Chapter 11 The Work of Staying #2
I watch him pick up another post brace and hold it steady while my father hammers.
He came back. He took the call and he came back and he did the work he said he would do.
It's not forgiveness. It's not even close. But I notice it. I notice that he's here, doing what he said, without making it about himself.
I turn back to my almonds and keep sorting. I help my mother in the garden, and then I go inside to call Gia.
"How's it going?" she asks when she picks up.
"Leon's been here two days. He's working the farm."
"Working the farm?" I can hear her disbelief. "Leon Rosciano is doing farm work?"
"Mucking out goat pens and spreading almonds to dry."
"I need a picture of this."
"No pictures." I lean against the wall of the guest room, keeping my voice low. "Listen, I made an appointment. With the doctor. Could you drive me?"
"Of course. When?"
"The day after tomorrow, in town. I'll send you the time and address. I'd rather go with you."
"I'll pick you up. You can tell them you're going into town with me. That's all anyone needs to know."
"Thank you."
"Ysabel." Gia's voice softens. "How are you doing? Really?"
I think about it. "I don't know. Leon being here makes everything more complicated.
I keep watching him work and wondering if this is real or if he's just putting on a show.
And then I remember that I'm carrying his child and he doesn't know, and I feel like I'm keeping a secret that's going to explode eventually. "
"You don't have to tell him yet. You don't have to tell anyone until you're ready."
"I know. I just hate that there's this huge thing sitting between us and he has no idea."
"That's not your fault. You're allowed to take your time."
"I know." I sigh. "I should go. They'll wonder where I am."
"Day after tomorrow. Send me the appointment time and I'll work out when to collect you."
Before Leon leaves that evening, I agree he can come back for another day.
He arrives the next morning with work gloves tucked into his belt and a hat to keep the sun off his neck. When he takes his first sip of coffee, I see the raw spot on his palm from the shovel.
My father has stopped watching him quite so closely. He gives instructions in the morning and checks in periodically, but he's started treating Leon like someone who can be trusted with simple tasks. That means something, coming from my father.
Today it's the goats.
"They need to be moved to the other paddock," my father says over breakfast. "The grazing's getting thin where they are. Shouldn't be hard, just open the gate and lead them through. They know the way. I'll show you which gate before I go round to check the water."
"All of them?" Leon asks.
"All five. The one with the crooked ear is the leader. Get her moving and the others will follow."
I see something flicker across Leon's face. Uncertainty, maybe, or the beginning of a question he decides not to ask. He just nods and pushes back from the table.
I'm helping my mother sort beans in the shade near the house when I hear it. A voice, frustrated, from the direction of the goat paddock.
"Come on. The gate is right there. Just walk through."
My mother and I exchange a look. We set down our baskets and walk around the side of the barn, where we can see the paddock without being seen.
Leon is standing in the middle of the field, holding a bucket of feed.
Four of the goats are clustered near the open gate to the new paddock, looking through it with the mild interest of animals who know food is coming.
The fifth goat, the one with the crooked ear, is standing about ten feet from Leon, watching him with an expression I can only describe as contemptuous.
"The others are going," Leon says to the goat. "See? They're walking toward the gate. You could walk toward the gate too. That's where the food is going to be."
The goat doesn't move.
Leon takes a step toward her. She takes a step back, maintaining the exact same distance between them.
"I'm not trying to catch you. I'm trying to get you to the other paddock. There's better grass there. You'll like it."
The goat blinks slowly, like she's heard this kind of negotiation before and found it wanting.
Leon tries a different approach. He walks toward the gate, shaking the bucket so the feed rattles. The other four goats start moving through, following the sound of food. The crooked-ear goat watches them go, then turns back to Leon with what I swear is a smirk.
"Your friends are leaving," Leon says. "Don't you want to go with them?"
The goat lies down.
My mother makes a small sound beside me. I press my hand over my mouth.
Leon stands there for a long moment, bucket in hand, staring at the goat who has decided that today, in this paddock, she is not going anywhere.
"Fine," he says. "Fine. We'll do this the hard way."
He sets down the bucket and approaches the goat slowly, hands out like he's dealing with something unpredictable. The goat watches him come, utterly relaxed, chewing on a piece of grass she's pulled from somewhere.
Leon gets within arm's reach. The goat stands up.
He reaches for her. She sidesteps, neat as a dancer, and trots about twenty feet away before stopping and looking back at him.
"That's Strega," my mother murmurs. "Your father named her. Says she's got the devil in her."
"She's certainly got something in her."
Leon tries again. Same result. And again. After another slow attempt, he's breathing hard and Strega has positioned herself near the fence, as far from the gate as she can get while still being technically in the paddock.
I should help him. My father would know how to handle this. I could call out, tell Leon to leave her and she'll follow eventually, tell him that Strega responds to patience and bribery but never to chasing.
But I don't. I stand there beside my mother, watching my husband chase a goat in circles, and something tight in my chest starts to loosen.
He's not giving up. He's hot and frustrated and clearly out of his depth, but he's not walking away or calling for help or deciding this task is beneath him. He's just standing in a field, trying to figure out how to convince a stubborn animal to cooperate.
"She'll come if you walk away," I hear myself say.
Leon turns around, spots me at the corner of the barn. His face flushes, though whether from exertion or embarrassment I can't tell.
"What?"
"Strega. She doesn't like being herded. If you walk away and leave the gate open, she'll follow the others on her own terms. She just has to think it's her idea."
Leon looks at the goat. The goat looks at Leon. There's a long moment of mutual assessment.
Then Leon turns his back on her and walks toward the gate.
I hold my breath. For a few seconds, Strega doesn't move. Then she shakes herself, and trots toward the gate like she's been planning to go there all along. She passes through into the new paddock without a backward glance.
Leon closes the gate behind her and leans against it, letting out a long breath.
"She's going to be like that every time, isn't she?"
"Probably."
He laughs. It's a tired, slightly desperate sound, and it's so unexpected that I feel my own mouth twitch in response.
I catch myself before it becomes a smile. I press my lips together and turn away, but the damage is done. For a second I was about to share the joke with him, as easily as I would have before. I hate how little warning I had.
"Ysabel," Leon says.
I stop but don't turn around.
"Thank you. For telling me."
"You were going to be out there all day."
"I know. But you didn't have to help."
I don't have an answer for that. I just start walking back toward the house, my mother falling into step beside me.
"You almost laughed," she says quietly.
"I know."
"Is that a bad thing?"
I think about Leon standing in the field, bested by a goat, refusing to quit. I think about the look on his face when Strega finally walked through the gate. I think about the way my chest felt, watching him, the anger and the love and the grief all tangled together in a knot I can't untie.
"I don't know," I say. "I really don't know."
We reach the house, and I go inside to wash up. Through the window, I can see Leon still standing by the gate, watching the goats settle into their new paddock. Strega has positioned herself in the exact center of the field, queen of everything she surveys.
Leon says something to her. I can't hear what.
She ignores him completely.
He laughs again, shaking his head, and turns toward the house.
I step back from the window before he can see me watching. Then I catch myself listening for his footsteps, wondering whether he'll come in and tell us what Strega did next.
That is worse than almost laughing.
I am starting to want him in the room again.