Meadow of Imagination

MEADOW OF IMAGINATION

’TIL AN END DEFINED BY TIME

KATIE BYRON

MEADOW OF IMAGINATION

Step into a meadow of imagination, If ye dare, Gracefully guided by a Maiden fair. Winds whisk the woven silk grass, Revealing an impression of beauty Within beauty, a flawless lass. Blink not, for although this majestic Footprint’s surely to last, The initial moment is now but a memory Of the past. Careful. However, this being is for but one. A lingering glance, And ye shall risk the chance Of an enduring endeavor; An unrequited circumstance. Innocent, yet un-tame, An essence free from guilt and shame. Enter my soul and reside within, A tenure with eternity may now begin.

1 CHAPTER 1

Kat Eddie

“Bye, Harrison, see you later.” Kat settles into the corner table, a window on each side. “Have fun at the bookstore, babe.” Debra gives her husband a quick peck on the cheek, then he heads for the door, leaving the two high school friends alone. “So, what’s going on in your world? It’s been way too long since I last saw you.” Kat leans forward, ready to dig into the past and hear about her friend’s life. “Before we get down to the dirt, Kat, the sky’s the limit, order whatever you want. Lunch is on me.” Debra waves both arms wide. “That’s generous of you, thanks, Deb.” “My pleasure. You made the trip from Massachusetts back home to New York, so it’s the least I can do, and as they say, what comes around, goes around.” She pauses, and her eyes brighten. “What, with all the times you took me to the Manhasset Bay Yacht Club with your grandparents, I owe you.”

2 “And we wanted proper drinks but settled for Shirley Temples?” Laughs Kat, tossing her head back. “Speaking of yachts, I’m getting the lobster, it’s delicious. Order anything you want, my friend.” “I’ve never been a lobster lover, but the salmon sounds yummy.” “Ladies. Do you need a few more minutes?” The tall, handsome, dark-haired waiter with fresh-pressed khaki shorts, a red polo—no more than twenty-five years old and the picture of refined fashion—stands at the ready, pen in hand. “I’ll have the lobster, and my friend here will take the salmon.” “Excellent choices. Appetizers?” “Tuna tartar, please, and an iced tea.” Kat closes the menu, noting no prices grace the long list of delicious entrees. The waiter turns his attention to Debra. “And for you, Ma’am?” “The pea soup, thank you.” “The place looks so different from the last time I was here.” Kat glances around The Inn at Pound Ridge. “This whole floor was the restaurant, right? It wasn’t divided between a bar area and dining room in the past. It had a stuffier feeling way back when. I like this so much more. The setup offers a more rustic feel, but with elegance.” “We only came here once or twice when I was a kid, so I don’t really remember what it looked like.” Debra glances around the room with curiosity dancing in her eyes. “The ambiance matches wealthy ease, no pretense, you know, like money is meant to be spent and enjoyed, not flaunted, and tabulated.” “I agree, this is one of my favorite places because it has such a lovely feeling.” Debra looks back at Kat. “When was the last time you were here?”

3 “I don’t remember what year it was. But the last time was a Thanksgiving with my Mom and my Aunt, if not mistaken.” “Now before we get to your Mom, Joanie that is, and your Dad, spill wants going on with you, sounded like you needed to talk when we made this date.” Debra leans in. “And just to clear the air, you know you could’ve told me about your life‐ style, Kat. Why didn’t you?” “I guess it embarrassed me,” confesses Kat. “Didn’t know how you would react, and looking back, I now realize I had such a hard time with my sexuality, especially in college, it was hard for me to talk about it with anyone.” The waiter arrives with a tray of drinks and bread. He swiftly places tall glasses dripping with iced perspiration. “Your appetizers should be out shortly.” Taking a bite of bread and a sip of iced tea, Debra glances at Kat. “Well, Westchester wasn’t a liberal atmosphere back in the day. In our tony town, whenever gays or lesbians were mentioned, it was with intense discrimination,” sighs Debra. “I guess I understand why you said nothing.” “Oh, my gosh, do you remember in high school, the two women people teased, calling them grease monkeys just because they fixed cars?” “Yeah, and the way people treated Nate just because he was feminine. Even though we had a blast in high school, it was cruel for anyone different.” “You can say that again. I tried to fly under the radar. And I wasn’t even sure what I thought when I heard those cruel words about those kids. But I do recall feeling uncomfortable with the language, but not disgusted by the victims, the way everyone else seemed to be.” Laments Kat. “Do you think you knew about yourself in high school?” Debra’s eyebrow arches. “No, I felt remarkably awkward, like I didn’t quite fit in, not knowing how to flirt with the boys in school or the

4 neighborhood. But it wasn’t until freshman year in college, I thought I might be one of those people.” “Oh, Kat, that’s so sad.” Debra’s eyes scream of sorrow. “It’s true, the thought horrified me. I stuffed it away for years until one of my friends and I became closer and closer. Our friendship was so utterly based on incredible like, not love, at first, anyway, and . . .” Debra glances at the waiter on his way over, water pitcher in hand, and she shakes her head from side to side. “We can’t have interruptions now, can we”—she flashed a warm smile, reminiscent of her teen years—“not just when we’re getting to the juicy part.” “Not sure about the parts being juicy, but they have substance.” Laughter slips out between her lips. Kat leans back in her chair, thinking about the long-ago love story for the first time in years. “We had a friendship based on a deep liking, till one night, we just started fumbling and kissing and made love. It was unclear what we were physically doing, except—” “Was it scary?” Kat giggles fondly, a nervous energy makes her body buzz. “My gosh, no. It felt good and right, but wrong to talk about, to tell anyone at all.” “That must’ve been wonderful and terrible at the same time. I told you everything about me back then. How did you keep it all to yourself?” “It was terrible in that sense. But the experience opened the door to loving a woman—a newfound emotional inti‐ macy that lead to a physical arousal, creating the ultimate connection.” “So, what happened? Where is she?” Debra reaches for the empty breadbasket. “No idea.” Kat’s shoulders shrug upward. “What, why? It sounded so nice.” “I think we were too young to have the courage to

5 succeed in a straight, still very homophobic world, or to even think that was an option. But Pandora’s Box had been open for me. Even though my heart had shattered into a million pieces when the relationship ended—in what seemed like a second after it had begun—I’m glad it happened.” With a deep breath, Kat exhales with fond memories of first love. “I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.” “Wow, my friend, just wow. I had no idea all this happened. No idea at all. Even when I saw you in New York, you said nothing. Do you think that’s why we lost touch?” “Oh, for sure, yes. I couldn’t imagine telling you and was afraid of what you’d think. But in college, I found such a great group of friends. They too were with women or were very liberal. Being Gay was just not something that was an ‘okay topic’ of conversation in the late 70s or even the 80s.” “You know what Kat, shame on me for not reaching out to you. Harrison and I have plenty of gay friends in San Fran, so I have no judgment. We’re all people, so love who you love. But what’s happening now, tell me, are you happy?” Watching the waiter arrive with the appetizers, Kat eyes the tuna with delight. But Debra studies the orange-colored soup placed in front of her with a blink of surprise. “This isn’t pea soup.” “The kitchen couldn’t make the pea soup today, Ma’am; however, this is a curried coconut soup, the chef’s specialty. He thought you’d prefer this over something else.” “Why would I prefer this?” “My apologies. Would you like me to bring you some‐ thing else?” “No, I’ll try it. But I’m not happy you didn’t tell me when I ordered.” “Again, my deepest apologizes.” The waiter backs away, non-pulsed. Kat takes a bite of her tuna, rests the fork on the plate’s

6 side, savoring the delectable morsel. “That’s more than enough about me, tell me all about you, Deb.” “Nothing to tell. Same old, same old. Our daughter, Belle, is excellent, and Harrison’s great. Now, I want to hear your story. We have time to talk about my life later.” Nearly choking on another bite of her tuna, delight rolls over Kat’s face at Debra’s curiosity about her life. “I have two amazing daughters.” “Wait, back up. Who’s your partner? Is that the right word?” “So much to teach you, my friend. Lover is the preferred term rather than a partner. In Lesbian land, when you sleep with someone, she instantly becomes your lover after a date or two. To your friends, coworkers, or a taxi driver, saying ‘this is my lover’ often conjures an image of you and the woman next to you in people’s minds, which leads to, ‘how exactly do lesbians have sex?’” “Oh. Makes sense, I guess. So, who is she—this person you have sex with?” “Beth. We actually got married four years ago, in 2004, when marriage became legal in Mass.” “Congratulations.” Debra clinks her glass with Kat’s. “Did you know her from Boston?” “We met while I was living in NYC, but she’s from Western Mass. After a year of long-distance dating, I was happy to leave the city. It was time to move back to Mass‐ achusetts, but this time, to Northville. She’s eight years younger than me but going on ten years older in temperament. “I hear that one. Sometimes, Harrison seems older than his years too.” “Beth was only twenty-five when we met and had an innocence and silliness about her. We had fun and got along well. I think I was so ready to settle, and our dating just rolled along effortlessly. It worked.”

7 “What does she do for a living?” “She passed the Bar a year ago and is a prosecutor with the DA’s office in Boston, which fits her perfectly, because she’s about the most contrary person I know.” Debra laughs, and Kat soon follows. This moment of happiness brings to mind the friendship she and Deb had forged in high school, which was pure silli‐ ness and easy going. “She’s a good Mom—we both are. Our life in Northville is reasonably idyllic, and from an outsider’s perspective, healthy. More so than my Christian brothers who remain single during their search for perfect subservient brides.” Debra raises her hand, and with sarcasm in her voice, says, “Don’t get me started about your younger brother.” Laughter erupts from Kat’s lips. The attentive waiter arrives with a tray of food and a stand. He prepares to serve each prepped dish, then he places a beautifully garnished meal in front of Kat, a culinary masterpiece. A sprig of dill floats on a bed of melted butter, cascading down the side of a rectangular piece of seafood. The concoc‐ tion creates a glistening sheen for the perfectly pink piece of salmon underneath. A lovely bed of greens completes the dish. “This looks delicious.” Kat takes a healthy taste of her meal. “Enjoy, my friend. Between bites, tell me what’s it like with two Moms. What do they call you?” “I’m Mommy, and Beth is Mama. It works well. The kids are amazing. Our town is ultra-accepting of two-Mom-fami‐ lies. So, they have lots of friends from the other two-Mom- families and straight ones.” “You’re happy, yes?” “Mostly, I would say and for sure with the girls and being a Mom, but . . .”

8 “But what? Spill it. Something’s bugging you. I could tell on the phone. I’m all ears.” Swallowing a mouthful of baby carrots, and taking a sip of her iced tea, Kat sits back. “Beth and I each have our parental strengths. Although, our differences come out in dribs and drabs. For the most part, we provide a loving, secure environment for our daughters, centered on nurtur‐ ing, warm laughter, and educational stimulation.” “I bet those girls adore you,” offers Debra with a look of joy. “I think so.” Beams Kat. “And the girls love each other. Olivia is nine, and Stafani is seven. I gave birth to Olivia and Beth to Stafani, but the kids have the same donor. We wanted to create a biological link between the girls and therefore, somewhat of a circle with Beth and myself.” “So cool, and they’re close to Belle’s age. They must all meet at some point. But go on.” Debra breaks a lobster claw, dipping it into a warm dish of butter. “You know our life is about as normal as it gets, except, we’re a two-Mom-family. It’s no different from any other familial group.” “Well, that sounds good, so what’s the trouble?” Debra digs past the surface emotions, gently prods Kat. “I can’t pinpoint the disintegration between Beth and me, other than, we don’t truly love the essence of who each of us is. We love our daughters. But I don’t know that we fully respect how the other parents.” Debra nods as if understanding. “This isn’t wildly uncommon.” “Right, and people make it work. I’d say more than anything, our love fell apart when Beth took the job in Boston.” “That’s a drive, isn’t it?” “Yeah. At first, we all tried to live in the Boston area. But

9 for a variety of reasons, we both agreed it’d be better to move back to Northville.” “But Beth still works in Boston?” “Yes. Probably part of the challenge. I have my home life with the kids—a single parent during the week.” “So, you’re on your own all week, got a full-time job, and your Mother, Joanie, is near you, right?” “Yup . . . Moved to Massachusetts in 2005. She’s in and out of the hospital so often, Stafani thinks that’s her other home.” “Ah, the sandwich generation. So, Beth comes home on the weekends.” “She rolls in every Friday night around 8:00.” “And your routine goes out the window, am I right?” “Yes. Exactly. It’s like two different households at this point.” “That is tough.” Debra leans back and dips another chunk of lobster in the butter dish. Kat takes a moment to swallow a mouthful of salad. “Overall, the whole scenario is all doable and surmountable. Still, an ingredient is missing for both of us, and I think it is mutual respect and connection. I operate on an emotional level, and Beth on a cerebral one. Additionally, she’s committed to her job at the DA’s office in Boston.” “Yeah, you don’t want a part-time spouse. You need someone who gets that. Does she?” Taking another bite of Salmon, Kat continues, “I don’t think so. And there’s no end in sight for all of us living together in Western Mass full time.” “I know I couldn’t have that type of a marriage.” “Exactly. I loathe the distance between us during the week. So, I hate to say it, but first, my mind, and now my heart, is drifting away. There’s no effort from Beth to bolster the marriage either, which has me feeling like I’m clearly a third-level priority, at best.”

10 “That sucks.” “Tell me about it. When she comes home on the weekend, it’s like I’m invisible. My work with the kids is done, and I’m dismissed like hired help until Monday. I’m sure she’s pissed we moved back to Northville, but hey, she was part of the decision.” “That’s not okay.” Debra plunges another lobster piece in the pool of butter. “You’re one of the nicest, funniest people I know, and it sounds like this woman doesn’t know what she’s got.” “You know what, that’s what great friends are for?” Kat puts her fork down and looks at Deb with appreciation. “They make you feel fantastic about yourself when telling a tale of woes about your life, no matter how insignificant you may feel your story is.” “It sounds like you’re a great mom to those sweet girls of yours, and there’s nothing insignificant about what you’re saying.” “Thank you, they’re so amazing. Plus, we have a beautiful house in the country, a supportive family, a lot of friends, and respectful careers.” “Now, my friend, what about your writing? Are you writing?” “No, I’m not sure what happened. Ever since I moved to Western Mass, that singing in my soul, so to speak, is gone. I felt it in college, then again in New York City. It just hasn’t come back.” “May I clear your dishes, ladies?” The waiter approaches with a tray. Kat places her fork and knife on the right side of her plate, then leans back in her chair. Then glances over at Deb to see if she too is finished. He gathers dishes. “How about dessert, ladies?” Kat nods enthusiastically.

11 “Please.” Debra, placing a napkin on the table, pats her belly. “I’ll be back in a moment with your dessert menus.” “Sounds good.” Kat nods, then turns her focus to Deb. “But you know what, the kids are the best part of my life. A family unit and future expansion of it is a passion for me, for sure. I believe one’s individual self is by far the most impor‐ tant person you can love internally. Knowing who you are, your value to those around you, to love, to open your heart, because you believe in yourself, gives one the ability to love others.” Debra takes the last sip of her water, then swallows. “Children—beautiful gifts from God. They provide a land‐ scape to love unconditionally, to give your whole heart over to another human being, and no matter what they do, or say, or how they act, your love for them never diminishes.” “Yup, that’s how I feel about my daughters. I’ll do anything for them, and my love for them is limitless. You know how it is; motherly love for a child is intrinsically different from the desire for a mate—the purity of the emotion. Life has shown me the love we seek between mates, partners, spouses, and a significant other—has a myriad of feelings because, at some point or another, it loses the sincerity.” “Right, you can get mad at a child, your Mother, your family, but I always forgive them.” Debra nods in agreement. “I thought, surely, decency in all types of love exists. And that’s what I was searching for when I moved to New York in ‘89. The first woman I was with scratched the surface of those feelings.” “Sure did sound so romantic.” “It was, and like a hearty, weather-resistant drug, I knew love could endure anything, and I wanted to find that all- consuming desire, especially since I was finally out to myself, friends, and my Mom. It allowed me, in a sense, to write a lot

12 of poetry about the ideal love. And that’s when I knew the love of my life must be out there, I still believe she is.” “If that’s what you want, and you and Beth aren’t right for each other, I bet you’ll find that person.” Barely catching a breath, Kat sits upright. “You want to hear one of my favorite verses that speaks to the hopeless romantic in me?” “Of course, are you kidding me? Yes.” “Here goes.” Kat clears her throat and sits forward, sharing a long-held belief about desire.

Finally, this I say to thee, With peace and care, I lastly see, If ye be my loving fate, Speak we not the where or wait For ‘til an end defined by time, A love again, we too shall find Filled with grace and by God divine.

