7. Callie
CALLIE
I came to check on the orphan calves in the north barn.
That was why I was here. The three calves I'd been feeding at night since their mothers rejected them needed me.
The smallest one, the black-and-white heifer, hadn't been drinking enough yesterday.
I needed to see if she'd taken the bottle this morning.
Simple as that. Not because I hoped I'd misread the family dinner last night.
The gate latch was stiff and cold. I lifted it with two fingers, pushed the gate open with my hip, and let it swing shut behind me until the latch dropped into its slot.
The grass at the edge of the gravel was wet.
It soaked through the toes of my boots before I reached the lot.
I scraped one boot against the back of my leg, then the other.
I zipped my jacket to my chin and pushed my hands into the pockets.
The gravel lot behind the main house was empty when I crossed it from our house.
Nobody was in the yard. The air smelled like hay and manure and coffee from the ranch office.
My boots crunched on the gravel with each step.
The working dogs were still asleep in their kennels near the equipment shed.
One of them, the old border collie with the gray muzzle, lifted his head when I walked past but didn't get up.
His tail thumped once against the kennel floor.
The ranch stretched out around me. Fields rolled away to the horizon, green with the early spring grass.
Fence lines cut clean angles through the pastures.
The Rutledge land went on for miles in every direction.
I knew every barn, every pasture, every water trough.
I'd walked these paths a thousand times.
I'd check the calves and then go home. Wade and I had a busy few days ahead. The anniversary party was Saturday.
Ten years married.
My chest went tight. I kept walking.
The dinner last night kept replaying itself in my head.
I'd reminded everyone about the party. Marlene had smiled, turned to Shelby, and invited her.
Shelby had hesitated. "Are you sure?" she'd said.
"I wouldn't want to intrude." Then Marlene had insisted, and Shelby had accepted.
Wade had said nothing. He'd just sat there, silent, while his mother invited Shelby to our tenth anniversary.
I wanted to believe I'd misread it. That it was an ordinary invitation. That Wade's silence didn't mean anything.
God, what was I even doing out here?
I stopped halfway to the equipment shed.
The side door to the ranch office was closed. I could hear voices coming from inside. Wade's voice, low and steady. Marlene's, brighter. And Shelby's, laughing at something.
I shouldn't listen. I knew I shouldn't. My feet wouldn't move. I had one boot half lifted off the gravel, and I set it down slowly, heel first, and let my weight settle onto it.
The rhythm of a conversation I wasn't part of carried through the door. I couldn't make out the words at first. Just the sound. The rise and fall of voices. Marlene said something. Shelby laughed again. Then Wade spoke, louder, clearer.
"I'd love to have you at the party, Shelby. It'll be good to have you there."
Ten years married. The anniversary party was Saturday. A few days away.
I stood there. My hands curled into fists in my jacket pockets. The cold metal of my wedding ring pressed against my palm.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket. The wedding ring caught the morning light. I stared at it. I turned my hand over, palm up, and then back again. The band was pale in the light, and there was a thin line of dirt along one edge of the band. I rubbed it with my thumbnail until it flaked away.
I stayed out of sight. I pressed myself against the side of the building where the angle of the wall would hide me if anyone came out.
My shoulder met the boards. The wood was cold through my jacket and rough where the paint had lifted.
I held my boots still on the gravel so they wouldn't crunch, and I kept my weight back on my heels.
My heart pounded hard in my chest. I could feel it in my throat.
My hands shook. I shoved them back in my pockets and held still.
Inside the office, Marlene said something I couldn't make out. Shelby's voice answered, bright and easy. Wade laughed. The sound carried through the door.
I wanted Wade to want me at the party.
But I couldn't tell him.
What would I even say?
I forced myself to move. One step. Then another.
Away from the door. Away from the voices.
Past the equipment shed. Past the north barn where the orphan calves were waiting in their stalls.
I put my hand on the corner of the equipment shed as I went by, and the metal was wet and cold under my fingers.
I took it away and wiped it down my jeans.
I didn't check on them. I just kept walking. The gravel shifted under each boot.
My truck was parked near the barn. I got in and pulled the door shut.
The seat was cold through my jeans. I fitted the key into the ignition and turned it.
Nothing. I turned it again. The engine turned over on the second try, coughing once before it caught.
I tipped the mirror down with two fingers and looked at the ranch office in it, the side door still shut.
I put it in gear and drove across the gravel lot, past the main house, past the kennels where the border collie had gone back to sleep.
The ruts left by the spring rains jolted the truck.
The cab shook, and I held the wheel with both hands and turned it hard to the left.
The truck bounced over the worst of them.
The driveway was empty. Wade's truck was still up at the ranch office. He wouldn't be home for a while.
