”
There’s a note of pride in her voice when she mentions the farm. School might still be a struggle, but Shel has taken to life at La Grange Rouge like she was born in the hayloft.
She’d been slipping towards the dreaded teenage battle to get her out of bed in the morning, but here, I can barely keep her inside past dawn.
She spends every spare moment down with the horses and the cats.
She’s already developed a daily habit of playing carrot toss with Joaquin the donkey, and she even lugs her guitar out to a bench beside one of the pastures so she can practice with no one but the animals to hear her learning her chords.
“If he ever wants to hang out here, I’d be happy to give his parents a call,” I offer.
Shel chews a bite of her cookie with a pensive look on her face.
“Yeah, maybe,” she says after swallowing. “I’ll think about asking him.”
Part of me wants to push and say we could all meet up this weekend, but instead, I just tell her that sounds good. Still, I can’t resist walking over to squeeze an arm around her and smack my lips to her head.
“Oh, there’s Jacinthe,” I say, the rumble of an engine making me look over to see her truck turning off the highway. “She must have been working at the inn today.”
Most of my days this week have started with a wave to Jacinthe. She’s usually finishing up her morning barn chores just as I’m getting my farrier rig ready to head out.
I’ve offered to pitch in with some of the chores since I’m an early riser anyway, but she always shuts me down with a shake of her head and a firm, “ Pas du tout .”
We see each other less than I expected in the evenings.
If she’s not running a sunset trail ride or fixing things around the farm, she’ll be at the inn fixing things there or helping out with cleaning and reception duties.
As far as I’ve heard, bookings at Balsam Inn have been constant since they opened, and the trio is considering hiring some extra staff in addition to the cook who does the guests’ breakfasts.
Of course, Jacinthe is convinced they can keep doing everything themselves to save money. Her mom told me all about it one evening when she came out to join me and Shel for a hot chocolate on the porch.
“ Cette fille ,” she said, shaking her head. “She’s strong like a bull, but she’s stubborn like one too.”
I watch Jacinthe’s truck pull into the farmyard instead of coming up to the house. She hops out in her usual ensemble of jeans and a plaid shirt, latching the gate back in place before pulling her phone out of her pocket.
She’s too far away for me to make out the details of her expression, but I see the way her shoulders droop when she looks at the screen. A second later, she drops down to squat on her heels, stuffing the phone back in her pocket so she can cradle her head in her hands.
I lunge for the door.
“Mom?” Shel says, twisting in her chair to cock her head at me.
“All good, honey,” I tell her as I stuff my feet into my boots. “I forgot there’s something I need to talk to Jacinthe about. I’m gonna go catch her while she’s outside. Be back in a few minutes. Finish your snack, okay?”
It’s cold enough outside that the air nips at my bare arms when I pull the door open, but I don’t stop to grab a jacket. I take off jogging across the yard, my footsteps loud enough that Jacinthe lifts her head when I’m still a few meters away.
I brace to see her with blanched skin or maybe even a couple tears sliding down her cheeks, but instead of distraught, she just looks tired.
Exhausted, actually.
There are deep purple hollows under her eyes. Her cheeks look gaunt, and her pupils have this hazy, glazed sheen, like she’s only barely conscious.
“Jacinthe!” I call out, barreling the rest of the way over and then skidding to a halt in front of her. “What’s wrong? I saw you check your phone and…”
I trail off and motion at her hunched pose down on the ground.
“Ah.” She bobs her head, blinking at me like she’s waking up from a dream. “ Ben , it’s nothing. I just got a text that a family at the inn wants to go for a sunset ride tonight. It’s good news.”
She tries to force a smile, but it’s like even the corners of her mouth are too heavy to lift.
“Didn’t you do a sunrise ride this morning?”
She nods. “Sure did.”
I plant a fist on my hip. “Did it maybe occur to you that working from four in the morning to eight in the evening is going to literally run you into the ground?”
She glowers at me. “Yeah, ya know, it did occur to me, but who else is gonna do it?”
She winces at the bite in her tone. I see her gearing up for an apology, but before she can get another word out, I take a step back and cross my arms over my chest.
“I am.”
She tilts her head. “ Quoi ?”
“You obviously can’t do this ride, and I already know you won’t cancel it. I don’t want you falling on your head off the edge of a cliff out in the woods, okay?”
She huffs a laugh. “Falling off a cliff? Where do you think I take these people?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but you better tell me, because I’m taking them.”
Jacinthe narrows her eyes and looks me up and down, like she’s sizing up a new challenger in the ring.
I keep my arms crossed, my feet planted wide. After a moment, she blows out a breath and shakes her head.
“You’re not insured.”
I dig my fingertips into my biceps to keep from crowing in victory.
She thought about it. She actually thought about letting me help her.
I can work with that.
“Fine,” I say. “Then I’m tacking the horses up for you and coming along for the ride as your back-up.”
She scoffs. “My back-up? Are we superheroes?”
“Call it whatever you want, but I’m coming with you.”
She goes quiet for a moment. I can see her working her jaw back and forth. I hold my breath, waiting for the tide to turn.
Then she shakes her head.
“ Merci , but I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
Maybe I’m pushing things too far. Maybe I shouldn’t be pushing at all.
It’s not my business, but somehow, the thought of Jacinthe hurting herself when I could have done something to stop it feels like it is my business. Even if I tried to turn around and march back up to the house, I’m not sure I could.
As if to prove her point, Jacinthe gets to her feet.
As if to prove mine, she wobbles. She takes a few shaky steps to try and catch her balance, but it’s no use.
I lunge forward and grip her by the shoulders before she can topple over.
“You’re very clearly not fine,” I hiss, my heart pounding as I squeeze her shoulders hard.
Our faces are close enough for me to see the way the evening light catches in her irises, warming them from dark pitch to molten brown.
She stares back at me, lucid but still with that glazed disorientation, her pupils flared wide.
My gaze flicks down to the curve of her bottom lip: taut, peachy-pink skin and the flash of her teeth behind it.
My throat goes dry.
We’re so close now.
Too close.
Some small part of my brain still has the wherewithal to raise the alarm. I release Jacinthe’s shoulders and lurch away like I’ve grabbed a hot pan straight out of the oven.
Jacinthe clears her throat. She’s staring down at the tips of her boots, her chest straining with heavy breaths.
“I just need some food,” she blurts, her voice tight.
“Yes.” I sound wheezy. “Yes. You should eat.”
She starts marching up the driveway, avoiding my eyes when she swerves past me. She’s halfway to the house when I remember I’m still on a mission here. I jog a few paces to catch up with her.
“Hey!” I call. “Tell me who to tack up while you eat.”
She spins around to face me, hands on her hips.
“You’re not gonna leave this alone, are you?”
I square off, mirroring her pose. “Nope.”
She tosses her head like a horse shaking off a fly. Then she sighs.
“Okay.”
I blink, bracing for her to take it back, but she doesn’t.
“It’s two couples, so…”
She rattles off a list of horses to get ready. I repeat the names in my head a couple times before I realize she didn’t pick a horse for me.
I open my mouth to argue again, but then I see the corner of her lips lift in a smirk.
“No, I didn’t forget you,” she says. “You can ride whoever you want.”