“My friend, talking with you today, you’re the same person I knew in high school, the person that I’ve gotten into more trouble with than anyone else—went to bars with when we were sixteen.” Kat points a finger at Debra. “Don’t forget about hanging our underwear out the car window to dry.” “All because we were driving home late at night after pool hopping.” “Yep. You remember.” “What about watering-down your parents Johnny Red and Black after drinking half the bottles? Or roaming around the neighborhood at 3:00 am, peeking into neighbors’ homes.” A knowing expression comes over Kat’s face. “Those days were so much fun.”

13 “They were, my friend. Man, I had no idea you were so dammed deep, you hide this part of you from all of us.” She pauses a moment. “That’s one of the most romantic poems I’ve ever heard.” Debra sips her mango juice. Kat laughs with ease, for she knows her friend gets her and the duality of her personality. Yep. Deep. Intense. A mind filled with mysterious thoughts, she thinks to herself. But fun-loving, silly, eager, and caring too. “Let’s toast to bonds of time.” Kat lifts her glass. “Friends who can grow in different directions but maintain lasting core connections.” Debra clinks her glass with Kat’s. “So, can you explain the meaning of your poem—how it relates to you?” The waiter brought over two desserts. “Compliments of the Chef.” “What happened to those menus,” mutters Debra, under her breath, “you’d think they’d learn.” The waiter places a large bowl of creamy chocolate ice cream, swimming in chocolate sauce and surrounded by caramel popcorn, all resting on a bed of chocolate cake, in the middle of the table. “Hey, I’m good with it if you are.” Kat’s mouth waters immediately. “Fine. Thanks.” She waves the waiter off then turns to Kat. “Well, today’s not the day to stick to my diet.” Debra scoops up a spoonful of chocolate. “So, what’s the inspiration behind your poem? Your personal meaning?” Kat too takes a big bite of the most decadent dessert she’s tasted in years, the smooth, creamy chocolate tastes like heaven in her mouth. “Life’s unknowns—unrealized potentials.” She pauses long enough to wash the residual sweetness out of her mouth. “Soulmates are separated by space and distance, for a brief moment, knowing time is relative. They may or may not be together in a parallel universe, but if they’re each

14 other’s fate, they’ll find each other in this universe—their love, filled with grace and by God’s hand, divine. They remain together until time dictates if and when their fate as a couple ends.” “In other words, your soul mate is still out there looking for you, and you for her.” “Bingo, my friend. B-i-n-g-o.” Kat knows this, but she’s glad to have her views understood and appreciated.

15 CHAPTER 2

Rory Tucker

Rory stands on the porch, brushing the last bit of dust off her pants. She kicks off her Ariat boots into a pile of shoes outside the open front door, then rubs her tired feet. Clanking dishes, the hum of the television, and the wafting smell of pork greet her. Rory, uneasy, exhales with a sigh so deep, she chokes before walking inside. Turning into the kitchen, she examines the empty room. Pots and pans fill both sides of the sink. Her husband, stretches out on the couch in the den off the kitchen, watches the television with an unwavering focus. Exhaustion cuts at her heart. Fighting the tears brimming her lower lids, she hangs onto her resolve. “Did the girls eat yet?” He doesn’t bother to glance at Rory. “Ariana did. Alexis said she wanted to wait for you.” Rory flips Max the bird and walks to the back pantry, grabbing the half-empty Absolute bottle. Bringing the gallon jug into the kitchen, she snatches a glass from the cabinet,

16 then fills it with ice. In one clean swoop, she splashes enough cranberry juice in the container to give her cocktail a pink hue to compliment the vodka—she doesn’t want to stop pouring. “There’s food in the oven and dishes in the sink, all for you.” Max laughs with a snort. Why does he think that’s funny, Rory thinks to herself? At least he made dinner for himself and the girls. For that, I’m thankful. Rory stares at the sink. “We talked about this. The girls can help clean up. I’m out there all day long in the heat or cold and exhausted at night.” “Suit yourself, Rory.” Max rapidly flips through the chan‐ nels, stopping at the WWE. “You get them down here.” After twenty years of marriage, Rory lets the comment slide. If she doesn’t, she knows at some point, she’ll blow her top, and they’ll have an all-out fight. But tonight’s not the evening for fighting, not with a hoarse voice from riding lessons. All Rory wants to do is numb her mind. Taking a spoonful of the mashed potatoes, and a small piece of pork, Rory sits on a barstool in the kitchen, then swallows a generous gulp of her cocktail. She looks at her husband in his undershirt, ripped shorts, and soiled white socks. Man, with a few more drinks in him, I could grab that pillow— she thinks, stabbing at a piece of meat—and put it over his mouth and watch him gasped for air just for fun. As quick as the thought pops into her head, it disappears. He might flail his arms and slap me in the face again, she lets that thought come and go, as well. “Alexis and Ariana, get down here and help clean up.” Rory washes down the last bite of pork with a swig of her drink. On autopilot, she gets up and opens the empty dishwasher.

17 No reply from either daughter finds her ears. She puts her plate in the lower rack and thinks about loading the mess—dishes matted with food. Leaning against the sink, hands gripping the edge, her rage bubbles to the surface. “Alexis. Ariana,” she yells with a force that comes from sheer exhaustion and feelings of unap‐ preciation. “Pull the hooks out of your assess and get down here before I brat slap you.” This burst of steam somehow eases Rory’s tension. In retrospect, she laughs to herself for the red-neck phrase that come out of her mouth with ease. “Coming, Mom,” shouts Alexis from upstairs, unfazed by the choice words. Her daughter appears in the kitchen, a bright smile on her face, stopping at the doorway. “Where’s your sister?” “I think she’s outback with that idiotic goat.” Alexis peeks around the wall separating her from her Dad, and glances at the television. Rory looks at the back window, and sure enough, Ariana has a bucket on her head, getting ready to ram the goat. Running as fast as her short little legs will take her, she goes low and contacts Billy head on, then falls backward. The goat jumps on top of her belly, claiming his unwavering claim to king of the mountain. Repeated cries of distress break Rory’s laughter. “Help. Help me.” Ariana rolls from side to side, and the goat hops along, never breaking his stride. Max hoists himself off the couch, then glances out the window. Rory doesn’t make a move for the back door. “Well,” she says with a sigh, “you gonna go? Or do you want me to?” “Nope. Look at her, she’s fine.” His body sinks into the cushions. “Go on upstairs. I got my eye on her.” He ends the conversation with a loud belch.

18 “You need another pillow, Max, maybe another drink?” Her words drip with honey-sweet venom. “Yeah, that’d be great.” He turns his heads slightly, but not enough to interrupt his television viewing pleasure. His arm flops over the back of the couch, offering up his glass. She steps into the den, takes his tumbler, throws a pillow on his head, then dumps it into the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. “I don’t need a fresh glass, that one’s fine.” Completely ignoring him, Rory turns to her daughter. “Alexis, sweetheart, eat upstairs with me. We can watch a show.” Her face lights up, and she shoots a curious glance outback. “What about Ariana?” One glance out the window proves the backyard drama has wound down. Ariana now has Billy in his shed for the night. “She’s on her way in, Munchkin. Let’s go upstairs. I’m tired.” “I’ll take care of you, Mom.” Alexis wraps her arms around Rory’s waist, then squeezes her tight. “Let me grab some food for you.” Rory fills a plate, grabs a fork, then crosses the kitchen floor. Alexis takes hold of Rory’s free hand. “I’m glad you’re home.” Hand in hand, Rory and her daughter head for the stairwell. “Hey,” Max’s voice hangs heavy in the air. “When’s the cash cow starting—the woman with the two kids?” “First, those are new clients,” shouts Rory, walking down the hallway, shoulders slumped. “Second, not everything’s about money, Max.” “Yeah, I know. You pay the bills.” The volume on the WWE goes up. Rory’s too tired to get into it with her husband, so

19 instead, she turns the hall lights off and heads upstairs with Alexis, knowing the dishes will be there in the morning. Ariana stumbles in the front door and skips down the hall just as Rory reaches the stairs. Hair disheveled like a lion’s mane, and patches of dirt on her knees, she looks like a ragamuffin. “Have fun with Billy?” Rory grins, then links her arm in her daughter’s. “I almost had him,” replies Ariana. Halfway up the upstairs, Ariana releases Rory’s arm. “I’m gonna watch wrestling with Dad.” She turns, humming a tune, and trots back down. “Don’t stay up too late, sweetheart, ya got school tomorrow.” Yep. Daddy’s little princess, Rory thinks to herself. Alexis and Ariana are paternal twins with distinct personalities. But both girls are a solid mixture of their parents’ similar, physical characteristics. Max, five-foot, eight inches, has an impressive beer belly, minimal neck, and stocky legs. Whereas, Rory, five-foot, five inches, has a full-bodied frame with a muscular fullness from years of riding and training horses. Ariana took on a stockier build like her father’s but has her almond-shaped eyes. And Alexis looks more like Rory, but with her father’s wide-set eyes. At an early age, each girl gravitated to a parent, and it seems they still do today. “Slam the bum on the mat,” shouts Max. Rory sighs, then closes the bedroom door, drowning out Max’s screams. From the other side of the door, her daughter’s voice filters to her ear. “Yeah, kill the bum.” Alexis jumps on the bed. “What do ya want to see?” “You want to watch The Bachelor?” Rory hands Alexis her plate of food.

20 “Yeah. I like that show.” She snuggles against Rory’s shoulder. “Thanks, Mom, I’m starving.” She strokes her daughter’s head, watching her eat. “Did you do your homework today?” “Yeah. I did it at school with Mrs. Klein’s help.” Alexis puts her fork on her plate, then yanks the ponytail holder free of her hair. “You like Mrs. Kline?” “Yeah.” Alexis dips a piece of pork into the mashed potatoes. “She a good special ed teacher for you? Better than Mr. Walker, right?” “Oh, way better.” She shoves the food in her mouth. Rory thinks about how difficult homework used to be. It was a frustrating struggle for the entire family. Back then, Alexis wasn’t able to concentrate more than a few minutes before getting up and running around, jumping, and fidgeting. Max would scream, furious at the upheaval, and get right in Alexis’s face. That would cause Rory to yell at Max, and poor Alexis would quiver with anxiety and fear at the table. Ariana, an innocent bystander to mayhem, sat silent in a corner somewhere. Rory’s heart melted each time her daughter broke down and cried. Even more so when she tried to complete a home‐ work assignment and failed. Tension made the muscles in her neck and shoulders tense back then because she knew all too well what it was like to have ADHD. Only difference, back in Rory’s youth, her parents did nothing. Actually, Rory’s parents didn’t understand why she was having so much trouble in her classes. And her high school was ill-equipped to test, let alone help special needs kids in the ‘70s. Instead, they just kept advancing Rory until she graduated. She graduated—even has a framed high school diploma

21 on the wall to prove it. Unfortunately, she was unable to read beyond a 5th-grade level. But life gave Rory an iron will. A survival instinct to fend for herself. It didn’t take long to teach herself to read—it only took sheer focus and determi‐ nation after commencement. Not wanting her daughter to experience the same hard‐ ship, Rory vowed she’d be Alexis’s advocate. Glad to be upstairs, and propping a pillow behind her back, Rory fights back the day’s tears—not wanting her daughter to see her face wrinkled with anguish, she looks away. She rubs her eyes and face, then stares at the television. Out of the corner of her eye, Rory catches a glance of Alexis in the dresser mirror. “What’s wrong, Mom?” “Just a long day, and I am drained. But nothing to worry about, sweetheart.” She studies her daughter with tenderness. “What, mom?” Alexis scrunches her brows, then takes another bite of food. “Whatcha looking at me like that for?” “I’m just proud of you, that’s all.” She glances at the bold red letters of the alarm clock. “You know what, I had no idea it was so late.” “But I can stay up longer, I’m almost about fourteen.” Alexis bounces up on her knees, nearly toppling the remaining food on the plate. “Come on, let me sleep in here with you, and watch American Idol.” “No, sweetheart, head into your room.” Rory’s heart melts, wanting to give in but holding firm. “I’m right on the other side of the wall.” She pauses a moment, allowing the words to sink in. “I’ll see you in the morning.” “Fine.” Alexis jumps on the bed, hopping a few times, then lands on the floor with a thud. She gives Rory a quick kiss on the cheek. “Night.” Humming a song, she exits the room.

22 Once in her bedroom, the stereo flips on, playing Swagga Like Us. Rory shakes her head from side to side, then giggles at her daughter’s song choice. She grabs the dinner plate, relocating it to the dresser. Pulling on PJ pants and tee-shirt, she exhales a long sigh before turning out the light. Remote in hand, she tunes into a handsome bachelor, handing roses out to potential brides. She thinks about Max. A man she loved well enough twenty years ago to marry, but the harsh years washed away any tenderness between them. Closing her weary eyes, she fantasizes about leaving, escaping relentless jokes, coarse behaviors, and merciless teasing. The latter aimed primarily at Alexis’ expense. Using a technique one of her friends showed her long ago, Rory imagines warm wind blowing through her hair, palm trees swaying, and the nicker of horses calling. She eases into the fold of her mattress, arms stretched out by her sides. Sparky, the family Jack Russell, scratches at the door, breaking her trance. Her new life dissolves into reality; the what, where, and how anything different could unfold, breaks. Knowing Max will hustle Ariana up to bed soon before he falls asleep on the sofa, she flips off the television. A tear finally escapes. She drifts to sleep, praying last night’s night‐ mare won’t return. In what seems like a few moments later, Sparky pokes his wet nose at Rory. “Really?” A yawn washes across her lips. “What time is it?” She looks first to her dog, then at her bedside clock—bright red numbers shout 6:30 in the morning. “What? Are you my alarm clock now Sparks, or did you hear the girls getting up?”

23 Rolling her dog flat on his back, she scratches his belly. His hind leg scratches the air. “What a good boy you are.” Looking over her shoulder, she spies Max’s side of the bed. It’s ruffled but empty. Turning back to Sparky, she continues the scratching fest. “Yep. Just you and me, buddy.” She flips him right side up, pushes him to the floor, then stands up, rubbing her back. “Let’s go get those girls out the door, don’t want them to miss their bus.” Sprinting to the door, Sparky’s long nails click across the worn wood floor. His stub of a tail, wags a mile a minute. Rory cracks the door, and her dog’s excitement grows. She tosses the door open, then waves her arms. “Get’m.” He trots off, nose in the air and tail still wagging. Alexis barrels out of her room, nearly colliding in the hallway with Rory. Her backpack, slung over one shoulder, looks like it weighs more than she does. With both hands, she pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Watch it, Mom. Nearly knocked you over.” A cheerful smile brightens Alexis’ entire face. “You’re extra cherry today.” Rory examines her daughter’s clothes. Stands with her hands on her hips, she blocks the doorway. “You don’t think your shirt’s cut a little low?” She usually lets the girls dress the way they want but tries to draw the line at too much cleavage. “Don’t be such a prude, Rory,” Alexis slips past her, then charges down the stairs, Sparky yapping at her heels. “Yeah, Rory, don’t be such a goody-goody,” Ariana emerges from her room on the opposite side of the hall, in an identical outfit. “It’s Mom to both of you. Now, yank up those shirts.” yells Rory. She rolls her eyes, then shakes her head from side to side.

24 From the bathroom window, she sees two of her horses in the back paddock patiently waiting at the gate for their morning hay. Their muzzles scour the ground for any left‐ over nibbles. “What kind of day is it going to be today?” The almost unrecognizable person in the mirror looking back at her— wearing her face—doesn’t know how to answer. Rory brushes her hair and teeth. She examines her roots for any gray hairs and scrutinizes the dark circles and lines around her eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary jumps out at her, so she stands back and sees herself—really sees herself— because she’s the only person who does. Today will be exceptional, she thinks to herself. I get to spend time with my horses, train two new riders, and best of all, no Max. Yes, today’s gonna be a phenomenal day. Rory goes into the kitchen, hectic with commotion, and makes a beeline for the coffee pot. She glances at the big- faced clock on the wall. “You girls will miss the bus if you don’t get the lead out.” Alexis tosses a bag of potato chips in her pack along with an apple, then does the same to the backpack on her sister’s back. Max hides under the blanket. Fresca, the other Jack Russell, tries to burrow deeper under the covers, desperate for his affection. “Time to get up, Maxwell.” “Yeah Dad, rise and shine.” Ariana giggles. She tiptoes to the large window in the living room. “Shut up, I’m sleeping,” groans Max, pulling the covers higher above his head. “Nope.” Ariana flings open the curtains, then runs out the back door, dragging his blanket, Alexis not far behind. Rory leans against the counter. “Don’t slam the—” The heavy wooden door smacks the frame. “—door.” She sighs.

