12. Flint
Flint
“Whoa, it’s big!” Branson says, peering into Hilda’s pen where the massive hog is rolling in the mud to cool herself off.
“It’s loud!” Brock breaks into a giggle, delighted by the loud grunts she’s letting loose with. Hilda has never been bothered by people staring at her.
“She’s a hog named Hilda,” I explain as they stare at her with wide, delighted eyes. Guiding them around the farm today has fresh grief welling up for my dad. I wish he could see the twins. He’d love them.
He was a tough guy, a drill sergeant who could have raised me with some crazy idea that being macho means being loud and commanding, but he didn’t. He used to tell me that the gentlest man in the room is the strongest one. It’s a lesson I appreciate a hell of a lot since meeting these two.
“Can we ride her?” Brock asks.
“No, hogs aren’t horses. They can’t be ridden,” I answer.
“Can you ride her?” Brock asks.
“Nope, not even I can ride Hilda.” I didn’t realize how many questions kids ask until this weekend.
“Can we ride horses?” Branson asks.
I glance toward the pasture where Kane has brought out two ponies. For such a grump, he was all too happy to help me out with my plan. I gesture him over.
When he joins us, I drop to my knees in the tall grass next to the fence. Kane goes down to his knees too.
“This is my friend, Kane,” I tell them.
“He can ride Hilda?” Brock guesses.
Kane snorts. “No.”
“But you can ride horses today,” I tell them before I have to explain the exact anatomy of hogs and why they shouldn’t be ridden by anyone.
“Me first!” Branson says.
“No, I want to!” Brock insists.
“Hold on there, you both get to ride if you make me one tiny promise.” I put my fingers just an inch apart to give them something to focus on.
They nod solemnly in unison.
“Horses are big, so you listen to me and Kane. If we tell you something, do it, okay?” For a second, I study their faces and I almost think they’re listening to me.
Then Branson opens his mouth, “We’ll be the best at riding!”
“Real cowboys!” Brock adds.
I glance at Kane who looks like he’s biting his lip to keep from laughing at me. He clears his throat. “You boys ready for some fun?”
For the next hour, Kane and I guide the boys on the ponies.
We never let go of the reins as we give them instructions and let them trot around the pasture.
The entire time, their delight is obvious.
They can’t stop smiling, their little chests puffed out with pride.
They’re going to have an amazing childhood spent on this ranch.
After riding the ponies, I let them help me with farm chores including cooling down the ponies and feeding the chickens. Then it’s time to feed the cats.
“You have more cats?” Brock asks as they walk with me along the path to the cat shed. They’ve followed me all over the ranch today, sticking like glue. I think I have two little shadows that are going to be following me around for the next few years.
“Yeah, like ten of them,” I answer, reaching for a number that’s in their grasp.
“And your mom let you?” Branson says.
“My mom loved cats,” I answer, swallowing hard.
“Does your dad?” Brock says.
“Yeah.”
“Does your dad ride horses too?” Branson asks.
I hesitate then try to go for the simplest explanation. “My dad doesn’t live here.”
Brock stops to poke a toad with a stick, so I slow down. “Our dad is at the beach. He had to go on a boat.”
“The boat won’t bring him back,” Branson sighs as the toad hops away. “Not even if you’re good and eat your veg-tables.”
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I don’t know what to say. This isn’t something I can fix for them, and I’d give my kidney to be able to. “I’m sorry about that.”
Brock starts walking again, dragging the stick behind him so it leaves little lines in the dirt. “Is your dad on a beach?”
“My dad is in heaven.”
“Oh. Can he ride horses there?”
I smile at the idea there might be a cowboy heaven, and maybe my dad is there, waiting for me. “I’d like to think so.”
“Cool,” Brock says.
We arrive at the shed, and I point to it. “See, it’s a cat house. I built it myself, just like I built the bed you slept in last night.”
“You can build anything!” Branson says.
I open the door to show them the cats, explaining that the tiny flaps are cat doors for the cats to come and go. I show them how to gather the old straw and set out new straw to keep the cats warm. Then I guide them behind the shelter.
