22. Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Cassidy
August brings with it the slowness of summer. It is the pause before a winter-long sleep, the final breath before the cycle starts anew.
And I’ve never been more connected to the seasons than working at Miller Run farm—never been more connected with the Earth, my life, and the people around me.
It feels like things have fallen into place—like I can finally see a clear image of what I want my life to look like—what I truly want out of it.
Looking out at the pasture, I take one of those deep breaths of August. It’s the heavy kind—filled with hot temperatures, and the cry for rain. The grass has slowly stripped the vibrant green of summer away—the horses move more slowly. All is as it should be.
“Hi, Rory.” I hop off the fence, scooping up the cat.
She purrs and snuggles into my neck as I mosey up to the house.
Grady, Walton, and Alex, the new hire, work on wrapping up the stalls in the barn.
We have four pregnant mares down at the breeding barn, and Roe sits on the porch steps strumming a guitar.
With the extra hands around, things feel more leisurely. We all work hard, don’t get me wrong, but there’s more time to enjoy the animals and each other.
Wes talked about hiring one more hand so that things won’t feel so overwhelming when Rosemary inevitably finds something else.
For now, though, that extra employee gives more time for me and Wes to spend time together.
I’ve wedged myself comfortably in this world of his, and he’s done the same for mine.
I’ve gotten used to his favorite, chipped mug, and the scent of coffee early in the mornings.
In the quiet evenings with pink and purple bleeding over the summer sky, Wes has taken me down to the willow tree by the pond where we sit and talk about life.
I’m not the only one filling the silence these days.
When the heat of August becomes too much, we amble back to the house, losing ourselves in each other before finishing the night with companionable silence.
I’ve worked on Gus’s blanket, though it’s still moving slowly.
Wes, on the other hand, spends time reading—pulling out the reading glasses I love so much.
I scratch Rory under the chin. “Yes,” I coo. “You can absolutely stay at my house tonight. No more living in the office, you cute thing. I’ve adopted you now.”
“You know Wes is allergic to cats, right?” Roe asks as I stand near the porch, letting Rory down when she pushes away. She weaves herself between Roe's legs.
I chuckle. “Might have figured that out last month when he brought her down to my house and spent the whole night sneezing.”
Roe rolls her eyes. “He needs to stop playing the tough guy and take an allergy pill.”
Laughing, I skirt around her and enter the back door to the kitchen, grabbing my wrap out of Wes’s fridge before returning to the porch with Roe.
She plucks at the guitar, her soft voice ringing as she sings an original.
I’ve gotten used to her playing, and each time I hear it, my chest aches with the knowledge of all she’s given up.
She seems fine—better than fine, most days—but I see in Roe that same hollow space that filled me when I worked at the bar.
This decision isn’t hers, and while she’s handling herself well, I can see the restlessness. It’s there in the way she constantly buzzes with energy. When she’s working the farm, she can’t stop moving—can’t stop pushing toward the end of the day. She’s barreling through life to get to the end.
Not when she plays, though. It’s there that Rosemary slows—she exists in a way that seems so wholly her.
It seems you can fill your life with as many good things as possible—a boyfriend who looks good on paper, a stable job, and a solid group of friends, but if your soul is crying out for something, you’ll never feel settled.
A phone rings in the house, and my brows furrow. “You guys have a landline?” I ask, looking at Roe, who has stopped playing. “Yes, but we hardly use it. Our parents did, thus the insane noise level. Had to hear the phone over farm equipment or something.”
“Should we…” I hesitate, my wrap hovering a few inches from my mouth. My stomach growls in protest. “Should we answer it?” I ask. “Wes is still down at the breeding barn with the vet.”
Roe shrugs. “I don’t think it’s important.” Her fingers return to their strumming pattern.
Walton appears at the bottom of the hill by the barn entrance. He waves, tapping his watch.
I tilt my head.
“I’m getting some lunch,” he says. “Good job with that little one today, Cass!”
“Oh!” I call back. “It’s nothing.”
“What happened?” Roe asks.
“Just a parent forcing her son to take riding lessons despite his very obvious and real fear of horses. He ended up doing great, though!”
“Do you think they’ll come back?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “If the mom has anything to do with it. Maybe he’ll end up liking it eventually.”
I take another bite of my wrap. A gentle wind ripples over the grass as horses graze in the distance. Despite the beauty, I think I prefer eating in the sunroom off the back of the house.