25 “Well, guess you have no choice, Max.” Rory grabs the coffee pot, puts it under the faucet, and fills it to the brim. “You’re dressed early, Rory, what’s the rush?” “It’s called work, Max. You know, barn chores. I’m gonna take a trail ride up the mountain before my lessons start. What about you?” Not expecting an answer, she opens the fridge, grabs the cream, and a bottle of orange juice. “Want some?” Rory pours herself a glassful, drinks it down in two gulps, then heads for the front door with her brown ceramic coffee mug that has a horsetail for a handle. “Hey, I want some juice too.” Over her shoulder, Rory discharges a sarcastic barb. “I left the carton on the counter for you. Have at it.” With a slam of the door, she’s gone. Out in the barn, she grabs a bale, then cuts the bailing twine holding the tightly packed hay together, kicking off her morning routine. If I hustle, I can get up the mountain for a nice long ride before the first lesson of the day at eleven, she thinks to herself. Around the grain room’s backside, she double-checks her horse list for the day’s lessons. Going down the list, she sees the last two slots filled with new names: Olivia and Stafani at 5:00 to watch Bridget The Mom sounded so lovely, she thinks to herself, and excited to transition from their other lesson farm—looking for a better fit for her girls. Humming down the aisle, she tosses a flake for each horse. An airiness lightens her steps. “Yup, today’s a better day.” Rory nuzzles into her horse’s nose. “I can feel it.”

26 CHAPTER 3

Kat Eddie

Realizing the time, Kat turns off her computers, grabs her key, then dashes out her department suite. Down the stairs, she rounds the corner and steps out onto the sidewalk. A quick sprint to her car in the parking lot behind her office building at Pine Valley College, where she’s an IT Director, gets her heart pumping. Looking at her watch, she knows with some speedy driving, she’ll get home just before the school bus to meet Olivia and Stafani. “Heading out?” Mark, her boss and an absolute godsend to her at this point in her career, Unlocks the car next to hers. “Yeah. So, I can pick up the girls.” “Did you get that issue fixed? The one with the locked- out system?” “It’s taken care of, and a new password in place. Oh, and I scheduled the system wide updates—they’ll happen seam‐ lessly overnight.”

27 “See, that’s what I like about you.” He stands with the door open. “You’re one of those rare employees who always meets all set goals and deadlines well ahead of her peers. Go, before you’re late.” She slips behind the steering wheel, starts the engine, then heads home. A member of the sandwich generation, she’s the sole caretaker of her mother, and the primary caretaker for her daughters during the week. She was lucky to land this job, and even luckier to fall under Mark’s team. He afforded her the freedom to deal with work as needed, which in turn, lowered external pressures and eased internal stress; therefore, creating a more produc‐ tive employee in her. Kat appreciated his trust in her and has yet to let him down. Arriving a moment before the school bus rounds the corner, Kat parks her car in the tidy garage and walks to the end of the drive. She can see both girls standing. They’re ready for the doors to open, so they can run down the bus steps. “Mommy, Mommy,” shouts Olivia, dragging a backpack in one hand and waving artwork in the other. “I’m gonna ride a horse today, horse today, horse today,” Stafani sings the impromptu melody to So Early in the Morning. “I’m gonna ride a horse today . . .” “Hi, girls,” exclaims Kat, with an enormous smile. She opens her arms wide, and they fall into her embrace. “Let’s run inside for a snack. Come on. Zip. Zip. Today’s the day we drive out to that horse farm and check out Brid‐ get’s riding lessons.” If she hopes to avoid an afternoon rush of traffic when taking the girls to a small backyard, horseback riding farm in Hay River, about fifteen minutes away, she needs to leave soon. Olivia and Stafani currently ride at another barn, but

28 the lessons are so impersonal, strict. It’s not the environment Kat desires for her daughters. Walking into the house together, Kat opens the frig, grabs two cheese sticks, some grapes, and milk. Placing the food on the kitchen counter, Olivia and Stafani each hop on the other side of the kitchen bar, sitting on their self-designated stools. “Mommy, can we stop for ice cream after we watch Brid‐ get?” Olivia peels back the plastic wrapper, taking a bite of cheese. “Sure, but only if you finish your whole snack. You know how it goes, balance—healthy food than a few yummy treats.” Kat stands, grins at the girls, then puts her hands on her hips. “Yay.” Olivia speaks first, then her sister soon follows. The two of them beam in unison, then turn and look at each other, pumping their fists. Under her breath, Stafani whispers, “Yeesss.” Kat has the morning, after school, and evening routines down to a science, making everyone’s life calm and consis‐ tent. She believes the core elements of well-adjusted, merry children are lots of nurturing, healthy regular meals, plen‐ tiful snacks, silliness, and stable habits—an absolute necessity for the five-days-a-week single parent. “Who will feed Spencer and Sasha before we leave?” Kat takes a grape from Stafani’s bowl, throws it up in the air, and catches it in her mouth. “After the lesson, we need to visit Grandma Mickey in the hospital.” “I will, I will.” Olivia jumps off her stool, then runs to the back hall. The telltale sound of the measuring cup digging into the Iams dry food bag, and the clanking of food dropped in the tin bowl, pings in her ears. Meows ring out from their tuxedo cats. “I love going to Grandma Mickey’s house.” Stafani chomps on her grapes. “It’s so big, and the hallways are so long, I can

29 run fast and beat Olivia in a race every time,” proclaims the impish little fairy. Her head tilts, then turns slightly to the right, and her hands clench into tiny fists placed on her hips. She laughs, not only at the thought of the kids racing, but the wonder of a young child’s mind. Wow. My mother’s in and out of the hospital so often, Stafani thinks Coolidge Hospital is her grandmother’s home, she thinks to herself. “Well, maybe this time, I’ll race too.” Kat reaches out and tickles her daughter’s belly, who folds into giggling delight. She checks the time. “Everyone in the car. Let’s go.” Kat grabs a packed bag of water and goldfish snacks. Once outside, the girls hop in the backseat. Kat closes and locks the door connecting the house to the garage, then jumps in behind the steering wheel. “Away we go.” She glances at both of her daughters, who now sit snug in their seats—not a care in the world. “Mommy.” Olivia taps Kat on the shoulder. “Bridget says she likes Rory much better than our other riding teacher, and she likes the place more too.” “Well, we’ll see how you both like it. That’s what matters most.” Driving down the twisting backcountry road, Kat looks at her two daughters in the rearview mirror. Olivia, blonde hair in a ponytail, and Stafani with her adorable bob, still like wearing matching outfits. Kat marvels over just how much joy these two young angels bring to her life. “Play American Pie.” Stafani bops up and down in her seat. “Okay, but what do you say?” Kat smiles waiting for the response. “Please.” Stafani flashes a wide grin. Loving her new stereo setup with the music coming through the iPod, she plays a disco version of Don McLean’s most famous song.

30 Right away, the girls rock in their seats, waving their arms overhead. Red plastic sunglasses provide that “I’m too groovy for words attitude.” Kat too joins in the head-bopping and singing, belting out few lyrics. Arriving at the little horse farm, tucked away in the working-class town of Hay River Mass, Kat’s mother comes to mind. How much she loved horses, she thinks to herself. She rode throughout her life until she couldn’t any longer. Although Kat barely had the chance to pursue that passion, she offers the opportunity to Olivia and Stafani, to see if they’ll get bit by the horse bug the way her Mom did. Riding seems like it could be a great fit after ballet, lacrosse, and yoga failed to take. Easing down the country road, the car ascends the short gravel drive. The family’s quaint farmhouse, beautiful wooded hills, and small grassy pastures—a slice of privacy just a fifteen- minute drive from Northville—takes her breath away. Kat notes the farm’s beauty, which stands in contrast to the marred debris from an overflowing dumpster and vehi‐ cle. She presumes both belong to Rory’s husband, given the van parked alongside bares the same last name. To the left of the white farmhouse, sits an attractive sun- stained, wood Morton barn. Olivia and Stafani get out of the car, run to the barn, and hurry down the aisle. The girls giggle with delight, eyeing the horses for the first time. Kat watches the animals greet her daughters—sheer enjoyment settles in. The ponies, caught up checking out the new human arrivals, return the favor with endearing nickers. At the back entrance of the building, Kat sees a five-foot five, full-bodied woman. Her striking red hair draws the eye.

31 The woman stands in the middle of the makeshift sandy, riding ring, shouting instructions to one of Olivia’s friends, Bridget. Kat sees Ellie, Bridget’s Mom, and waves a hand “Hey, Kat, how are you?” Ellie grabs a book and purse off the white plastic chair next to her. “Great, how about you?” Sitting down, she stretches her long, tan legs out. “Well, thank you, glad you can make it.” Ellie looks over at Kat’s daughters. “Hi, girls, you excited to be here?” Olivia and Stafani nod enthusiastically but are too shy to say anything. Looking around the riding ring, fields, and at Rory, Kat takes in the potential environment where her girls may ride. “It’s humble, friendly, not a lot of pressure.” Ellie looks at Kat, and then back at Rory out in the ring. Rory in control, confident, and pointed provides direc‐ tion. “Give her a pat and let her know what a good job she did, Bridget.” Agreeing, Kat can see the differences right away between their current reputable, but uninspiring stable, and this one. Olivia, in particular, timid and shy, takes to certain people and not to others. Therefore, the most essential element for today’s visit, gaging Rory’s temperament. Noting the informal riding arena, the lax instructions, and small foot‐ print for this business doesn’t concern Kat. Instead, she focuses on how Rory, whom she has yet to meet, communicates with her riders. “Good, Bridget, outstanding job with your heels. Now give Pepper another pat and ride to the middle of the ring while I say hello to your friend.” Rory, now standing by the out gate, waits for Bridget to be at a standstill in the center of the ring. Opening the gate, Rory makes her way over to Kat, Olivia, and Stafani. Ellie stands to make the introductions. “Rory, this is Kat,

32 Olivia, and Stafani. Bridget and Olivia are in school together and started riding at the same time over at Blue Ridge.” Kat also rises, extends a hand, and gives Rory a firm handshake. A professional businesswoman in a man’s profession. Kat has learned to gage another woman’s self-confidence by her handshake. Rory reaches out and takes Kat’s hand with a softer grip, lacking determination. She can see an old scar along Rory’s right cheekbone. So, she makes a mental note and wonders what could’ve happened. “Nice to meet you, Rory.” She smiles at this gentle soul. “Thank you for allowing us to watch your lesson.” “Sure.” Rory, fidgets as if unsure what to do with her hands other than cross her arms. Bending down to eyelevel with Bridget, Rory seems much more comfortable with her junior riders, than adults. She turns her attention to Olivia and Stafani. “You girls like to ride?” “Yes.” Stafani’s eyes brighten. Olivia grins, shakes her head, then leans into Kat, grab‐ bing her hand. “You want to go out to the ring and meet Pepper?” Rory turns her gaze to the prize pony. Olivia and Stafani look to Kat, their eyes voice a silent plea. “Go on.” She gives them a big smile. “But walk.” “Come on.” Olivia drops her Mom’s hand and grabs Stafani’s arm. Trying not to run out to the ring, the girls speed walk. Rory turns her attention to Ellie and Kat. “I’m looking for a lower-key and friendly environment for the girls. The place where they ride seems high strung. The girls will not show. They’ll just learn to ride and have

33 fun.” Kat stands with an air of confidence, knowing what she wants for her daughters. “Well, we’re as low key here as it gets. We just love horses and enjoy having new riders join our barn family. Personally, I would have them come for a semi-private lesson to get an idea of how they ride, and then fit them into a group.” “Would they be able to ride with Bridget?” Kat shifts her weight to her right leg, the one closest to Rory. “It would be nice to chat with Ellie, and maybe we could share the driving sometimes.” “That could work.” Rory drops her arms, nodding in agreement. The girls, fully engaged with the pony, are having fun. And best of all, Kat thinks to herself, they look comfortable. Rory seemed like a gentle soul. There was nothing elitist about her, even though riding in most areas is an upscale sport. Ellie once told Kat of Rory’s aspirations to ride competi‐ tively in upper-level dressage shows, but she couldn’t for financial reasons. Instead, she had settled for teaching—a means to support her passion. From the looks of things, Rory’s trying to create a sustainable business on a piece of property not capable of matching the desired outcome of the full-fledge riding program—similar to the ones she knew of in Westchester or even at the local colleges. Rory’s lessons match what Kat is seeking for her daughters. The girls can learn to ride in a friendly, non-competitive atmosphere, the thought lightens her mood. Perhaps, it’s a place where they can meet a small community of like-minded folks. Joining a new group of new people will offer an enjoyable experience for the girls, and it will also offer a distraction for Kat from being on her own so much of the week.

34 Once the dates, standing times, and paperwork were ironed out, Kat felt good about the decision. “So, it’s settled then,” says Rory. “The girls will start lessons here at Sky Hill Stables next week.” “Yes. We look forward to it.” Kat waves goodbye to Bridget and her mother, then turns her attention to her daughters. “Girls, time to go. We have to visit Grandma Mickey.” Kat shifts her gaze back to Rory. “Thank you again, it was so lovely to meet you.” “You as well.” Looking over Rory’s shoulder to the pastures and hills, Kat takes in the breathtaking view. “You have such a relaxing, peaceful place here.” Kat, now invested in Rory and what she can offer her children, feels at ease. The belief that “It takes a Village” lays in the center of Kat’s philosophy, and Rory will be the latest addition to shaping her girls’ characters. “We like it.” Staring at the house and the hills, Rory tightens her ponytail and places a hand on her hip. Her other hand slides across her stomach. “Mommy.” Olivia pulls on Kat’s sleeve, but stares at the barn, “Yes, Sweetheart?” Kat leans down close to her daughter. “Look,” whispers Olivia, pointing inside the barn. Kat turns around and sees twin girls, about four years older than Olivia. “Those are my daughters, Alexis and Ariana.” Rory stands with her hands on her hips, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. The twins inside the barn, put flakes of hay inside each of the eight stalls. They’re body structure resembles that of their mother’s. Standing about five-foot, four inches and stocky, the girls wear tanks tops a size too small. Long gym shorts, rubber boots, and dirty blonde hair in loose ponytails finished the ensemble. She glances at her watch. “Yikes, we have to get going.”

35 Needing to leave now, Kat turns back to her friend. “Bye, Ellie, I’ll call you. Rory, I look forward to next week.” Walking through the aisleway, Kat smiles at the twins. “Hi Girls, you look like you’re a big help to your Mom.” “Yeah.” One twin beams with pride. At the other end of the barn, a man in a white tee-shirt, jean shorts, and a beer in one hand, stands on the front porch, talking to himself. The distance from the barn to the porch measures around ten feet, offering Kat a good glimpse without staring. This must be Rory’s husband, Kat muses to herself. Curiosity blooms inside her. Given the debris in the front of the house, where his wife strives to create an equestrian business, she wonders what he does, or doesn’t do. Kat engages with him, giving a casual wave. He raises his hand up and offers Kat a half-smile. He turns his back, still very much engaged in a conversation—a blue tooth earpiece stuck in his ear. Her intuitive senses kick in. Well, she thinks to herself, you’re a fast-talking character with shifty eyes, aren’t you? She sighs. But can’t shake the feeling he has probably cheated on his wife at least once. Not meaning to judge, she finds it hard to squash the impression popping up into her head. For god sakes, dude, she shakes her head. Get off the phone and clean up your trash, that’s where people drive-in. On her way to the car, Kat feels a bit of sadness for Rory. Clearly, she’s committed to the farm and kids, Kat glances over her shoulder at the debris one last time, I’m glad I can help with some additional business.

36 CHAPTER 4

Rory Tucker

They sure have come a long way; Rory thinks to herself. She stands at the beginning of the aisleway, monitoring Alexis and Ariana’s horsemanship. In the past, frustration with the horses would set in, and they’d jerk on the lead ropes, causing the animals to rear. But now, the twins both seem to have a handle on things, which makes her happy. “That’s it, Ariana, back her in if she won’t listen to you at first?” Ariana rolls her eyes but does what Rory suggests. Rory turns, shakes her head, then walks to the barn exit on her way to the house. “Stubborn like her Dad,” she whis‐ pers, then she glances over a shoulder. “You girls got this?” “Yes, Rory, don’t worry,” yells Ariana. “We got this, Mom. We’ll be in soon.” Alexis zips past her and enters the grain room. Approaching the porch, Rory hears Max talking before she sees him.

37 Always wearing the earpiece, giving an estimate, according to him, mouths Rory to herself. Glancing at the dirt-filled pastures, she can tell the water buckets are full—Rather than make the girls take responsibil‐ ity, knowing she should, Rory chooses to work rather than go inside the house. “Hey,” in a hushed voice, like his client won’t hear him, Max calls out. She walks past the front porch. “What?” Glancing up at him, her body tenses. “Nice new clients.” Max lifts his hand, rubs his thumb and pointer finger together. “In a Volvo. The Mom looks a little dickey, if you ask me.” Rory tightens her fists and clenches her jaws. “Well, I didn’t.” Man, what an ass, she thinks to herself. She dumps the first crusty bucket, then heads to the adjacent pasture and empties the next one, tossing the water onto the overgrown lawn. “Hey, Mom, I was about to do that,” Alexis runs up behind her, grabbing the bucket out of her hand. “You go in, I’ll finish up.” “How about we do it together?” Rory proposes, inhaling the fresh twilight air. “It’s such a pleasant night.” “Sure.” Alexis slaps Rory’s shoulder. “Many hands make light work, isn’t that what you always say?” “Yup. Hey, did you like the new riders?” Rory pauses, standing erect. “Those two little kids, you mean?” “Yes, Olivia and Stafani, there gonna start next week.” “I mean, I only saw them for a second, but yeah, they seem all right.” Alexis picks up an enormous stone from the dust and throws it into the nearby woods, Sparky running after it. Rory stands with her hands in her pocket. “The Mom— Kat’s her name—is moving them from Blue Ridge.”