“This is the feeding station,” I explain and set the tiny bag of dry food down. I teach them how to scoop it from the bag and put it in the cat dishes.
“No more,” Brock says when the bag is empty.
“Hold on, I have a delivery coming right now,” I tell them just as I see Kane jogging up the path with a twenty-pound bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, boys,” he calls out when he sees them. “Got a fresh delivery for cat dad here.”
Brock giggles. “Cat dad.”
I chuckle too. “Yeah, I’m the cat dad. I adopted the cats, so I’m their dad now.”
Kane turns to go. “Oh, yeah, meant to tell you that Bronco said he could round up some guys and get that cabin done in half the time.”
I look at the boys, but they’re busy scooping out cat food and barely paying attention to us. “Stall him.”
“What?”
I step forward and lower my voice. “Do me a favor and stall the whole project. I want…I need…” I glance back at the kids.
Kane gives me a knowing look. “I’ll tell him we have it covered for now, and we’ll let him know if that changes.”
I start to clap him on the back then think better of it. “Appreciate it.”
Ronnie
The boys haven't stopped talking about Flint since they came home. It’s more than just talking about Flint though. He’s the only person they want to talk to. They monopolize his attention through dinner, leaving me and grandma to exchange delighted looks.
“Time for bed,” I finally announce when they’ve spent the last hour on the floor in front of the fireplace showing Flint their collection of toy cars and trucks.
He patiently sat with them, admiring every single toy they’ve showed him.
He hasn’t once acted like they’re annoying him, and the hero worship that they’re sending his way is making my chest squeeze.
“Do we have to?” Brock asks Flint.
“Your mom makes the rules,” he agrees then says in a stage whisper, “She’s my boss.”
“She makes you?”
He nods. “She tells me what to do because she loves me.”
I start to make a noise of protest then cut it off. I barely know Flint. I can’t love him, but that’s not a discussion I’m having in front of the kids. Besides, that squeezing in my chest isn’t getting tighter. It’s not.
“Now, let’s clean up the toys,” Flint says.
When everything is tidy again, Branson looks at him. “Can you read us the bedtime book?”
He glances my way instead of answering. It’s slight, and when he sees my nod, he says, “I’d really like that. Let’s go pick out the story.”
I trail after them, quietly watching from the doorway.
He settles on the bottom bunk where both boys have snuggled together.
He taps the reading light, turning it on and starts the story.
He doesn’t just read to them. He makes the book come alive, doing funny voices and acting out the scenes.
He’s a one-man theater playing to his audience.
The twins’ sweet giggles fill the air as they listen and watch him, enraptured with every word.
He stays until they’re both softly snoring then wishes them good night before leaving the room. He pauses when he sees me in the hall.
I blink, thankful that the hall is dark, so he can’t see the sheen of moisture in my eyes. “You’re really great with them. But if they’re overwhelming you, I can tell them to leave you alone.”
“They’re great kids. You've done an awesome job with them.”
Something about his words soothes my heart.
Maybe that’s the hardest part of being a single parent.
There’s no one there to reassure you that you’re doing a great job, no one really in the trenches with you.
I mean, I have my grandma but it’s not the same thing as having a partner.
“I don't expect you to be anything to them.”
“I've been trying to make sense of it all day, how your husband could walk out on two of the world's most amazing kids, and the only conclusion I can come to is that he was a fucking idiot.”
I blink, keeping moisture back. I can cry later when he’s not watching me. “That was my conclusion too.”
He chuckles and something about the soft sound eases all my tension. There’s something about Flint, a feeling of safety I get around him. I think it’s the same thing that the kids sense. No wonder they’re so drawn to him.
“What about you?” Flint asks. “Do you need me to read you a bedtime story?”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “No, I'm going to turn in early for the night. Alone.”
He reaches for my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“I know you're not used to being able to depend on the man in your life, but I'm different.
You can come to me with anything you need.
And while I can't promise that I can fix everything, I'm going to be there for you. You don’t have to deal with life alone.”
I start to sway closer to him then stop myself. “Good night, Flint.”
With those words, I hurry into his bedroom and close the door. I can’t listen to him standing there and making pretty promises without wanting him to hold me through the long night.