Chapter 6 #2
“Sorry,” I apologize, right as the mud I’m standing in makes a loud schlurp and steals a sandal. My foot jerks free, but momentum carries me forward, sending me face first toward the ground.
Cold, wet grit coats my tongue, and I want to scream, but my mouth is full of earth, so instead I lie still. Maybe if I don’t move, the farm will stop punishing me. My lungs disagree, though, so I push myself up, spitting brown sludge onto the ground.
Behind me, the cows moo in unison, and I swear it sounds like laughter. This place has been trying to get me all day. I fed and watered the animals. Shoveled what can only be described as Mount Poopmore from the chicken coop.
I tried to move the goat fence so they could reach new grass, which led to a stampede. I spent forty-five minutes chasing those bleating maniacs, dragging the last one inside, only for him to pee on me. Who knew goats smell like Satan’s armpit?
After gathering the beautifully colored eggs, I tripped over the water hose, dropped the entire basket, and watched in horror as the chickens swarmed me, pecking yolk and shell like it’s not their babies they’re eating.
So, I retreated to the garden, hoping soil and plants would treat me kindly. Instead, I found a busted hose that turned the ground into a mud pit, which is where I’m currently sitting. I glance down at my foot and groan. My sandal dangles in two pieces, the strap snapped clean through.
“Just perfect,” I sigh.
“Okay?”
I spin around at the sound of my dad’s voice. He’s hobbling across the yard, favoring his bad leg, and I wonder how long he’s been watching. I haven’t seen him since this morning. He’s been busy cleaning the house the best he can.
I stand, swiping uselessly at my clothes. Mud smears instead of disappearing, and I probably look like I belong with the hogs, even though Dad doesn’t own any.
“Yeah.” I force a bright smile. “You know what they say about grounding and its healing effects. I was giving it a try.”
He blinks at me, clearly not sure how to respond to that, and I don’t blame him. My nose twitches, and I sneeze, sending flecks of mud flying. Since I’m already a disaster, I go ahead and wipe my nose with the back of my arm before trudging toward the cabin steps.
“Done?” he asks, following at a slow pace.
“Yeah. I mean, I got the chores done. Sort of. But I don’t think you’d want me inside your house like this.” I plop down on the porch, sure that I’m going to leave a muddy outline behind me.
He digs a rag from his pocket and offers it to me without a word.
Gratefully, I scrub my hands until they’re only slightly less disgusting.
I check the time on my phone and realize Ashton should be off work soon.
He can take care of whatever’s left on the list he handed me this morning. Most of it is simple enough.
I wipe the back of my wrist across my forehead, leaving behind a streak of dirt that probably isn’t helping my case. When Ashton explained everything I’d be helping with out here, I nodded along like I could handle it. In my defense, it sounded manageable at the time.
Turns out, reading about farm chores and actually doing them are two very different things. At this point, I’m convinced my brother is going to have to walk me through half of this list himself.
“Here,” I say, turning the camera on and passing my phone to Dad. “Would you take a picture of me for proof? Ashton needs to see why his to-do list broke me.”
Dad fumbles with the phone, squinting at the screen before finally pressing the shutter. The click makes him grin, and he hands it back.
“Thanks,” I say, slipping the phone into my pocket.
He gives me a simple nod.
I hesitate, watching him lower himself onto the step, only having a second of trouble before he flops down beside me.
The silence stretches, until I finally blurt, “So…are you okay with me being done for the day? Or should I”—I gesture weakly toward the barn—“keep going until the farm finishes me off?”
He chuckles lowly, squeezing his hands together, then tips his chin toward my car. “Go,” is all he manages to say.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry I made such a mess of things. I’ll try to do better tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he says, giving me a reassuring smile.
The sight guts me because only half of his mouth curves with the effort, and the other side stays stubbornly still.
It’s a visible reminder of what he’s been through, of the blood clot that could have taken him away completely.
But he’s still here, able to get around, and that’s something to be grateful for.
Even so, it doesn’t take away the ache of seeing him marked by his stroke.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice to sound lighter. “Ashton will be home soon. I guess I’ll head out and get cleaned up. Is there anything else I can do before I leave?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay.” I pause, shifting my weight, suddenly unsure of the right thing to say. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
He nods once.
I stand and brush at the drying mud on my jeans. It flakes off in little pieces, trailing behind me as I cross the yard. When I glance back, Dad’s still on the porch, watching me. I give a small wave, but he doesn’t return it. Instead, he dips his chin in that quiet way of his.
Sliding into my car, I grip the steering wheel and let out a long breath. My clothes are ruined, I smell awful, and Ashton’s list is barely touched. But I was able to help them, and that’s enough to bring me back tomorrow.
There’s no cell service at my dad’s, so once I’m back within city limits, my phone begins to ping with incoming messages. At a stoplight, I look down to see that I have three missed calls from my mom, two missed calls from a friend at my old job, Heather, and text messages from several people.