38 The thought of taking in more students offers a glimmer of hope for the business she longs to grow. “Well, yeah, cause you’re the best teacher around, Mom.” Alexis’s loose body hurls more rocks for Sparky, who’s bounding through the mangled brush. Watching the dog play in the woods, Rory questions how she came off with Kat. She’s not used to a woman so sure of herself. But also, soft and so sweet with her kids. “Hey, grab Ariana.” She dumps the last of the buckets. “Let’s get some ice cream for dinner.”

39 CHAPTER 5

Kat Eddie

“Girls, please turn off the television and head upstairs to bed.” Kat puts the last plate in the dishwasher, setting the time delay for three hours. “One more show?” Olivia pleads, staring at the television. “Our homework’s all done.” “And it should be, silly. You’ve watched two, and that’s plenty for a school night.” Kat, holding firm, picks up Sasha and rubs her sweet rut of a cat behind her ears. “Time for nigh-nigh for one and all.” Stafani, with a swift swinging motion of her small right hand, grabs the clicker from her sister, then takes off running. “Hey.” Olivia jumps off the couch in pursuit. “You heard Mom.” Stafani pushes the power off button with a cheerful little hop. Both girls run up the stairs, making enough noise to rival a stampede of buffalo.

40 Sasha leaps out of Kat’s arm and joins Spenser, sprinting next to the girls. His long nails catch in the carpet. The upstairs hallway, more of a small triangle-like area, leads to each of the three bedrooms. Straight ahead, the bath‐ room with an ancient sea-green tile floor from the ‘80s, a popular design but now on the list to switch out, sits open. Stafani’s room, a warm lavender, is on the left. Whereas, Olivia’s, green walls and white flowing curtains with fern leaves, lays diagonally left. To the right, Kat and Beth’s mocha-colored master bedroom and en suite, trimmed in white, silently waits for her. She and Beth bought the house in 2005. After three years, the girls traded bedrooms, which is only fair since one is much larger than the other. Kat’s “get your kids to bed on time before anyone’s too tired” routine, comprises of a bath every other night, getting into PJs, brushing teeth, then calling Beth—or Mama to the girls —to say goodnight. In Kat’s bedroom, the girls hop on her California King. She hands her iPhone to Olivia, who pushes the home button, a phone symbol, the favorites list, and then finally, Beth. Kat clicks the speaker, which keeps the girls from holding the phone to their head and accidently hanging up. “Hello,” says Beth, in a nonchalant, absent manner. “We called to say goodnight, Mama.” Olivia sits cross- legged on the bed, elbows on her knees, resting her chin in hand. “Night, Mama.” Stafani rolls on the bed, flipping onto her stomach. “Hi, Pumpkins. How was your day?” Beth’s voice instantly animates. “Great, we have another lesson tomorrow. That will make

41 four,” reports Olivia with enthusiasm, making sure Beth is up to speed. “I get to ride Pepper, I think.” Stafani trots around the room pretending to hold reins. “Wonderful, girls. I hope to come to the farm soon and meet all the ponies.” Beth’s voice is full of anticipation. “Next week, remember, we start horseback riding camp.” Olivia glances over at Kat with eyes glistening. “I’m excited to spend the entire day at the farm with Bridget and my other friends.” “I have a friend too, Mama,” says Stafani. Olivia playfully pushes Stafani on the bed who does an exaggerated fall backward, causing Spenser to jump up in the air. Kat tries to keep a straight face, not wanting to distract from the call. She knows how stressed Beth is about work. “That’s splendid, girls. Okay, get to sleep. Love you both so much.” There’s a short pause. “Can you put Mommy on the phone?” Beth’s voice sounds a bit weary, but from the tone, it’s as if she’s trying to remain upbeat. “Goodnight, Mama. Here’s Mommy.” Stafani throws the iPhone on the bed and bounces out the door. “Girls run quick as bunnies back to your rooms, and I’ll be in a minute.” Kat signals with a head nod to both her daughters. And with that, they trot to their rooms, Olivia grabbing Sasha. Stafani, struggles with a full load. “Spenser, you’re so heavy.” She picks up the twenty-five pound tomcat and ambles to her room—he hangs halfway down her legs. Kat sits on the edge of her bed, twirling a loose piece of thread for what she knows will be a quick conversation. “Hey, how’s your day going?” “Good, we’re preparing for opening arguments, so I can’t talk long but wanted to check in about the girls and camps.”

42 The tapping sounds of Beth’s keyboard in the background remind Kat where Beth’s mind is. “Well, I believe we’re all set. Bonnie’s here with them Friday. Next week, they have horse camp from 9:00-3:00, but Rory is okay with me dropping them off at 8:00 to help with morning chores, so I can get to work.” Kat gets up and walks to the front bedroom window. She closes the shade on neighbors walking down the street, hand in hand. “I know how tough it is stringing together summer coverage,” concedes Beth. “Yeah, but so lucky Bonnie’s around this summer instead of backpacking with her friends around Europe.” “Um”—more tap, tap, tap—“ Kat knows Beth is trying to be present. “But so glad I took the girls to their lessons.” “Yeah. I’m happy Mark lets you leave work early.” The printer spitting out page after page in the distant Boston office filters through the speaker of the phone. Babbling but needing to talk, Kat rambles some more, knowing the girls are getting themselves cozy for a bedtime story. “Feels like a connection to my Mom, her riding and all.” “Right.” Kat looks at her feet, wishing her words were heard— really heard. “Watching the progress each week, learning about handling the horses, the kids getting a bit of work ethic—all of it is—” “Yes, that’s important.” A door opens, then closes on the other side of the phone. She’s never seen Beth’s office but assumes it’s sparse. “I also look forward to relaxing at the farm, seeing the horses plod around the ring, all while Rory shouts out commands to the kids. Sitting with other Moms in the late

43 afternoon is becoming one of my favorite ways to end the day.” “Sounds nice,” says Beth. “I want to get up there one of these days and . . .” Silence fills the bedroom. “Yeah, it so nice. The sultry summer air is just cooling down, the sun dipping behind the pasture mountain. And it’s easy banter about the kids’ school, work, and more—or even self-deprecating humor. You know, the perfect ingredient for some friendly laughs.” Kat’s mind drifts. The farm, tucked far enough away from the road, makes Kat feel miles and miles away from Northville, rather than fifteen minutes from home. “That all sounds great Kat”—Beth’s voice snaps Kat back to reality—“Uhm, I’m sorry, I’m distracted.” “Have I told you about Max, Rory’s husband?” “No, what about him?” Beth exhales, the exhaustion palpable through the phone. “He came out of the house. It’s like he sees me and has to come out and sit to talk at the same exact moment the lessons begin—when I’m settling down to watch the girls ride.” “What does he talk about?” Kat detects mild interest in Beth’s voice. “The Government.” “You love politics.” Chuckles Beth. “Not politics. Cheating the government, and how good he is at it.” Kat peeks into her girls’ bedrooms and finds them ready for her. “Ah, yes, I see.” “Well, I’ll say goodnight to the girls and tell them lights out.” Kat sighs. “Good luck with your case tomorrow.” The disinterest and lack of enthusiasm to participate in a conversation beyond general niceties, makes Kat well aware, Beth wanted to wrap things up when she said goodnight to the kids.

44 This time of the day is so contrived for Kat. While she understands Beth’s need to have the verbal contact with Olivia and Stafani, and them with her, it’s a necessary routine they could push to every other day at least. But I’m not the one living away from my children, she thinks, not understanding what it must be like to know they’re home and you’re in your office or rented apartment. “Yeah, I have to get going. The case is getting a lot of press. A great deal is riding on the verdict, how it may affect the election next fall. Everyone is putting in long hours. So, I guess I better get back to work.” Keys tap, tap, tap again. “You doing, okay? I didn’t ask about your day?” “All’s well, but I guess I should let you go.” Kat shakes her head from side to side. “Sounds good, have a good night's sleep, and I’ll talk with you tomorrow.” The phone line goes dead before Kat can say goodbye. Looking at the floor, Kat feels a sense of heartache, although she can’t pinpoint why. Instead of analyzing it, she makes her way first to Olivia’s room. Her daughter is spin‐ ning a stuffed animal—a horse. Kat flips up the quilted bedspread and lies down. “Ready for the adventures of Sasha and Spenser?” Olivia’s face lights up with delight. “Yes. Yes.” Lifting her arm for her daughter to snuggle next to her, Kat settles in. “Sasha, Spenser, and Finn, the half-corgi, half-lab”—Kat lowers her voice to a soft, rhythmic cadence—“are on safari in Kenya, and about to board an airplane home. But Spencer discovers the wonders of banana burgers.” “He won’t leave now.” Olivia points a finger in the air. “Right, Sasha and Finn need to figure out a way to get Spencer out of the cafe and onto the plane, but not before they somehow promise him, they’ll open up their own banana burger cafe at home—just to appease him.”

45 “Yummy.” Teases Olivia, then she pats her tummy. “When do they meet Meagan, my lizard.” She points at the aquarium in her room. Well, Meagan, hearing about the café, snuck into Spenser’s bag. Olivia laughs so hard, she gasps for air. “Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” Kat chuckles with her daughter, then tickles her belly just to make her laugh even more. The smile that comes over her child’s face is pure joy for Kat. A glance at her watch, she sees it’s getting closer to 8:00 PM. “Oh, my goodness, it’s late. We must pick this up tomor‐ row, sweetheart,” “Night, Mommy. I love you to the moon and back.” Olivia opens her arms as wide as she can. “And I love you to the moon and back a thousand times over.” Kat nuzzling her head into her daughter’s neck. “Sleep tight.” She rises and leaves the room. Next stop, Stafani’s room where her daughter snuggles with Spencer. Kat moves Spencer over and lays next to her youngest child. “Ready for the scouch game, Miss Stafani?” The little blonde angel nods her head up and down. A scouch, something Stafani and Kat made up together, is worth two-thousand miles, so they can mind travel each night to faraway lands. Their favorite place, thus far, is Hawaii. “Ready, scouch, scouch . . . we’re here. You want to go for a swim in the ocean.” Kat imagines a white sandy beach, seagulls, and tropical drinks. “Yes, and look, there’s a mermaid and a dolphin.” Stafani’s big, wide eyes glaze over. “Let’s go play in the water with them, and then it’s nap time up on the deck in that hammock.” Making wave motions with her hand, Stafani yawns and

46 sure enough, by the time Kat is ready to end the story with a cozy rest in the swaying hammock, Stafani is fast asleep. Kissing her daughter’s forehead, she rolls out of bed, scratches Spenser’s belly, then flips Stafani’s light switch off on the way out, leaving the room with a soft glow from the night-light. Settling into her own bed, Kat debates whether to turn on the television and watch her favorite show, SVU, which would take her mind off her evening loneliness and oddly transport her back to NYC or dive into Twilight to see if it’s appropriate for the kids. This part of the night offers relief that the long day is at an end with everyone safe and sound; her Mom back in assisted living in Amesville, the girls asleep, but it also offers a tinge of isolation for the lack of adult contact. Kat misses physical touch, but more so, she misses mean‐ ingful conversations. She could call Beth back and chat, but the conversation would be mundane. No, a thought saddens her, mundane isn’t the right word, what is it? Intimacy. She desperately wants to feel connected. Not just pillow talk but talk about the meaning of life. A discussion on individual beliefs about whether there’re two realities: the one people live in and the one up above— parallel with everyday living. Work, while necessary for income, and for some an enjoyable escape, isn’t at the heart of man’s true nature; it’s the soul, one’s spirit. Thoughts and how individuals access pure essence and live everyday life, treat others, is what bring the two worlds together—that’s what is important. It’s within these thoughts one experiences ultimate, lasting happiness. An atheist, it grounds Beth in the first world, the realm of work—earn money, save for retirement, listen to NPR, do right by the environment, black, white, never forgive those who wrong you. With different depths beyond the overall ways of politicians and daily living, their conversations are

47 often a running monologue by Kat with Beth agreeing or seeming too. Beth’s loves to talk about the process, whatever course life has queued up, such as taxes, mortgage, and recycling. There’s nothing wrong with this, Kat says to herself. And I respect Beth’s attention to detail, her reliability, and all she does for the household. That’s what most people do with their lives. However, that’s not the only way to live, not with what drives my being; experiencing closeness that reaches to your core, stirring your heart with the pure feelings of gratitude over a magnificent sunset, being in love, or being choked up over a community coming together for a common goal. Intimacy offers a bouquet of emotions, red, yellow, blue, black, white, desire, sorrow, an appreciation, inspiration. Kat ponders these thoughts. In the distance, the mid-august crickets call out to each other. It’s the soul sounds of summer singing the evening to dawn. She wonders what Olivia Benson from SVU would think of Beth’s current case, the one drawing national attention due to its conflicting emotional pull. A young sixteen-year- old boy came home after his auto-body shop job to find his father kicking his mother. She lay on the floor with welts already forming around her mouth. He tried to grab his Dad’s arm before he threw another punch, but he was knocked back against the closet where he saw his little sister hiding, whimpering, and shaking with fear. The father was about to land another blow to the woman’s belly with his foot, when she screamed out, “stop. Stop, I’m pregnant. You’ll kill the baby.” For a moment, the father paused. The boy grabbed a handgun, which unbeknownst to the little girl, was in a shoebox beside her. He shot multiple

48 times, killing his father. Afterward, he called the police and told them what had happened. The police found the remaining family nestled in the dining room, away from the pool of blood the father was laying in. Beth is careful to give Kat minimal details about the case, but enough for her to get a vivid picture of the crime scene. The DA’s office wants the maximum sentence, stating this wasn’t self-defense, but a domestic abuse case that the police, if called first, could handle. Beth, from what Kat understands, remains in full agree‐ ment with her boss. The boy was not the one being attacked, nor was the woman’s life in danger. Kat, not knowing all the facts, believes the boy was doing what he needed to do to save his family. This is a case that could end up on SVU, true stories tinkered with to hide the actual identities. Pondering Benson and Stabler’s smoldering magnetism for one another throughout each season, Kat turns the light off, trying not to think about the poor family in Boston. She hopes to drift off in a peaceful sleep—thankful for her little beings down the hall. And it is those children who give so much joy to Kat’s heart, keeping the lurking loneliness at bay.

49 CHAPTER 6

Rory Tucker

“That’s right, Olivia. Look down and see the horse’s shoulder to figure out your diagonal.” Kat tries to watch her daughter’s lesson, but Max’s mouth just won’t stop moving. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees it all; the chattering, and Max’s need to be heard. Rory’s irritation rises, strangling her airway. And by the looks of his body language, his chair, and his face only inches from hers, he’s telling her more than he should. “Max, could you come here?” Rory walks to the out gate, feeling the fire rising from her heart to the top of her head. “Would you get on that tractor you just bought and flatten the manure pile?” Nodding her head to the backfield. Max squints his eyes. “What the fuck, Rory, I’m talking to Kat, can’t you see that? Or are you just trying to get rid of me?” “I can see you’re bugging the crap out of her, and that’s putting it mildly, Max.” She turns and walks to the center of the ring, recognizing she has to wrap up the lesson.

50 “Girls, you can walk the horses down Pony Path Lane to cool them off. Alexis will go with you.” Rory points down the long dirt road leading to another exit/entrance to the stable. Her eager students nod at the chance for a mini-trial ride. Observing the riders head off with her able daughter, Rory strolls over to the group of Moms. Debating about excusing her husband’s behavior, possibly saying a quick sorry, and then seeing where the conversation goes from there. “Hello, Kat.” Rory approaches the section of fence next to Kat. “I’m so sorry that Max was chewing your ear off.” “No worries. I don’t want to be rude. He has so much to say, but I just love watching the lessons. And camp, they’re so excited.” Kat nonchalantly looks up at Rory, her long tan arms relaxing on the sides of the chair. “Same here. Bridget can’t wait.” Ellie, who was a few feet away in the shade, leans forward, stretching her back out. “You need us to bring anything for them besides their lunch and extra water?” Kat stands up and gathers the bag filled with snacks, “I think that should do, and Kat, you’re dropping your girls off early, right?” Kat extends her hand and touches Rory’s folded arm. “Yes, thank you so much. I can’t tell you what a huge relief it is for me.” Smiling at Kat, Rory brushes a strand of loose hair off her sunglasses. “And there’ll be a camp show on Friday, a way for the kids to show off to their parents. And just like an actual show, we’ll give out ribbons.” “Great, I’ll let Beth know. She’d love to see the farm, maybe this will be a great way to get her here. What time do you think?” Kat looks down at her phone, finger ready to type. “Probably around 2:00 PM.” Rory watches Kat enter the event into her calendar.