I cut the engine and pulled the key out. The door of the truck was heavy, and I had to lean my shoulder into it. I shut it and walked up to the side door. The house key was in my back pocket. I found it by touch, pushed it into the lock, and shouldered the door open.
The house was cold when I walked in. The kind of cold that settles into a place in the early morning before the sun reaches it.
I unlaced my boots on the mat and stepped out of them, one and then the other.
Mud had dried in the grooves of the soles.
The floorboards were cold through my socks.
I flexed my toes against them and crossed the floor to the middle of the room.
I stood in the kitchen and looked out the window.
The ranch stretched away beyond the glass.
Fields and fence lines and the main house.
I took my jacket off, one sleeve and then the other, and hung it on the hook by the door.
The hook was crooked, and the jacket swung once and hung still.
Then I stood there, not moving, just looking at my hands.
The wedding ring sat on my finger. I twisted it once. Twice. Three times. It spun easily now.
I walked to the kitchen sink and turned the handle.
The pipes knocked once inside the wall. I didn't need water.
I just needed something to do with my hands.
I ran the tap until it warmed and held my fingers under it.
I pumped soap into my palm and worked it over my knuckles, the backs of my hands, and between each finger.
I rinsed them and dried them on the dish towel hanging from the oven door, and then stood there staring out the window at the fields beyond.
I turned off the water and walked to the kitchen table.
I pulled out the chair, and its legs scraped the floor.
I sat down. My hands were still shaking, so I pressed them flat against the wood.
The grain of the table was smooth under my palms. I hooked my heel behind the chair leg and drew my feet in. Wade had built this table himself.
Saturday was a few days away. The party. Ten years married. I'd have to smile and greet people. I'd have to stand beside Wade while everyone congratulated us. I'd have to watch Shelby walk in.
My chest ached.
But I wouldn't tell Wade I'd heard him. I wouldn't tell him I'd been standing outside that door, listening.
I sat with my back straight and my elbows tucked in.
A drip fell from the faucet into the sink.
The house was quiet around me. Too quiet.
I listened for Wade's truck on the road, but I didn't hear it.
He was still at the ranch office. Still in that meeting with Marlene and Shelby, talking about whatever it was they were talking about.
I thought about calling Jolene. She was my best friend. She ran the rescue I'd founded.
I lifted my hands off the table. The ring caught the light again. I twisted it around my finger, watching it spin.
Saturday. The party. Ten years.
I dreaded it.
I dreaded standing in a room full of people who would congratulate us on ten years. I dreaded watching Wade smile and thank everyone for coming. I dreaded seeing Shelby there, wearing something beautiful. I dreaded the whole thing.
And Wade didn't know.
He didn't know I'd heard him.
I got up from the table. The chair scraped back across the floor. My knees felt unsteady, but I made myself stand. I walked back to the sink and looked out the window again. The fields. The fence lines. The main house sitting solid.
The orphan calves still needed feeding. The working dogs still needed checking. The ranch didn't stop. The work was still there.
I could go back to the north barn. I could feed the calves. I could check on the dogs. The black-and-white heifer needed watching. She hadn't been drinking enough.
But I didn't move.
I stood at the sink, staring out the window. The border collie would be awake by now. The other dogs would be stirring. The calves would be hungry. They were always hungry in the mornings.
I dried my hand on my jeans and turned away from the window.
I wasn't going back to the barn. Not yet.
I sat back down at the kitchen table. I pressed my hands flat on the wood again. The wedding ring clicked softly against it. I slid my hands back and forth an inch, feeling the grain go under them.
Ten years. I'd worn this ring for ten years.
Saturday was coming. The party would happen. Shelby would be there. Wade would smile and thank people for coming.
I'd act like I hadn't heard him. I'd smile. I'd greet the guests.
I pressed my hands harder against the table. The wood was cool and smooth under my palms.
God, I was tired.
I'd get through Saturday. I'd get through the party. I'd stand there beside Wade and smile and smile.
I lifted my head. I stood and went to the window. The glass had fogged at the edges from the cold. I wiped a clear patch with the side of my hand. The kitchen window showed me the ranch beyond. The fence lines cutting their angles.
I went back to the table and sat. I drew the chair in closer to the table, the legs scraping the floor. I took a breath. Then another. My hands were still shaking, but I pressed them flat until they stopped.
Saturday would come. I'd be ready. I'd get through it. Quiet. Calm.
And when it was over, I'd go back to the north barn and feed the orphan calves. I'd check on the working dogs. I'd do the work that needed doing. The work that was always there, waiting for me.
The wedding ring sat on my finger. I looked at it one more time. The band spun easily when I twisted it.
I didn't take it off.