12. Kieran
KIERAN
My mother has made dinner by the time I get back to the house. It’s lasagna, which is one of her better dishes. It’s edible, anyway.
We eat in the same tense silence I’ve always known. Usually it’s my dad who’s stewing in his resentments, but tonight Kyle is also adding to the stony vibe in the room.
For the first time, though, I know I’m here by choice.
The keys to Zara’s rental house are burning a hole in my pocket.
Soon I’ll be sitting in my own space, eating food of my own choosing.
It won’t be good food—I don’t know how to cook, and I can’t afford to eat take-out every night—but it will be all mine.
“You boys get all the oat straw in?” Dad asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Not all of it,” Kyle says.
“Kieran could have started earlier,” says the old man.
“We were out of diesel,” I say.
“Could have gotten the diesel yourself.”
Kyle has the decency to cringe.
I shove another bite of lasagna into my mouth, and the noodles are tougher than they should be.
I’m going to learn to cook for real, I decide.
Everything is going to change. I look down at the cow-shaped salt and pepper shakers on the table.
I made them for my mother in art class when I was fifteen.
She loved them and filled them immediately, standing them in a place of honor in the center of the table.
My father had said they were silly and asked her to keep the old ones out. To this day, there are two competing sets on the table.
I’ve always accepted his disapproval quietly. I never really had a choice. But now I do, and it’s dawning on me that I could move to my new place right now. The only inconvenience would be commuting back to the farm for chores.
Sitting here at the silent dinner table, once again in the shadow of my father’s disapproval, I’m beginning to think my sanity should rate higher than convenience. I clear my throat. “Got some news to share.”
It’s rare that I start dinnertime conversations, so the scraping of plates pauses, and everyone stares at me.
“I’m moving out, into a place I rented. Tonight,” I hear myself add. And why not? I’ll still have to drive between Hardwick and Colebury, but this way I’d be commuting to do farm work instead of coffee-shop work.
For a second my parents just blink at me. Kyle scowls.
“Honey!” my mother gasps. “What brought this on?”
Just everything . “I’ve been saving up,” I say. “And this will make my Busy Bean commute a whole lot easier.”
Kyle shoves another bite of food in his mouth, glowering.
He won’t stay mad, I remind myself. And he doesn’t pay attention, so he doesn’t realize how unhappy I’ve been.
“Waste of money,” my father mutters.
“No, it isn’t,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to get my own place for a while, now. Zara’s tenant fell through on the place she rents out, and she made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”
“A house? You don’t have furniture,” my mother points out.
“That’s true,” I admit. “But everyone starts somewhere.”
“You can take your bedroom furniture,” Mom offers.
“Like hell,” my father says. “What if we have a guest?”
The rest of us stare. Nobody can even remember the last time we had a guest. My mother’s sister comes once a year and stays in a motel.
“Don’t worry about it. I have money,” I say. I don’t want my old twin bed anyway. I want to start fresh.
Kyle avoids my eyes.
I finish my dinner in a few quick bites. “I’d better get my clothes together. Thanks for dinner, Mom. Excuse me.”
“You can borrow my big suitcase,” she offers.
“Thanks.”
Fifteen minutes later I’m sliding that suitcase into the back of my truck. I have barely anything to move into a house. Clothes and toiletries. A box of my favorite books. Art supplies. My sleeping bag and camping mattress.
My mother comes outside carrying a very ugly lamp. I assume she’s dug it out of the cellar, because it’s only vaguely familiar.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t want you sitting in the dark.” She chews her lip.
“I’ll be fine. Hey, Mom? Could I take my desk? From my room?”
“That old thing? You go ahead. Kyle!” she shouts, and I spot my brother slinking off toward Dad’s truck.
“Kyle! Help Kieran with the desk.”
My brother is silent as he follows me one more time up the little staircase to our rooms. He waits while I remove a few things from the desktop, and then grasps one end of it. But then he lets go and stands tall again. “Why are you doing this?” he asks suddenly. “This is ridiculous.”
Of course he thinks so. Because he doesn’t pay attention.
“It’s not ridiculous. I’m moving out because I want to. It will be easier this way. You’ll see. More room.” Less tension .
“This is still your farm,” Kyle says. “It will always be your farm, even if I end up running it.”
That’s just about the most generous thing he’s ever said to me. “I appreciate that,” I say quietly. “But I have other interests, too. And it’s only Colebury, dude. I’m not moving to Europe.” Although sometimes I wish I could.