51 “It’ll be good to meet Beth.” Rory swats at a fly swarming around her head. Her stomach flutters. Hmm. Maybe it’s curiosity about Olivia and Stafani’s other Mom—Kat’s partner. The families leave the farm, and Rory welcomes a few moments of solitude. Her own daughters feed the horses, and Max is out in the field, moving manure around the compost pile. Heading into the quiet farmhouse, the creak of the front door is all it takes to send the two Jack Russells into a barking frenzy. “Shut up.” Rory screams into their big eager eyes. They cower right away, with tails tucked between their legs. Circling around Rory, she kneels and rubs them both. “Let’s get a treat.” The Absolute jug has just enough vodka for one stiff drink. Tilting the bottleneck into a glass, Rory shakes it up and down to get every drop, then she plops a cup of food in each dog’s bowl. Once she feeds the Jack Russells, she peels off her socks, lies on the couch, and feels warmth coursing through her veins. The booze fills the almost constant gaping hole in her heart. Not wanting to break the mellowness of the moment, she gets up. Max, she’s sure, is on another rampage about something. Wondering the best way to handle the evening, she makes a big plate of nachos, then head upstairs. From her bedroom window, she yells out to Alexis, “Hey, Alexis, when you guys finish, grab some sodas and napkins and head to my room, I made us dinner.” The alcohol creates a weightless feel, and Rory beams at her daughter. “You got it, Mom, almost done.” Alexis gives her Mom a thumbs up. “Hey Ariana, hustle up, Mom made dinner,” she overhears her daughter’s ecstatic invitation to her twin, “a dance party in her room.” Rory laughs at this, appreciating how much her country

52 daughters love to shake their booties. Somehow, they’ve developed a fondness for hip-hop, thinking they have the whole gangster thing down. They love getting her going too, which Rory digs, moving to the music. Waiting for the girls to finish up, Rory flips on the local news. The first story is about the murder in Boston. “Opening arguments begin tomorrow in the Bronson Case,” states the news anchor. The newscaster provides a summary of known facts, and then pictures of the family flash across the screen. The deceased forty-nine-year-old father with gray hair slicked back, days old razor stubble garnishing his chin—next, a picture of the skinny, sullen 16-year-old son accused of manslaughter. And the 45-year-old widow, brow marred with deep lines and it finally ends with a meek little 7-year- old girl, her jet-black hair covering most of her face. Rory feels a pang in the pit of her stomach, taking in the family. But it’s the girl that causes unsettling thoughts in her mind. Glad to hear her daughters slam the front door, run to the kitchen and charge upstairs, she turns off the television and opens her bedroom door. Shaking the news story from her mind, Rory holds out a plate overflowing with chips, jalapeños, black beans, gobs of cheese, topped with salsa and sour cream. “Who wants nachos?” “Let me at those chips.” Ariana pushes her sister aside, grabs a napkin, and then takes the cheesiest chunks. Alexis looks at Rory, rolls her eyes and shrug her shoul‐ ders, and Rory joins in. The last bit of crumbs eaten, and the soda bottles, empty, the girls get restless. “Hey,” blurts out Alexis. “Let’s have a belching contest.” She lets one rip through the bedroom.

53 “Yeah, that’s nothing.” Ariana swallows some air and opens her mouth. Outcomes such a loud sound, the dog Sparky sleeping in the Queen Ann chair by the window, jerks. He lifts his head, looking left then right to find the quake of origin. Ariana tilts her head back and laughs, falling backward on her parents’ bed. “Music time,” shouts Alexis, turning on the boombox on the center of the dresser. “First song up, Walk it Out by my new favorite artist, Unk.” Both hop up on the bed, legs bent, and start moving their bodies back and forth to the music. “Get up here, Rory,” shouts Ariana, pulling Rory to a standing position. She, too, begins swaying in sync to the song. Pursing her lips together, a look of satisfaction washes across her face. Alexis jumps down and turns the boombox up to full volume, which causes Sparky to bark, and Fresca, unseen in the distance, charges up the stairs, yapping. Max roars from the base of the stairs, “Turn that trash off, and shut those dogs up.” Looking back and forth at each other, the girls giggle. But Rory knows there’ll be hell to pay if they don’t comply. So, off goes the music. The hustle of human feet and dog paws pound the floor. In a hurried frenzy, the girls run out of the room to see their Dad, the dogs follow in hot pursuit. Not wanting to go, but knowing she needs to, Rory examines herself in the mirror. After several seconds, she heads to the kitchen, needing another drink anyway. Two mixed drinks sit on the counter. It would seem Max was kind enough to make her one. Hmm, she thinks to herself, what does he want? Suspicion grows inside her. Rory’s relationship with her

54 husband is complicated, to say the least; Max can be kind and giving, or he can be crude and nasty. It’s impossible to know which guy will show up at any given time. “Made one for you.” Him offering Rory a drink is a sign he’s in a good mood—that he maybe wants to talk, or God forbid, sex after the girls go to bed. Either way, she’s happy for the cocktail and could mind‐ lessly listen to him speak, but sex is out and has been for a while. So, she follows him out of the kitchen, through the living room, and then onto the porch. “Rory, I’ve been thinking about our retirement.” Max takes a seat on one of the wicker chairs. Rory enjoying the seclusion of the farm as twilight approaches, daydreams during Max’s rambling conversa‐ tions. He talks about his hopes, which she doesn’t share, but rather than disagree, she listens and nods, knowing next week it’ll be a variation on the same theme but as usual, will go nowhere. Kicking his feet up on the ragged white wicker coffee table, he dives in, “Florida, we move to Florida when the kids graduate High School. Then that’s it, and it’s you and me, baby.” Rory barely nods her head, gazing off to her right at the peaceful barn. “We’ll sell the farm, but you can bring your horse, and we’ll pack the camper. Oh, and either bring the boat, or sell it and buy a new one.” Max recites these familiar, empty words all while looking out over the yard, rather than speaking to Rory. “And the best part, we live out of the camper in the same RV park with my brother.” Rory’s jaws clench, but she says nothing. The thought of an RV park near her brother-in-law induces a wave of nausea.

55 “He loves it, and you get along well enough with Rose‐ mary, right?” Rory grumbles, “Nope.” But judging from Max’s lack of adverse reaction, he doesn’t hear her. He turns to face Rory, a blissful buzz of a smile plastered across his face. At this point, she’s sure her appearance has turned ashen, but she tries to maintain her composure. Max gulps his drink. “I don’t know, Max. What about the kids, my parents, my business?” She wonders why she bothers engaging. “I thought about the business. You’ve been working so hard and exhausted every night, how about I give you 500.00 dollars now? You sell off the horses.” He pauses a moment. “And, what the hell, you can keep whatever you make from selling those animals.” Rory can see that Max is in high spirits. The manure must’ve got his juices going, she thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. There’s no way she’s giving up her horses, leaving her kids or parents, and most of all, she refuses to abandon the business she’s busted her butt over for the last 8 years to build. Her family has only been on this current stretch of land for four years, and that was after being pushed out of their rental barn. She took quite a hit with that, but she’s almost back to enough clients to break even. Her mind shrieks, No, Max, I am not moving to Florida with you. I’m not going to live in an RV park. And I sure as shit won’t make nice with Rosemary. What the hell are you smoking? This is my life, my passion, and the kids, you would just bail on your kids when they turn eighteen? She sighs, then looks on him in disgust. Just because you don’t care about your parents, doesn’t mean I’ll leave mine; for God’s sake, my Dad is eighty. Rory rises, stretches, then grabs her empty glass. “No,

56 thank you, Max. Keep your 500.00.” She pauses for a moment, allowing him time to digest her words. “I have a horrible headache, so I’m going to take some Advil, then head upstairs.” And with that, Rory steps inside, leaving Max to dream and drink.

57 CHAPTER 7

Kat Eddie

During the first month at the horse farm, Kat finds Rory blunt, not to the riders, to them—the parents. To the chil‐ dren, she’s complementary and giving. But she thinks Rory’s briskness forms a wall, preventing her from opening herself up. And her husband, well, he’s just crude. Arriving for the lesson, the girls chatter away in the back‐ seat about which horse they hope to ride. The car barely comes to a stop and they unbuckle, fling the doors open, and then run to the garage to see the horse list, leaving Kat to keep up with youthful energy. “Yes, Pepper,” shouts Stafani, pumping her fist into the air. “Mic, oh no,” grimaces Olivia, no doubt at the thought of riding the speediest horse on the farm. “What’s that I hear, Miss Olivia?” Smiles Rory, making her way around the corner. “You’re on Mic because I think you can handle it.”

58 Olivia stands up taller and beams with a renewed confidence. “Off you go. Get their tack buckets and clean them up really good before you put their saddles on,” shouts Rory after them. Bridget makes her way to the tack room too. Her mother, Ellie, backs her car next to Kat’s. “You have TJ,” shouts Olivia to her friend. She’s carrying Mic’s saddle down the aisle. Kat notices Rory standing alone in the garage, so she decides to approach her. “So, how are the girls doing?” Kat hopes to engage in a friendly conversation about her daughters’ riding levels. Are they getting as good as I think they are? The thought swirls in her mind. “They’re good little riders, both of them. They did a good job with them over at Blue Ridge.” Rory's lips twitch ever so slightly. “Wonderful.” Kat offers Rory a playful grin. “I mean, I think they look great, but I’m biased.” Rory chuckles. “All Moms are. I think my children are beautiful riders too.” “Well, I’m sure they are. Growing up on a farm, helping doesn’t hurt. Looks like you have some outstanding talent in them.” Kat glances around the garage. Old tools, saddles, and different type of tack come into view, then she glances at the enchanting but weathered farmhouse. “Thank you.” Rory watches the riders making their way to the ring. She grabs a crop. “Gotta go.” Kat follows her and takes a chair by the side of the arena. She pulls out her iPhone and opens her Kindle app, then prepares to read a bit before the lesson starts. Ellie sits next to her, knitting bag in hand. The empty silence offers an air of comfort.

59 From the corner of her eye, she catches movement, and then Max comes into view. Why? The single word rings loud and crisp in her head. “Hi, Kat, we sure appreciate you bringing your kids here. It’s a big help to Rory.” Didn’t we already have this conversation? Kat thinks but replies, “My pleasure.” He gets a call, stands up and begins talking to the surrounding air, waving his arms with his back turned to the rest of the world. Returning her attention back to the ring, Kat observes the on-going lesson, and she notices Rory, now distracted by her husband, shifts her gaze between her students and him. A few long-winded, out of reach statements filter out of his mouth to Kat’s ears, and then moments later, he’s back in the seat on the other side of her. Lucky me, she thinks. “Never trust goddam yuppies. They’ll never pay you. I have my lawyer working on a lawsuit, but he said I have no case. “Sorry to hear that.” She refocuses on the words of the book on her phone, hoping he can take a hint and leave. “They’re refusing to pay for the work rendered”—his arms flails in the air like an overgrown scarecrow—“just because they think the workmanship is shoddy. As if they can even make that judgement.” “Oh, my god, will he not be quiet,” thinks Kat, but again, she’s polite. “That sounds awful.” She glances over at Ellie, crossing her eyes, and she shares an innocent giggle with her friend. Always with the commentary about someone not paying some‐ one, now, this. Kat wonders why he spills this information— it’s not professional. I can’t help you with your problem, nor do I want to. A long, heavy sigh passes her lips. I’m at your home

60 watching your wife give my daughters riding lessons, not to engage in anti-establishment everything.” However, she does the polite thing once again and nods. “Hmm.” She keeps her focus on Olivia and Stafani. “Don’t you have work to do?” Rory continues to glance over at Max every few minutes, a look of disapproval, mixed with a sliver of embarrassed discomfort, flows across her sun-kissed features. Kat can’t tell if Rory seeks to protect her clients from her husband, or if she’s just bothered by him being out here and not taking care of his own business.

61 CHAPTER 8

Rory Tucker

Another day, another lesson, Rory thinks to herself. At least I’ll be away from the house—from Max—doing something I love. She breaths in a lungful of fresh air—the earthy aroma of soil, horsehair, hay, and fresh cut grass tickle her senses. “Alexis, Ariana, get the horses ready for Olivia and Stafani, they’re gonna be late,” shouts Rory from the front porch, hoping her voice cuts over the television blaring in the den. “I’m not helping those kids; they can do it themselves,” announces Ariana, always with the push back. Rory opens the screen door, then storms into the den. Her frustration grows. “I’ll do it, Mom.” Alexis, already jumping up off the couch, takes a couple of steps. Marching over to the large black console, she turns off Days of our Lives, then stands in front of Ariana. “Get your ass out to the barn and do what I say. This is to help me. They’re gonna be late, and I need to start the

62 lesson on time, not that I have to explain anything to you, Ariana.” With a huff, Ariana gets up too. She heads to the door, shoving it with enough force, it smacks the frame on her way out, making sure Rory knows she’s pissed off. “Ariana.” shouts Rory to the wind. “Don’t slam the door.” Minutes later, a fine layer of dust kicks up into the air. Beth cruises up the driveway in a Red Honda Civic. The girls jump out of the car with enthusiasm and run to the barn. Rory opens the tack room door for the sisters with a sunny smile on her face. “Alexis got your horses’ already girls,” “Thanks, Rory, thanks, Alexis,” says Olivia to Rory and Alexis. The girls walk out to the ring to see Ariana holding Bingo and Noah for them. Stafani heads to Noah, knowing he’s for her. The eleven hand pony rewards her with a nicker. A woman exits the car, then approaches. “Hi, I am Beth, sorry we’re late. I had to finish a confer‐ ence call for work. It’s nice to meet you.” Beth’s smile, over‐ stated but pleasant, rolls across her lips. Rory feels her stomach churn. She’s somewhat uneasy but manages to talk over the sensation. “W-we just love—like your girls.” A deep flush hits her face, and she can’t place why she feels so nervous around a person she’s never met. She takes in the elusive ‘other’ mother. The elaborate image crafted by her mind of Beth’s appearance and person‐ ality, differs from what picture her brain conjured. I thought she’d be more energetic or taller, more like Kat, she thinks to herself. But Beth’s about her height, five-foot, six inches, with short black hair, no makeup, wearing khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and an olive-green fleece vest with Merrill slip-on shoes.

63 “I know the girls are excited for you to see them ride,” replies Rory, not knowing how else to answer. “Horses are more Kat’s thing, but I’ve heard so much about the farm. It looks wonderful, and just the way my family described.” Beth walks with Rory through the aisle to the ring. “Hey, Brenda.” Beth sees the mother of one of Stafani’s friends. “Why hello, Beth, nice to see you up here.” Brenda rolls her jolly face around, brushing her flowing curls off her face with a hand. Observing the interaction between the two women, Rory is still taking in Beth, her mental image evaporating. She’s professional and a tad stiff, different from Kat, who is so animated with a quick wit, outgoing, talkative with all the parents, seeming to enjoy her time at the farm a great deal. What Rory enjoys most, is watching Kat interact with her daughters, how she’s lighthearted, natural, and they respond to her. Week by week, Kat’s parenting style has enamored her. Meeting Olivia and Stafani’s other Mom, based on innu‐ endos and conversations, overheard while in the ring, Rory knows Beth’s work motivates her. Her style is strict, and detailed, more methodical with the kids than Kat or the other parents, formal, yet has her own type of kindness. Now meeting her, she can’t stop thinking about how these two contrasting women co-parent those girls. Frequently deliberating about her own marriage, which is an ongoing strain, Rory feels she’s trying to mitigate the turmoil Max creates. He’s like a whirling, dervish storm around the house, upsetting the kids, especially Alexis. Rory also questions how Beth and Kat’s marriage is, since they live autonomously during the week. Does that strengthen it or disconnected? She can’t help but wonder.

