Kate #2
“Nothing…And I feel like this is one of those rare instances where no news is actually bad news.”
Austin sighs with all the disappointment I feel in my bones. “Not bad news. But…probably no change yet.”
“So, bad news.” I toss back the last of my water and look at Beryl. “I’m gonna clean bunkhouses today. I need some serious manual labor to get out of my head. Do you mind watching Rhett?”
The old woman scoffs. “Do I mind? Honey, I would spend every waking hour with that boy, if I could. All my grandbabies.
“As for you? If cleaning bunkhouses and whatever other chores you can find help keep your feet on the ground, go for it. Scrub like hell. Keep those hands busy, but let your brain rest. Don’t try to solve this with your thoughts.”
I push back from the table, ready to start my day and clean until I’m on the verge of collapse. Then I might stand a chance at sleeping in my own bed.
—
Cleaning until my nail beds were tattered and every muscle cramped definitely took my mind off Jackson for a little while. Now I’m sprawled across the living room floor, which is golden with the glow of a crackling fire, watching the kids draw pictures for their dad.
The space is a helter-skelter mess of markers, construction paper, and glitter glue. Rhett’s sitting cross-legged in nothing but underwear, tongue poking out in concentration as he draws.
I peel myself from the floor, propping my elbows underneath me so I can make out what he’s working on. A stick figure with disproportionate arms, a lopsided happy face, and a comically large cowboy hat.
“Is that Daddy?” I ask gently.
“Yes.” Tongue swiping across his lower lip, he abandons his brown marker and goes for a cyan one to scribble blobs in place of feet. With pride, he sits up and looks at his masterpiece. “There. I gave him super speedy boots so he can run all the way home really fast.”
“Yeah, so he can get me a horse before my birthday,” Odessa mutters to herself.
My throat tightens, and that makes my tone a little higher-pitched. “Speedy boots are a great idea, bud.”
He beams. Struggling to put the cap back on his marker, Rhett stares over at his sister’s lime green construction paper. “Dessie did his hair wrong.”
Lying on her stomach, Odessa has her long legs bent at the knees and her feet swirl around through the air behind her. Without looking up, she snarks, “I didn’t.”
“Yeah, Dad doesn’t have hair that stands up all crazy like that.” He pulls a goofy face, grabbing fistfuls of hair and pulling them out in every direction.
“Because it’s messy from the hospital pillow. Duh.” Odessa flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. “Mom, can you tell him that sometimes people get sweaty when they’re lying down for a long time, and it makes it go all weird and fuzzy?”
“No way, man,” I say through a yawn that makes my eyes water. “I’m not getting involved in the hair debate.”
Moving on, Rhett grabs a red marker and gets back to serious business. After a moment of quiet, he speaks up right when I’m on the verge of napping on the floor. “I gave Daddy laser eyes so if the hospital has any bad guys, he can zap them.”
“Very thoughtful of you.” I bite back a drowsy smile, then scooch across the vintage floral rug slightly to get a better look at Odessa’s drawings in the shadows and dancing flicker of firelight. “Great form on that horse.”
Her shoulders roll back, and her marker hovers above the page where she’d been coloring in the mane. “Thanks. It’s going to be an Appaloosa when I’m done.”
“The wording feels a little…strong.” I laugh under my breath at where she’s written Get Better for Horse Shopping in scratchy, little kid font.
When she asked for spelling help a few minutes ago, I was admittedly half asleep—a warm fire and plush rug will do that to you—and didn’t care enough about why she needed to know how to spell shopping for a card to give her dad.
“Dad promised.”
“I know he did. And I promise that we’ll follow through once he’s feeling better…. I’m sorry you had to miss the auction this time.”
“If I wasn’t in the way, Dad would’ve finished his work.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothin’.”
I watch her press too hard on the paper, outlining the horse’s legs again. She’s drawing over what’s already there, and the paper’s dangerously close to tearing.
I reach over and still her hand, careful not to smudge her work. “Dess, you know none of this—what happened to your dad—that wasn’t because of anything you did or didn’t do.”
She doesn’t move for a second. Just keeps staring at the paper like it might rewrite the past if she colors hard enough. “I didn’t listen to him and…and I didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”
My heart aches. I keep my voice steady. “None of this is your fault. None of it. Okay? Daddy getting hurt was an accident. It’s nobody’s fault…this shit just happens sometimes.”
The corner of her mouth quirks upward for a split second, and she whispers, “Swear jar.”
I lean into her, softly kissing her on the side of the head. “More money for the horse fund, hey? I love you. Daddy loves you. And he wouldn’t want you to be blaming yourself for this.”
She nods. I’m not sure she understands or that she’ll take my words to heart. And if I could, I’d call Jackson right now so he could tell her himself, but we’ll have to settle for me relaying what I know he’d tell her if he was able. If he remembered the accident…or his daughter.
Rhett slaps a red balloon sticker in the corner of Odessa’s card. She gasps, shooting daggers at him with a single look.
“Rhett,” I groan. “That wasn’t cool. Keep your stickers on your own card, bud.”
“It’s so Daddy remembers to come home for Dessie’s birthday.”
The air thickens around us, weighing heavily on my shoulders. I know both kids, but especially Odessa, are waiting for me to reassure them. To plaster on a smile and elevate my pitch as I squeak out a promise of his return within the next couple weeks.
“He wouldn’t forget, dummy,” Odessa clips.
Pinching my nose between my index finger and thumb, I say, “Please don’t call your brother a dummy.”
She ignores me, and I can tell by the tick in her jaw that she’s ready to launch herself at her little brother. Granted, he’s taunting her with another sticker—consistently moving it toward her paper and pulling away at the last second.
“If you mess with my card again, I’m feeding you to the barn cats.”
He sticks his tongue out. “They love me. They won’t eat me.”
“That big tom cat who bit me the other day would.”
This is the first I’m hearing about a cat bite.
And apparently it was a bad enough bite that her threat suddenly means something to Rhett, because he immediately quits messing with her. Though I catch the discreet face he pulls at her after she returns to her drawing.
I let the moment play out. The silliness and chaos. They don’t know the full story. They don’t understand how bad things are. But I think they feel it—especially her. And she’s doing what she always does: hiding it behind attitude and barn cat threats.
When they’re all done, the paper and glitter and stickers packed away, Odessa presses her card into my hand.
“Make sure he gets it,” she says quietly. “Dad loves my horse drawings.”
“I will,” I promise. “He’s going to love it. Maybe even frame it.”
Her chin lifts a little, and I can see that some of the heaviness in her expression has eased.
No amount of deep cleaning could do what this did. What they did. For the first time since Jackson woke up and met my eyes with a hauntingly blank stare, I feel like maybe we’re going to find our way through this.