The pond field is so much prettier, though I’m partial to the willow tree next to it. I make a note to text Ellis and recommend it as my top ceremony location for her wedding at the end of this month.
A golf cart comes barreling around the house, Wes’s brow severe when he slams the brakes. “Cass,” he says, a bit breathless as if he’d been running instead of just driving over here.
The energy shifts, and I rise to my feet.
“Where’s your phone?” he asks.
My heart pounds in my ears. “I left it down at my house by accident today.” I’m panting now. “Why, what’s wrong? Did someone get out?”
Wes climbs past Roe and enters the house, a number of thumps sounding as he fumbles around. “Wes!” I call, my voice somewhat panicked.
He stomps down the stairs, handing me my wallet, his keys wrapped around a finger. When he looks at me, there’s a soft pain in his eyes. “Gus is back in the hospital,” he says, and my mind fights to keep up.
A deep pit is forming in my stomach.
I’ve heard this before—heard it more than I care to admit, but it never ceases to pull dread from the deepest parts of me. “How do you know that?” I whisper.
He runs a hand down his face. “Your mom has been calling every number the farm has listed online when she couldn’t get a hold of you.
She finally landed on my cell.” Said phone sounds off, and Wes rushes to answer it.
“Hello?” There’s some yelling on the other line until he thrusts the phone in my direction.
“Hello?”
“Cassidy Ann Summers, explain to me why you have been unreachable for the better part of the day.” My mom’s cold demand makes me feel like I’m ten years old again, fighting tears as I stand in the kitchen.
“Is Gus okay?” I ask, my fingers now shaking around the phone.
“He’s fine!” A rush of relief floods me, and I mouth the words to Wes and Roe. “But it was a very real possibility that he wasn’t, and you weren’t available, Cassidy.”
I shrink in on myself, flinching as if she stood right in front of me, threatening to throw a hit. “I’m sorry,” I squeak out. “Do you need me to—”
“Yes. You should visit him this evening. I just got back from the hospital, and he seemed in good spirits. Rather bored. Megan is with him.” She says her name as if it’s a curse. “I’m sure she will want a break later if you can be bothered to step away from that job of yours and go.”
I’m seventeen years old again, attending prom only to get a similar call that Gus wasn’t feeling well and they’d taken him in.
I’d left as soon as I could, but I hadn’t had a car. My date at the time, Corey, had agreed to drop the rest of our friends off first before taking me to the hospital.
When I arrived, my mother had been fuming. She’d gone over all that could have gone wrong in my time sauntering off with my friends—told me I owed it to the family to be more responsible.
I shut my eyes against that sinking feeling of guilt.
If you can be bothered to step away from that job of yours.
The cold words burrow beneath my skin, making me itchy.
It’s like I’ve stepped out into the woods behind the farm without bug spray.
I can’t be consumed by guilt for the things I’m not responsible for.
Whatever this is, it has little to do with me.
I’m there for Gus, I always am, but what my mom is asking is that I sacrifice myself to the altar of her anxiety.
She’s worried about Gus, I know this. And maybe she’s coping with that worry by throwing her fears in my direction.
I feel the weight of Wes’s hand on my back before he starts rubbing slow circles. “We can go in an hour or two,” he whispers, so low my mom can’t hear him.
“Right,” I say. “Let me text him and see what time would be best. You said he’s in good spirits?”
“Of course he is,” she scoffs. “He told me he had a fever and developed some kind of infection, but don’t bother asking. Apparently, I’m no longer privy to the pertinent information.”
“I’ll text him.”
I hang up, and Roe stares at me, mouth agape. “That woman needs to be told off.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “She is not so bad when you—”
“Give me the phone,” Roe holds her hand out. “I’d be happy to do it. It would fill me with joy, actually.”
Wes pockets the device. “This isn’t our mother, Rosemary. In fact, maybe you should turn your attention to fighting her instead.”
Roe bends to grab the guitar case. “No can do,” she says. “We are finally in a good place, there. I need to start picking fights elsewhere.”
I know what Wes doesn’t say. They’re in a good place because his sister finally caved. She gave up on the dreams she’d carried since childhood and settled for the family business.
We talked about that very thing a few nights ago. He’s worried about Rosemary—unsettled. I can see the wheels turning in his mind, but nobody moves or says anything.