64 She would like to be separated from Max. Maybe she’ll suggest he scout out work in Florida, and she’ll join him in the next decade or two or three. “All right, ladies. Pick up your horses and move from a walk to a sitting trot. Olivia, check your diagonal,” Rory shouts instructions to the girls. Standing near the side of the ring where Beth and Brenda are chatting, Rory can hear their discussion about the upcoming presidential election. “I’m so thrilled. Just think, in two weeks, I’ll be voting for the first African American President.” Brenda leans against her chair, now putting her hair into a ponytail and letting the curls fall down around her face. “The country is taking a clear step forward. However, I’m tempering my expectations until the results are in.” The words moving methodically out of Beth’s mouth, as if measured and mentally rehearsed. Rory sees Brenda respond with a nonchalant wavelike motion and smile, almost like she’s swatting a fly away from her nose. Not following politics at all, Rory doesn’t care who wins, and most of the time her husband tells her who to vote for. McCain vote for McCain, even if he’s got that woman on the ticket. At least she’s hot, his words bounce around in her head. He’s such a pig. A long sigh escapes her lips. She had used that same comment in her response to him for the innumer‐ able sexist comments. “Has Kat come around?” Brenda’s voice breaks her chain of thought. Hearing Kat’s name, Rory’s ears prickle and she once again turns her attention to the ladies behind her. “Do you think she’ll vote for Obama?” Brenda queries Beth, who is staring at her daughters. “I doubt it. She loves Hillary and declared yesterday our vote in Massachusetts won’t make a difference in the elec‐

65 tion, so she will write in Hillary’s name out of sheer princi‐ ple.” Her voice detached, almost clinical. Rory has noted the Hillary bumper sticker on Kat’s Volvo, but they never talk politics, it’s always about the kids and how they’re doing. If they were to discuss the next president, Rory’s not sure she would have the courage to voice her views—that the country isn’t ready for a female President, women just aren’t taken seriously. “Now I want you to pick up a canter, ladies.” Rory watches the horses make their way around the arena twice. “Good now, come down to a walk,” Rory tells the pride-filled riders. “Hey, how’s the trial going? I heard your side rested its case, and now it’s up to the defense to present their side,” says Brenda, almost unable to catch her breath, between her rambling layperson’s knowledge of the infamous trial. “I heard the husband, what was his name, Brian, I heard he held a gun to that poor Mom’s head on one occasion, and the boy, he walked in on them.” An awkward pause passes. “Thank God the son talked that Man off the ledge, getting him to put the gun down. But neither the Mom nor the boy called the police. Is that right?” Rory can tell Brenda is digging for information. She turns and fixes her attention on Beth’s face. “You know I can’t talk about it beyond what’s in the news. The DA was showing how the boy, Johnny, dealt with his Dad earlier this year and hence should have done that again, and called the authorities.” Beth stands up and moves closer to the railing. Brenda follows suit, hanging her arms over. “Really?” “Honestly, I am not at liberty to discuss anything outside public awareness.” A finality in her voice rung loud and clear. “Well, that broken mom, that’s all I have to say. Beth, I

66 love you. I respect you. But that poor woman living with that Man . . .” replies Brenda with an audible sigh. Hearing this conversation, Rory feels her back straighten, noting the tension in Beth’s body language. Trying to under‐ stand what is being said, she’s having a hard time believing one of her clients is part of the prosecution’s team in the Bronson family murder trial. Rory doesn’t follow the news much, only a pastime; however, this trial is filled with so many disturbing details; the events unfolding, the evidence showing support of a justifiable cause for saving the mom and the little girl. Is no one balancing that child’s life, the fear and anguish she faced—and still must face? Rory can’t help but turn and look at Beth, seeing her in a new light—a person not to cross. One obviously and strictly on the side of law and order; not swayed by sympathy and forgiveness. Wondering if Beth has ever had any circum‐ stance that requires tolerance, she turns her attention back to her riders. “Time to walk down Pony Path Lane, young ladies.” “Mama, can you come with us,” shouts Stafani, patting Noah’s dark mane. Beth looks to Rory, who responds to Stafani, “Yes, she can.” “How did I look, Mama” Stafani beams with pride. “You like my pony?” “You looked amazing, pumpkin.” Beth’s eyes light up with a genuine smile that seems to barley scratch the surface. “You too, sweetheart,” Beth tells Olivia with similar pride. Rory’s watching the interaction between parent and child, walking down the lane. Taking in how these kids have two mothers; obviously, Beth loves her girls and is sweet with them in a certain way, but she wonders what the distance between parent and child does to the girls—to Kat. “Well, thank you for the lesson, Rory, the kiddos look

67 excellent on those horses.” States Beth, pulling her check‐ book out of her back pocket. “Yes, they’re coming along. Glad you could make it to the farm,” Rory tells Beth, following her long glance encom‐ passing the back pastures. “Here you go.” Beth hands over a check. Rory takes the colorless, business like paper, then folds it without looking at the written amount. An uneasiness comes over her. Neurotic, she’s judged for the debris in the house's front. At least Rory is confident the fields look decent. But feeling a little tense, not at ease in her own skin at the moment, Rory laughs at nothing at all. “Kids, race to the car and let’s go home.” Beth strolls to the car waving goodbye to Brenda. “See you soon. Say hello to John.” “So that’s the other Dyke.” Ariana wanders over to Rory, who is back in the middle of the ring watching one group of students go and the other arrive. “Cut the language, Ariana,” Rory responds, annoyance seething through her clinched teeth. “What’s wrong with calling her that? Dad does all the time. Look, they both have that super short hair, kinda butch looking,” blurts Ariana, not understanding what she’s declaring is wrong. “How about you don’t listen to everything your Dad’s says and listen to me for a change. There’s nothing butch about Kat. And that’s a sweet family with two talented kids, well-behaved and polite.” Rory feels a little protective of Olivia and Stafani who are both so gentle, appreciating they wouldn’t hurt a fly. “So.” Ariana kicks dirt in the barn's direction. “Cut the crap and watch your mouth, especially out here in the barn.” She warns her daughter.

68 “I think I may be a lesbian,” whispers Alexis, sauntering past Rory and her sister. “Yeah, right.” Rory smirks, already walking away to teach her older, more seasoned riders. One of the appealing aspects of running a riding program is the influx of people that stream through her barn. Some are so dedicated to soaking up everything Rory offers, bit by the horse bug, while others come at their parents’ behest. “Try it, see if you like it,” they tell their offspring, “I rode, so should you.” Each new person is a potential equestrian, and Rory takes her role in their life thoughtfully, passing along her equine knowledge and enthusiasm. She enjoys teaching, and often, her inner goddess lets her know she has a genuine knack for relating with and to her students. And it shows each time she establishes a kinship with an inexperienced rider. Her barn family has many older teenagers dedicated to Sky Hill Stable, much to the delight of their parents, for it creates a great work ethic and keeps them out of the trouble teens can so often get into. Rory wonders whether Olivia and or Stafani will be her next students to connect with the barn family and spend their summer days with the horses; taking long trail rides in the back hills, laughing themselves silly with their friends, all things Rory did when she was a kid. They have the temperament she would like around her business and her own daughters. Not everyone can understand the magic which horses possess, the same way Rory can, the way they can heal your soul, make an upside-down world right again. Saying goodbye to her last group of riders, rather than go in the house where the rest of her family is eating dinner, Rory grabs a beer from the garage refrigerator and sits out by the ring.

69 The twilight sky, crickets, the temperature offering a slight chill to the autumn air, relaxes her. This sphere of her life is perfect at this moment. Time has yet to leap an hour ahead, leaving just enough light to appreciate the arena, pastures, and the horses in the barn munching away on their evening hay.

70 CHAPTER 9

Kat Eddie

On a frigid, snowy lesson night, a week before Christmas, at the indoor riding ring that Rory rents to sustain her business throughout the Winter, Kat walks into the barn, greeting Ellie, who is surviving the cold by wrapping her North Face coat around her body. “Ellie, hi, roads are a bit slick out there.” “They are, Kat; I can’t believe we only had a two-hour delay this morning.” “Yeah, I know. It’s a challenge work wise for sure, but we had a nice cozy morning,” replies Kat, already feeling the arctic chill in the aluminum barn. Ellie, champing at the bit, says, “Hey, I know I shouldn’t ask, but is there any truth to the rumor that the father was molesting the little girl?” Rory comes out of the tack room and joins them. “Yes, it’s true as far as I know,” sighs Kat, then she acknowledges Rory with a nod. “I just can’t believe they put that scared little girl on the stand, in front of all those people,

71 to describe an ordinal no child should ever have to endure. The girl, I think her name is Molly, relayed how, on several instances, the father would go into her bedroom after her mother had said goodnight.” “Man, that’s so terrible.” Ellie’s face fills with sadness. She looks from Kat to Rory, and then back to Kat. “Presumably, he would lie down with her, and with the courtroom scarcely able to hear her, told how her father would touch her privates. She never told her mother or anyone else, so it’s how much the jury believes a seven-year- old’s reckoning of events.” Kat tries to remain factual and impartial since it’s her wife’s case. Feeling she has to be loyal to Beth, even though anyone who knows her well, knows she believes the boy is innocent, and the Dad had it coming. “Well, it seems if the little girl said it happened, it happened, I assume,” remarks Rory in a tenuous voice but stating her belief, which offers a fresh perspective from the woman’s usual aloofness. Ellie looks at Rory, somewhat surprised, hearing her viewpoint. “Right.” Kat nods. “Your right, Rory, why would she ever make something like that up.” Ellie, turning back to Kat, adds, “And is it true he was a neighborhood pedophile?” “No, there’s no truth to that, just a bunch of rumors with no facts to back it up. No, they have laid all the facts out, the defense rested their case end of last week, deliberations started today, so now, a watchful community waits for the outcome.” Kat shoves her hands in her pockets trying to warm up. “Hopefully for the mother’s and the little girl’s side, so they can have the boy back home with them.” Again, from Rory, a surprising assertion. The lesson begins, and Kat wonders why she’s surprised

72 by Rory’s views. The case has brought up a ton of emotions and feelings. So, it’s not unusual that Rory would have her own opinions about the trial. Kat reasons with herself rather than talk with Ellie about her uncertain feelings. Come on, Kat, who are you kidding. She thinks to herself. You are also a little weirded out by the dream you had last night about Rory laying in your lap. Okay, just an image out of nowhere. Who doesn’t dream about other people, but Rory? Off-put by the idea, because she still finds her harsh, closed off, Kat tucks the image deep into the recesses of her mind, never to be thought about again. With the evening wearing on, and the night air feeling colder by the second, Kat wants the lesson to end. The horse blanket she’s wrapped herself in while the girls ride, barely helps ease her full body shaking. All she can think about is getting in her car, blasting the heat, driving home, lighting a fire, opening a bottle of caber‐ net, and sitting in front of the glowing logs with her lovely glass of wine. Happy Rory is winding down, Kat offers to help put away Stafani’s horse. She picks the hooves on the left side of the horse and stands up; she looks at Rory, who has just finished picking the right side. She perceives an unbearable look of sadness on Rory’s face, so much so, that Kat feels her heart melt for her, and she wants to offer comfort to this woman. But from what? What could generate so much sadness in this lady? And what is even harder to see is her attempt to keep herself warm with a mountain of clothing yet unable to do so, for she too looks frozen, frozen and miserable. Kat thinks to herself. In a flash, Kat realizes that perhaps Rory is not abrupt or abrasive. Instead, it becomes clear, this is a gentlewoman trying to survive by doing what she cherishes most in the world, horses and sharing her respect of them and for them with others. A means to save her spirit from some apparent but unknown demons.

73 Kat softens to her, and without giving way to her sadness for her, tries to show Rory some tenderness and compassion. “Sure is cold outside. You’re amazing Rory, the way you teach the kids with so much passion and dedication, even with the temperature near twenty degrees.” A twinkle appears, lighting her face still heavy with sorrow. “Thank you, Kat, I try.” Once finished in the barn and now in the car, she’s left with her thoughts. It surprises Kat how her impression of Rory could change, from gruff to endearing, from aloof to shy in such a short period of time. Tonight, marks a shift in her feelings about horse owner. “Sure am glad to be off the roads.” Kat looks at the girls in her rearview mirror, clicking the garage door opener. The fresh tire tracks in the snow register. Not giving them a second thought, she drives the Volvo right over them and into the garage. “Girls, hop into the house, I’ll shovel the front, zip-zip.” With the snowfall only two inches deep, Kat knows it will take just a minute to push the snow away from the front entrance and stoop. Her mind, a million miles away, shifts from thought to thought; on work, her Mom, Beth, and what to make for dinner. Footprints by the front entryway catch her eye, but with the recent solicitors in the area looking to winterize one’s home, she thinks nothing of them. Walking back to the garage and into the house, she sees Olivia in the bathroom off the kitchen, just inside the garage entrance. “Mommy,” says Olivia, “the bathroom door is open.” Kat steps into the room and sees fragments of wood on the floor—the dark night visible through the smashed doorframe. Taking in the scene, Kat detects footprints coming into

74 the house but not going out. Fear rises in her gut because she’s not sure if someone’s still in her home. Kat, not wanting to alarm Olivia, but needing to move quickly, gathers her daughter’s coat off the floor and says, “Run and get back in the car, now.” Obeying her Mom, Olivia does so without hesitation. But where is Stafani? She went into the house. Feeling a bit of panic, Kat calls out for Stafani. “Stafani, we have to leave. I forgot something.” She spots her daughter at the kitchen bar, sitting on a stool ready for dinner, coat and shoes off. Kat can also see their new flat screen television is missing. Scooping Stafani up, Kat dashes out to the car. Stafani dangles her feet in her seat. “But I’m only wearing socks.” “That’s okay, sweetheart.” Her hand shakes, but she manages to hit the lever inside the car, locking the doors. She slides the car in gear, and then backs out of the garage. “Where are we going, Mom?” Olivia, with the innocence of a child who shouldn’t have to deal with a break-in at age ten, holds her gaze through the rearview mirror. “Someone broke into the house, and we need to call the police and wait until they come and make sure it’s okay for us to go in,” says Kat, wondering where the cats are—inside or out. At least she shut the inside bathroom door when she entered. And now, she hopes beyond hope, the cats were hiding inside there from whoever violated their home. An intense adrenaline response washes over her, and she dials emergency services. Taking a turn, she heads to Jen’s house, a friend a mile down the road. “911, what’s your emergency?” A male voice on the other end of the line, ready to come to her rescue, answers. “Yes, someone broke into our house, I live at 54 Sunset

75 Lane.” Kat’s hands tremble; one on the wheel, one holding the phone. “Are you in the home now, Ma’am?” “No,” her voice quivers. “We left.” “Good, do not go back into your home until the officer gets there and gives you the okay.” The dispatcher crackles. Kat just can’t believe this is happening. Pulling into Jen’s driveway, she is thankful her friend appears at the front door. “Hey Kat, always good to see, you but what are you doing here at this hour?” “Jen, we’ve been robbed, got home to see the backdoor kicked in. Can you take the girls while I go deal with this?” “Oh, sweetheart, yes come on girls. Tess is just about to have some yummy mac and cheese, come join us,” says Jen, boosting the kids out of the car. “I’m just wearing socks,” shouts Stafani. “If that’s the worst thing she remembers from tonight, we are all okay,” says Jen. Kat gives a half smile to her friend. “Olivia and Stafani, I’ll be back soon. I am just going to make sure everything’s okay at home.” “Okay, Mommy.” Olivia waves goodbye over her right shoulder, a worried furrow in her brow. Kat’s heart aches, seeing a wee bit of concern on her daughter’s face, but she also knows the girls are in excellent hands with Jen. Dashing back down the road to meet the police, adrenaline pumps through her body. Arriving back at the house, Kat is astonished at just how dark the street looks. Now it’s time to call Beth. Telling her the complete story, Kat feels a sense of unease wash over her, imagining someone entering their home in their very inno‐ cent town with neighbors close enough, they should be able to recognize anything or anyone out of place. Kat relays her emotions to her wife. “I don’t know if I’ll

76 ever feel comfortable sleeping, here again, Beth, at least, not alone. Please come home.” She knows it’s a big ask, with the trial and all. Hearing the pause on the other end of the line, her heart sinks. “Well, I could drive back now, it will take me two hours. The jury just went out today, so they expect deliberations to take at least a few days. I could risk it.” “Please Beth, come home,” says Kat, not wanting to beg but almost crying. “I’m on my way, sweetheart, don’t worry, everything will be okay.” Kat hangs up, then weeps. The thought of anything happening to her girls, what could have happened—that Stafani was wandering around downstairs with a stranger or strangers—haunts her. Two police cruiser with flashing lights, but no siren blar‐ ing, pull up. The men, two officers, speak with Kat, listening to her and taking notes. “You all right to sit in your car, ma’am?” Not wanting her voice to quiver, Kat nods her head. “Sit tight, we are going to look around.” One of the two reassuring policemen tell her. With flashlights in one hand and the other on their holsters, Kat watches the officers walk in through the garage door. Through the living room windows, flashing beams throughout the downstairs shine. She tracks the trail of light upstairs in the bedrooms. Ten minutes later, the two officers emerge outside. “All clear but looks like the perps did a number,” says the shorter of the two officers. A large van turns the corner and pulls up. The side of the vehicle, in bold letters, reads Northville Crime Unit. An unmarked cruiser pulls into the driveway. A stout looking woman steps out and marches up to her.