“Yeah, but you’re leaving me alone with this shit.”
Now it’s my turn to gape. I take in Kyle’s pissed-off face, his dark brown Shipley eyes that we don’t happen to share. “I’m not ditching you. Jesus. But I’m not planning on becoming a full-time farmer, Kyle, and I never will. I have other things to do, so I’m going to go do them.”
Even though my brother is a dunderhead, and I’m sometimes angry at him, I experience a familiar moment of compassion towards him. He looks absolutely bereft. Don’t go , his eyes say.
Men don’t voice these things aloud, though. So Kyle gives a bewildered shrug.
“I’ll come out Monday for chores,” I say. “And if you decide to bale the rest of the straw, let me know and I’ll arrange it so we can do that together.”
“All right.” His voice is thick. He finally lifts his end of the desk and waits for me to do the same.
We maneuver the wooden desk down the stairs and outside while Mom holds the door. We lift it into the truck’s bed, and I shut the tailgate with a satisfying clunk.
“That’s it, I guess,” he says as the dog trots up.
Rex sits down and whines at my feet, licking his chops, and looking nervous. It’s a little unusual for me to load up the truck and drive away at night. He can tell that something different is happening.
“You’re coming with me, boy?”
He beats his tail against the gravel drive.
“Okay, man. Let’s get your dish and your leash. You can try out city living.”
Rex is a free-range mutt. We think he may be a pit bull and Labrador mix.
He grew up running around our fifty-acre farm, but Rexie has slept in my room every night for ten years, since the neighbor gave him to me as a puppy.
My rental house has a yard, and I’d been hoping it would be enough space for an aging farm dog.
Colebury isn’t exactly a city, and he might even love it there.
If he doesn’t, I’ll make the difficult decision to bring him back out here to stay with Kyle.
Kyle and I walk back to the house once again. My mother is fretfully swiping a sponge on the table, and my dad is seated in the same chair that was killing him earlier. I lean down to pick up Rex’s water bowl and food dish.
“What are you doing?” my father asks.
“Rex will need these,” I say quietly.
“You can’t take Rex,” my father growls. “He’s our dog.”
I freeze on the way to the sink, where I’d meant to empty out the water bowl. “He’s mine. He always has been.”
“I’ve fed that dog for ten years,” my father storms.
“ Dad ,” Kyle says, shock in his voice. “Rexie loves Kieran.”
“Don’t take the dog ,” my father rants. “He keeps the raccoons away from the chickens. And he chases off the deer. He’s part of the family. We can’t do without him. Please .”
I’m just standing here holding two dog dishes, not sure what to do. He has a point about the predators. But there’s so much more to this story. He’s willing to fight for a ten-year-old mutt who farts loudly during dinner. He’ll even say please .
He didn’t beg for me to stick around, though. No tears for me.
With my heart in my throat, I set the bowls back down on the floor. “Fine,” I say under my breath. “I see how it is.”
My mother twists the sponge, looking between me and my father, wondering if he’ll relent.
But nope.
I shove my hands in my pockets and stride right out of there.
Kyle follows me again, the screen door banging behind him. “Kieran,” he says, hurrying to catch up. “He didn’t mean it like it sounded.”
I don’t even bother to argue. Rex is waiting patiently by my truck for me, and his tail thumps as I approach. “You’re going to have to hold him.”
Kyle curses under his breath. “Maybe we can find another farm dog for dad.”
“Maybe.” I kneel down in front of Rexie. “Stay here, man. I’ll see you for chores on Monday.” I stroke him between the ears, and his tail thumps faster. “Be a good boy.” When I stand and open my truck’s door, he tries to follow me.
Kyle lunges forward and hooks two fingers in his collar. “Come on, Rex. Let him go.”
I climb into the truck and start it, banging the door shut. Kyle holds the dog back, and they both look at me with sad eyes while I drive away.
I drive toward Colebury feeling torn up inside. I’m ready to live my own life, but I guess I wasn’t totally ready to hear what everyone else thinks of it.
It’s only seven thirty, and I realize that some of the big box stores outside of Montpelier will still be open. As soon as I get to a hilltop—where the cell service is better—I pull over and take out my phone. I find a mattress store that closes at eight, and I call them.
“Look, if you tell me what you’re looking for, and you’re willing to plunk down your credit card number, my guys can load a couple of choices onto the truck and drive ’em to your house tonight.
You’ll choose a mattress on the truck, and they’ll carry the winner inside. What size? And what’s your budget?”