77 “Good Evening, I’m Detective Connor, would you mind coming to the house, ma’am?” Kat nods, exits the car, then enters the home. Standing in her kitchen, she watches police and crime scene detectives scour her home. “The cats, I need to find the cats,” states Kat, trying to remain calm. Going room to room, she finally finds Spencer and Sasha clustered together under the covers in Stafani’s bed. Thank God for cats, she thinks. They’re timid creatures who shy away from strangers. Cringing at the havoc in each of the bedrooms, Kat walks into her room. All the drawers are open, including her top underwear drawer, riffled through. An image of some pig coming into her home and sifting through her undergarments makes Kat feel nauseous and violated. She also notices her jewelry box is missing. She follows Detective Connor to the kitchen. “Can you identify the stolen articles?” Detective Connor stands by the breakfast bar. “The television, my laptop. Oh my gosh, a bunch of Christmas presents. We had a Wii wrapped under the tree; he took that too. And my jewelry box, which has a ring in it from my grandparents with my initials.” Kat’s body slumps with disbelief. “Can you describe the ring for me?” Detective Conner looks at her Sargent, then back at Kat. “It is oval with KEB in block letters.” Kat holds out her right hand, pointing to her ring-finger. Detective Connor glares at the Sargent standing off to the side, thumbs hooked on his belt, moving her narrowed eyes back at Kat. “Well, I have good and bad news for you.” Kat realizes she is no taller than her ten-year-old daughter.

78 “The guy who broke into your home is a repeat offender we’ve been chasing for weeks. He’s a drug addict from Huntsville that robs homes, sells the stolen goods for cash, then buys heroin.” Perplexed, Kat asks, “How do you know, did you catch him?” “Yes, we caught the guy robbing another house five-ten minutes ago. He walked in on a woman getting out of the shower.” Kat gasps, thinking it could’ve been her or one of the kids. “He had an initial ring in his pocket, your ring from what you’ve described, which will help make this a slam dunk case.” Detective Conner tells Kat. “My gosh, that’s astonishing. And all our other stuff?” “All of it was in his car. It’s at the station now, you just need to go down there tomorrow, would be best if you could have the serial numbers for all the electronics.” Kat felt elated, from exposed to jubilant. “That’s so marvelous. You know, my ring isn’t an original. It was stolen another time in NYC by my movers, and my grandparents got me a new one. They must be guarding over me,” Kat rattles on, babbling with a quick clip in her voice. The detective’s deadpan face shows just how unimpressed she is. This woman is nothing like Benson, Kat thinks to herself. Benson would watch me with care and concern, and sympathy and although sex crimes weren’t committed, you can’t underestimate how degrading it feels to have a drugged-out heroin addict rifling through your panties. The police wrap-up with the mold of the nefarious foot‐ print in the snow, then their equipment. Beth’s headlights flash outside the dining-room window. Not able to pull into the garage, she parks on the street beside Kat’s car.

79 Kat joins her just in time to hear the first officer on the scene describe his interview with the neighbor. “He witnessed the whole disturbance.” The officer thumbs in the direction of the neighbor. “A man drove in mid-day, and began carrying possessions to his car, leaving from the front door and drove away. The neighbor says he feels dreadful, just thought he was one of your brothers.” “I doubt one of our brothers looks like this creep,” responds Beth. She’s angry our neighbor didn’t do what the motto says, see something, say something. Collecting the kids from Jen, Kat and her family heads home, turns on the front and back floodlights, then secures the fractured backdoor. “Kat, you know there’s nothing more we can do tonight. We will take care of the rest tomorrow.” Beth waits for Kat to finish inspecting the secured door. “I know.” A long, shaky sigh leaves her lips. “I feel lucky we’re all safe and sound, together in our home.” She pauses. “Beth . . .” “Yes?” “I’m glad you’re home.”

80 CHAPTER 10

Rory Tucker

Rory’s first sensation when opening her eyes is the familiar drowning in the pit of her belly. Not far behind are the tears pooling in her lower lids that never seem to recede these days. She’s still reeling from last night’s fight with Max. Is it too much to ask for? Sex with my wife? His words bombard her mind. He wanted to have sex, but she rejected him again, and off he went in a sizable huff banging doors. Rory rolls on her side, hugging her pillow, circular thoughts running around her brain keep her prisoner to the raw emotions. The buzz of her cell goes off, vibrating against the bedside table. It’s only 8:00 am, can’t believe someone is calling this early. But she sees its Kat and wonders if everything’s okay. What if she wants to cancel lessons? Dread sinks in. “Hello.” Trepidation coats her voice. “Kat, everything, okay?”

81 “Hi Rory, sorry for calling so early. But our house was broken into last night, back door kicked in and I’m hoping Max can maybe take a look and put a new one up today?” “That’s awful, everyone all right?” Rory, now upright in bed, her own troubles fading away. “Yes, yes, we are. Thank you. I know it’s a big ask to see if Max could come over sooner than later, but we’re in a bit of a bind, and he’s the only contractor I know.” Contractor is a bit of a stretch, Rory thinks to herself, but to Kat, she offers genuine concern. “Kat, I’m so sorry to hear that, it’s just so scary. I’m glad everyone’s okay.” “Yes, it was a bit nerve-racking last night with the police and all, but we’re fine now, just have a smashed-in door to deal with among a bunch of other stuff, like going down to the police station.” Rory hears another voice in the background. “Honey, Beth shouts, “I’m heading into a conference call for a while. Can you help Stafani?” “Got it,” Rory overhears Kat’s soft-voiced respond to Beth. Wanting to hear more and offer help, Rory realizes the best thing she can do for Kat is get Max. “Let me get him for you. I’m sure he can take care of this for you.” Standing at the top of the stairs, Rory bellows down to her husband. “Max, can you take this call? It’s Kat.” “Why the hell is she calling me?” Not wanting Kat to hear her husband’s nasty tone, Rory mutes the phone, stomps her foot, marches to the den, shoves the phone at Max, and says out of sheer anger, “They had a break and need your help, that’s why.” Grabbing the phone, bleary-eyed, he says, “Good Morn‐ ing, Kat, what can I do for you?” Goddamn you, Max, can today be one of your good days. Rory thinks to herself.

82 Drinking her coffee, she observes Max listening to Kat. Not knowing the full story, she watches his body language for clues, curious about what happened. “Hey, that’s awful.” He pauses a few seconds. “No. I’ll have my worker head over there this morning and get you all fixed up, sorry to hear about this.” Max’s voice is far more pleasant than five minutes ago. Rory stands up, her hands on her hip. “Well?” “Well, what?” Max snaps, pleasant nature all gone. “What happened?” “Sounds like the burglar that Northville has been dealing with robbed Kat, got in through the back. I’ll have Ron hang a steel door with a deadbolt and deeper latch. No one will break in that way again unless they use a sled hammer.” Relieved her husband is doing something—coming to the rescue of others, Rory sits to finish her coffee, feeling bad for the kids and Kat. Sounds like Beth came home to be with her family, muses Rory, trying to picture the family’s synergy last night. It would have been just after the lesson. “Thank you for helping them, Max.” Rory gives her husband a weak, sad smile. “I like Kat, even if she’s a lesbian. She’s all right in my book,” Max announces, leaving the room to call his worker. “Let me get this ball rolling.” Realizing her kids have already left for school, Rory dreads the hours before going to Wheeler’s for her first lesson. The three horses at home need their feed and stalls cleaned, which will take a bit of attention away from her depression. Worse in the winter, she knows she should go back to therapy or maybe get a lamp that guarantees happi‐ ness with a flip of the switch. Instead, she heads out to the barn in her PJs, boots, and winter coat. Just a short sixty minutes later, Rory slogs back into the house—horses fed, turnout done, and three stalls cleaned.

83 Tired, she lies down on the couch, sparky by her side, for a quick snooze. “Rory, get up.” Max pokes her shoulder. Feeling groggy, Rory stares at the kitchen clock. “I can’t believe I’ve been asleep for two hours.” She shakes her head, trying to wake up. “Oh, my god, I have to get ready and head to Healy’s.” She slides to the edge of the end cushion. “I have a lesson at 2:00. Hey, Ron, all set with the door?” “Yeah, all set. I stopped by to make sure. You know the wife, Beth, right? Did you know she is the ADA on the Bronson case?” “Yes,” replies Rory, not wanting to get into the ins and outs with her husband. “Well, she and I agree about one thing for sure, that the kid should get life in prison. Shooting his old Man.” “Max? Do you know the complete case?” Disbelief drip‐ ping from Rory’s voice. “I know enough. The woman was a lousy wife, the kid was a troublemaker, they had a fight about something, and the kid shot him just because he raised his voice.” “Max, you think that’s what happened?” Rory is incredu‐ lous now. “Hey, the guys at O'Brien’s and I have been following this trial enough. That’s what I know, a man is dead, never coming back. Period. And that woman, Beth, agrees with me. We had an excellent talk about it, in fact, she was heading back to Boston in case the jury reaches a verdict quickly, seems like an open and shut case to me.” Max cracks a beer and sits next to her, and she stands—their seesaw life in constant movement. Recognizing there’s no point in debating, Rory doesn’t respond. She’s grateful he accommodated her clients on such brief notice.

84 Getting her things, she hops into her Ford truck and drives off to the barn, praying lessons, horses, and people will brighten her afternoon and early evening. Rory feels such a sense of emptiness, a hole in her stom‐ ach, and the sameness in her life. She sees no way out of the endless cycle of sadness and the fights with Max. The strug‐ gles he has with the kids and the entire family, ends up a shouting match at one another. And the drinking, how many times has she woken up feeling pickled, all the fluid in her body siphoned out by the vodka, beer, wine, or whatever the drink of choice for that night is. She tries hard to protect her kids and give them the upbringing she didn’t have. Her stepdad, Cody, finally real‐ izing he is a good man, doesn’t drink much himself and is very considerate to her Mom. Rory can see that now, she didn’t back then, but now’s another story. She just can’t understand how and why her life is turning out with so much angst. Max has similarities to her biolog‐ ical father, and she knows how that went. Fantasizing over and over about escaping, finding a life with peace and joy, Rory thinks about Max, Deep down, he’s a good man, she sighs, or at least he was when we got married—caring, loving to her, and the kids. Where did it go so wrong? But over time, his own issues from his past have crept into his present-day world. Rory knows nothing can help, and all she can do is beg him to go to therapy with her or on his own. She worries day in and day out, lost with no light leading her out of the darkness. Until the kids are old enough to take care of themselves, the one glimmer of hope Rory hangs on to is going to Florida on her own, somehow joining some well-to-do show barn. But even that thought makes Rory

85 sad, for although she’d be away from this life’s struggles, she would be alone. What’s more draining, isolation, or loneliness? Rory can’t tell the difference between the two.

86 CHAPTER 11

Kat Eddie

“Hey, I’m gonna bring Rory her new cell phone.” Kat tells Beth, who’s listening to NPR, washing dishes, staring out the window overlooking the bramble filled back field. “Why do you have her cell?” Beth responds in an absent- mind tone, back still turned toward the soap-filled sink. “She didn’t know how to set it up, so I offered to do it. She suggested I take it home since she has her old one and is a little intimidated by smartphones,” answers Kat, putting her windbreaker on. “Got it, hey, that reminds me, did we ever pay Max for the job his guy did last winter? Good to clear up unfinished business.” “No, but get this, he said it was a Christmas gift and not to worry, couldn’t believe it. Sorry, I thought I mentioned it to you.” Kat grabs her keys and heads to the garage door. “Hm, maybe you did but, wow, quite a present, that steel door must have cost $250.00, The new frame, and the labor.

87 Another $250.00, very generous.” Beth looks at Kat, surprised by the kind gesture. “Yeah, I think so too. I imagine Max and Rory are so thankful we have two kids riding there, and about to do some of those small shows. We’re their cash cow, according to the hubby.” Kat smirks, then joins in a round of laughter with Beth. “Yeah, the thought of being anyone’s cash cow is hysteri‐ cal.” Beth turns back to NPR and the last few dishes. “Can I come too?” Shouts Olivia from upstairs. “We want to go to the farm, Mom.” Stafani echoes her sister’s sentiment, Walking to the bottom of the stairs, Kat calls up to her daughters. “Sure, you both dressed?” “Yup,” says Olivia, sliding down the banister. “Double yep.” Stafani comes down next, Sasha chasing after her along with the new guard dog, Georgie, who prowls with his feline friend. “After the farm, I want to see my Mom in rehab. You want to join us?” Kat calls out to Beth before heading to the garage. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay and do some yard work. Hey, either of you kiddos want to hang out here with me?” Beth turns and looks over her shoulder at her girls. “No, that’s okay, Mama,” Olivia answers for both of them, then skips to the car. “You know they would scrub the bathroom floor with you rather than do something fun with me.” A forlorn look crosses Beth’s face. Beth’s assertion surprises Kat, and while the statement is true, at least where Olivia is concerned, lately, Stafani has been opting more and more to join team Kat, too. Kat can’t help but ponder the totality of circumstances. I’m the person with them during the week, the one who is up with them when sweating chills wake them from sleep or

88 comforting them during a hacking cough. And even now, during their formative years, it’s me with them the most. So why wouldn’t they favor me? This divide is becoming a sore point in the marriage. Beth giving Kat little to no acknowledgment for her parenting ability and juggling capacity between home, work, and elderly parents. Kat believes the prevailing mood teeters along the lines of, hey, I’m following my career. Well, you wanted to come back here, you made your bed, now sleep in it. Once on the farm, she swings her car next to the over‐ flowing dumpster. Kat assumes pickup day must be soon from the new scattered boards and pieces of metal. She’s curious what the home looks like inside, given the dichotomy of the outside; some areas beautiful, some not so much. Kat raises an arm to knock. But Max swings the door open, hair uncombed, unshaven, a hint of alcohol seeping from his pours. “Hi, Max, Rory here? I have her phone,” states Kat. “Yeah, come on in, she’s in the kitchen,” he says with a gravelly voice, pointing down the hall. Walking toward Max’s outstretched punchy arm, Kat and the girls wander down the narrow corridor with putty- colored walls into a starkly decorated dining room, a heap of clothes on the table, probably clean. To the right, through a doorway, they spot Rory pouring herself a cup of coffee. She turns, and a grin flashes across her face. “Olivia, Stafani, Kat, come in and have a seat, what a pleasant surprise.” Warmth radiates from her, and she waves them into the room. “Morning.” Kat grins, thrilled to see Rory. “You want a cup of coffee, Kat? Girls, how about some OJ?” Rory opens the cupboard door.

89 “No, thanks.” Kat nudges her girls into the pale-yellow painted room heavy with smells of bacon, toast, and maybe onions. She notices Alexis, Ariana, and their friend Sydney, inter‐ twined on the well-worn couch, all watching cartoons in what must be the family room off the kitchen. “Hi girls, how’s it going?” Olivia and Stafani stay by her side, still somewhat shy around the aloof teenagers. The trio says, “Hey,” in monotone voices, glancing at the morning guests for a moment, swing their combined interest back to the all-consuming television. “Let’s go into the dining room,” suggest Rory, leading the way. Gathered awkwardly around the clothes-shaped like a pink elephant looming in the room, Rory picks up a towel and folds. “Hey, Olivia and Stafani, where did you get those tops?” “The kids drew the designs, and I made them into shirts.” Kat glances at her daughters with pride. “Wow, are you kidding? They’re so cute.” Rory stops what she’s doing and comes around for a closer look. Pointing at Stafani’s belly, Olivia says, “This is our cat Sasha. My Mom made up a character about her, and Stafani drew it. And this is the horse I will get one day.” Olivia grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling, it away from her body, admiring her dream horse. Talking to Stafani, Rory says, “I didn’t know your cat could ride a scooter and a pink one, no less. And hey, look at that, her scarf, glasses, and hat, all match the scooter.” Remarks Rory with wonder. “It’s a beret,” Stafani informs Rory. “Ooh la la, fancy. And Miss Olivia, that is one beautiful black horse. I hope you get him one of these days. Maybe you can keep him here at my farm.” “Bullshit . . .”

90 Kat turns toward the front room, thinking she heard someone talking, but in such a low muffle voice, not sure she did. She shoots a glance at Rory with a stare that shouts, Hey, did you hear that? Ignoring Kat, Rory continues to focus on her students. “My goodness, I did not know you two were so creative.” Olivia and Stafani beam. Stafani pokes Olivia under her arm, her older sister nuzzles her back toward their Mom, giggling. “We just stopped by to give you your phone.” Kat now feeling like they should move along, uneasy being inside the house. The vibe so different from around the ring. She feels somewhat like an intruder on their Sunday morning, entering a separate part of Rory’s life. “Thanks for doing my phone.” “No problem, it’s all set.” Kat hands Rory the phone, ready to leave. The low hum from the television room turns rowdy; “Come on, what an ass. This is so stupid.” “Shut up, Alexis. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” They’re teenagers, fourteen and expressing themselves, Kat thinks, trying to give the kids a pass. But it makes her a little uneasy having harsh language around her kids. Not sure what to do, she looks around the house, disarray meets her gaze from each exposed room. Perhaps not surprising, but it’s not like the well-kept barn. Must be hard keeping up with the household cleaning by herself. But these kids could help. There are helpers throughout the place— three of them by her count. Rather than judge Rory, she scoffs silently in her head at the notion that many would think that somehow, it’s all up to her to run a business, rear children, and clean. Traditional heterosexual roles go against everything Kat believes—the

91 thought housework is the woman’s honorary job doesn’t settle well. Sometimes Kat wonders if that’s the reasons she’s a lesbian. The thought some guy would expect her to work and clean while he comes home and parks his rump on the couch, expecting she’ll make dinner. Trying to silence her inner triad over long-standing soci‐ etal inequality, she remembers her Dad, who was the one who not only worked, but cooked, cleaned, and got up with his children on school day mornings. Kat feels sorry for Rory, believing this woman must feel inundated, wondering if she has an equal partner. Foot steps pound on the front porch. The front door swings open and in strolls a flamboyant woman with wild, jet-black hair. “Oh hey, Laney,” says Rory, giving the woman a warm hug. “Good to see you.” “Laney’s you wash, I fold service,” says the woman, grab‐ bing a towel off the table. “Hey, this is Kat, the client I was telling you about with the adorable little blondes.” Rory shows her friend. “Hey,” replies Laney with a bright grin. “Nice to meet you.” Kat extends a hand, loving this woman’s energy. “Laney keeps her horse, Ted, here, and we do a little bartering. I give her lessons, and every other one is free, in exchange, she helps me with some of this.” Rory waves her arms around the room, wide enough to encompass the whole house. “Everything but snooze with that man of yours, that’s your job.” Rory does a perfect pout face, lower lip turned down and all. “Please, won’t you take him?” Although she is enjoying the easy conversation, Kat sees the direction it’s heading and coupled, with the language

92 coming from the den and earlier mysterious comment from somewhere around the corner, she thinks it’s time to take her innocent kids to the nursing home for some good whole‐ some family time. Wrapping up the visit, Kat says, “So what do you do on your day off Rory, after such a long week, it must exhaust you.” “Well, pretty much just relax, we had some friends over last night and stayed up late out by the bonfire, so just going to take it easy today and get ready for the week,” replies Rory, a little flustered, maybe realizing the lax conversations in front of Olivia and Stafani are making Kat uncomfortable. But Kat, without skipping a beat replies, “Sounds wonderful, on such a beautiful spring day. Well, we’re off to see my Mom, she’s down the road in Pine Hill.” “I hope she’s okay,” says Rory with a concerned voice. “She’ll be okay, just had a bout of pneumonia that weak‐ ened her,” says Kat. “So they sent her to rehab before she goes back to assisted living over in Amesville.” Rory walks them to the door. “It was nice to see you girls, have fun with your grandmother.” “Thank You, Rory.” Olivia heads out the door, glancing at the barn. “Thanks. Can we take Sparky home, Mom?” Stafani tries to pick up the Jack Russell by her side. “I think he wants to stay here. Go ahead and zip to the car.” Kat turns to Rory. “Have a great day, we’ll see you Thursday. It was so nice to meet you, Laney.” Walking to the car, Kat feels uncomfortable. This wasn’t what she was expecting at all. The whole vibe felt weird. Rory was happy to see them and welcoming, but the home didn’t feel that way at all. It was more like the walls held hurt. Maybe that’s the case with some people, what you see in public differs from their private persona. But maybe the public and personal Rory don’t match.

93 Kat recalls her initial feelings about Rory. And in remem‐ bering, she can’t shake the feeling that those in her barn family realize life is hard for Rory and help wherever they can. Is it the harried external surroundings that create that senti‐ ment, or an internal air given off by Rory? What was it Rory had said back in the house? She thanked me for setting up her phone, because she didn’t understand what to do with it.

94 CHAPTER 12

Rory Tucker

Closing her eyes, Rory drifts in the continuum of time back to the days when her childhood was a foundering nightmare, and she found a path to survival. She barely recognizes the still unfamiliar male voices screaming across the hall. “Jack, it’s your turn to empty the pee-pee jar.” “No, it’s not. Besides, I didn’t even go last night, you moron.” “God-damn-it boys, stop the arguing and one of you empty that jar, or my belt will find your backsides,” bellows Cody. So begins the typical Saturday morning in Rory’s now atypical 6-year-old life with her two new brothers and two new sisters that are three, five, eight, and ten-years-older than her. For her birthday, her Mother, Cindy, married Cody, two short years after divorcing her Dad, whom she adored. The

95 only date available at the Beltrano family church was October 15th. So rather than a party with friends, she got a new Dad she hated, a wedding reception with lots of mysterious people she didn’t know saying, “welcome to the family sweetie pie.” Oh, and new siblings, and a knot in the pit of her stomach that never seems to recede. From across the hall, in what used to be her room, are hairy beasts that pick on her mercilessly. One creature, her own brother Billy, two-years older than her. The other beast, Jack, is six-years older than Billy. Awakened from a sound sleep, she didn’t mind. She kinda likes that Jack had figured out the nightly placed pee-pee jar in the hall between the two bedrooms each night. Rory giggles at the imagined “what the heck is this thing” look on his face. Her Granddad had come up with the idea for the kids. So, rather than go downstairs in the middle of the night, one just uses the jar. Ingenious. “That’s so disgusting,” whines April, her new roommate, and sister three-years-older. “Well, don’t you think so?” Rory is way too scared to answer. Her stepsister is bigger and meaner, so Rory feels the best thing to do is keep quiet under her covers. “Breakfast,” yells Cindy in a merry voice. Ugh, No, please, I can’t go down there, Rory thinks to herself. Instead, she slides further under her covers, counting on her pudgy fingers. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight . . . Eight people are living in this house. That’s way too many, and five of them are these spooky strangers.” “Rory, April, breakfast,” Cindy sings out again with a new, sick-syrupy voice she uses when Cody is nearby. Just the thought of him—dark, slick black hair, a mustache that catches food, and his foul cologne. “Vominate,” she says, repeating a word from her younger

96 years from before she had realized the word was pronounced “vomit.” Rory feels brave enough to leave the safety of her blanket with April out of the room. She pulls on a pair of jeans, a hand-me-down green tee shirt from Jack, and her cowgirl boots. At the top of the stairs, she hears so many voices. She tries to locate her Mom. It’s hard to figure out who's saying what in the jumble of harsh sounds. Rory’s muscles tense, stomach aches, and palms sweat, imagining another meal with them. One voice she can make out is Billy’s. He can sure handle himself, she thinks for herself. He’s willing to throw a punch for Mom just like he did a few years ago. And he isn’t afraid of these people. But for gosh sake’s, I’m the youngest. Why doesn’t anyone know how ignored and lonely I feel, how terrified I am to move my legs to get myself into the dining room? Rory considers her options: make a beeline for her Mom’s leg or run upstairs. The second choice sounds better, so she darts out, making a run for it. Someone grabs her from behind, launching her into the air. “Cody.” Squirms Rory. “Well, hello, pipsqueak. How’d’ you sleep?” Cody’s pompous smile makes Rory squirm even more. Making sure he knows she doesn’t like him, Rory gives him the meanest look she can muster, squinting her eyes until the room goes dark. “Fine.” Is all she will give him. Cody responds with weathered ease. “Honey, your eyes . . . they okay? Why not sit beside Lilly, she’ll help you.” “Yeah, sit here, little one. I saved this seat just for you.” Lilly pats the seat cushion next to her. Being the oldest in the bunch, Lilly is like a mother hen to

97 Billy and Rory. She takes her napkin and wipes Rory’s tear- filled eyes. “Do you like my Dad, little one?” Lilly nonchalantly puts her napkin back on her lap. “He yells a lot, and it scares me.” Rory’s soft voice is so small, the words have a hard time being any louder than a whisper. “Don’t worry, he likes to bark but never bites; he likes to scream, but he never ever raises a hand to us,” explains Lilly, patting Rory on the head. “Really?” Rory sits up a little taller, looking at Cody, who is kissing her Mom’s cheek. “Do you know how happy we are to live with you and your Mom?” More of a statement than a question from Lilly. “What about Billy, you happy to live with him too?” “No,” states Lilly, firmly. Rory shoots a sideways glance at her Mom, trying to tell her this fantastic news. They don’t like your kids, make them leave. But Lilly quickly adds, “yes.” She sips her OJ. “I’m messing with you. We love your family, and your Mom makes my Dad thrilled, and that’s what matters most.” Lilly makes a choking sound that Rory can’t tell if it’s real or pretend. Once the eggs go around, someone shouts, “Where’s Dennis?” She can’t place the voice. The muscles in Rory’s neck tighten, recalling which one Dennis is. “He’s playing hockey. Early morning practice started today. That boy will be a pro player one of these days,” states Cody with pride, winking at his new bride. “Yeah, says you, Cody,” shouts Billy from across the table, lip curled, ready to go at it with his new stepdad. Cindy settles her fingers on her husband’s sleeve, “His just puffing his chest, let it go, dear.”

98 Rory notices her Mom looking around the table, biting her lips, fidgeting with her hands, the same thing she would do when her dad yelled. “Who wants to get pumpkins?” Cindy glances around the table. Lilly and April look at each other with a smirk. Jack looks at his Dad rolling his eyes, “Do I have to?” Billy looks at his feet, and Rory sees her chance to slip away from the table, overlooked again, when her Mom clears the dishes, chattering away about pumpkins, Indian corn, and a real family outing. She out the back door and gone in a flash. It’s not the first time that Rory escapes unnoticed. Mom didn’t even say good morning. She sighs. Well, who cares! Rory reasons, kicking the dirt patches with her cowgirl boots running through Larsen’s field. Hate rises in her throat, thinking about Cody. You took my Mom from me. She’s my Mom, she holds back the tears, and you will never ever be my Dad. Although, she knows Cody isn’t the reason her own Dad left, he’s in the way of him coming home. Teardrops slide down her cheek, and then full-blown crying starts. Sobbing tears obstruct Rory’s vision so much, she trips over a rock, falls to the ground flat on her stomach, and her face in the grass. Why bother getting up? Rory rolls onto her back, deciding it’s better to lie here in the field instead going on some forced pumpkin trip. Watching the clouds roll past, she imagines what it would be like if Cody fell off his ladder, hit his head, and came to his senses and left. Why does he want to live in our little house with all those kids of his? Can’t they go back to where they came from?

99 The images in her head make Rory feel sleepy, content. Now, an entire plan formulates in her mind. “Where did she go?” Her mother’s voice carries on the wind. Rory somehow answers in her mind, she went with Cody, silly, all of them, they’re gone. “Where is she? Did anyone see where she went?” Her mother sounds off again in the distance, an uneasiness to her voice. Eyes closed, she enjoys the wind on her face. “There she is.” In a louder, more nervous voice, she calls out, “Rory, Rory, don’t move. We’re coming. Don’t be frightened.” Her mother’s voice screeches in what must be a dream, but the yelling gets louder with more people joining in. Rory opens her eyes to find people pointing at something. She turns her head to see Larsen’s big gelding storming toward her. Rory’s little body and mood brighten. Finally, someone I can talk to. Trigger gallops right up to her and stops. The horse’s head drops to hers; snorting in her hair. Putting his muzzle on her forehead, he moves his complete body over hers to shield her, protecting her from the human herd running her way. “Mom, where are you?” A familiar voice drifts to her ears, pulling her out of the lull between awake and the stings of sleep. “Mom,” yells Alexis. Shaking her head, still drowsy from her mid-day nap, she sits. “Coming.” She rouses herself from the daydream of her childhood. On her way into the house, Rory reminisces about her Mom. She treasures that tale; the day she became a horse- whisper.

100 In her Mom’s version, the clouds part ways, allowing beams of sunshine to cast a spotlight on Trigger and Rory. However, in Rory’s vivid memory of that day thirty-six- years-ago, her Mother, with her new last name, Cindy Beltrano, fainted out of sheer fear that Trigger was about to trample her little girl.

101 CHAPTER 13

Kat Eddie

“Did Grandma Mickey move, Mommy?” Stafani asks her Mom, confused about where her Grandmother lives. The girls call her Grandma Mickey Mouse because her last name is Mickel. “No, she’s in the hospital again.” Olivia turns to her sister. Hospital, Rehab center—well, that’s close enough, Kat thinks to herself. “Mommy?” “Yes, Olivia.” “When those kids watched that show, they said stupid and—” “We do not say or repeat those words.” Kat cuts Olivia off before she says anything further. Rory raises her kids one way and me another, she thinks to herself, and that’s up to her. But in our house, we don’t say stupid because it’s not a proper descriptive word. Kat glances at her daughter in the mirror.

102 Olivia nods. “That’s what I thought.” Kat continues with a tender sigh. “It doesn’t have any depth or positive meaning to it, and that’s not how we raised you. Now, when I was a kid, Granddad always said, ‘People who swear, sound like drunken sailors.’” Realizing she may infer that Alexis, Ariana, and their friend drink, she adds, “Those three girls are good kids, they just have different parents, and therefore, different upbringing than you and Stafani, so Mama and I do what we do, and other parents do what they do. We just try to be respectful and not judgmental to one another. Make sense?” Seemingly happy with the answer, Olivia grabs the back of Kat’s seat and pulls herself forward. “Yes. Are we going to see Mickey now?” “Yes. We’re almost there, Pumpkin.” Feeling satisfied with her explanation, Kat looks in her rearview mirror at her kids, watching them chat and being silly. She and Beth at least agree on the moral code, the path they set forth for their children; kindness, grace, and grate‐ fulness for their life. Kat appreciates the upbringing her parents gave her, and she hopes to pass the same considerations onto her daugh‐ ters. She never recalls her parents ever making fun of people for how they appeared, education level, or socioeconomic class. Values passed from generation to generation—values she strives to pass on to her offspring. In fact, her grand‐ mother had a copy of Emily Post’s book on Etiquette. Commanding respect, Mormor, Danish for Mother’s Mother, lived by Post’s creed, Good manners reflect something from an inside-an innate sense of consideration for others and respect for self. Kat recalls components of her Grandmother’s well- polished home fondly to this day; sit-down meals, wait until everyone is served, and the process of giving thanks before

103 anyone eats—no cartons on the table, all food in serving bowls, and beverages in a pitcher. Not to mention, asking to be excused before leaving the table and helping with the dishes. She recalls those days fondly; once everything is put away, and counters cleaned, time to relax in the living room or den to chat, maybe watch a little television. And if Kat’s family had stayed overnight in one of the two spare bedrooms, luggage was placed on the luggage rack. Kat likes most of these traditions. Some are strict, boarding on archaic like the beverage pitchers. But others are values she strives to uphold. Her father’s family was similar in style, same with Beth’s grandmother. Good basic manners, another significant one, thank you notes for gifts. She always had to write a handwritten note expressing gratitude for the cashmere gloves, the trip to Saint Thomas, the fifty-dollar bill when getting an A. In her younger broth‐ er’s case, a haircut was the reason for the well-crafted note, thanking his grandfather for the fifty even though he lost his cool, flowing blonde locks. This is the moral compass Kat intends to set for her chil‐ dren, in one word, respect. Once that nurtured compass is fixed, while guidance and advice are forever a parent’s role, when a child reaches a certain age, you need to let them go to make their own deci‐ sions, recognize a mistake, and take responsibility for it. She won’t be with them when they take their first solo trip out on a Saturday night with their friends, they perhaps behind the wheel, nor will she be with them at their first college party, among hungry freshmen for their initial taste of freedom, a chance to go wild, unsupervised. Partying is inevitable. But to make smart choices around drinking, maybe trying a little pot, part of tolerable experi‐ mentation and only safe sex—when they’re ready and with a person they love, and that person cares about them.

104 Kat was far from an innocent teenager. The youthful trouble she got in with her buddy Debra saw to that, but they were always polite. These thoughts and others run through her mind after leaving Rory’s home. There’s so much about that woman Kat likes; a growing curiosity about her contrasting life; a world filled with horses; knowledge about one of the world’s most elite sports, yet there beneath her weary eyes, a buried soul. Barricaded behind a thick wall. Kat thinks about Rory’s husband. A man so different from any Kat works with or socializes with. He espouses red-neck behavior that discredits human decency, so diverse from Kat’s upbringing. So why is Rory with him, she must love him? Kat surmises. Ah, who am I to judge? She says to herself. Look at my marriage. Arriving at the rehab center, Kat and the girls find Joanie in her room, saying her morning prayers. Kat, although spir‐ itual, isn’t a Born-Again Christian like her Mother and two brothers. The Christian faith has been less than kind to gays and lesbians, and Kat has a tough time reckoning her belief in a religion that condemns people for loving a person of the same sex. Aside from the differences in their religious faith, they share an idea that pray/meditation, concentrated thought sent to the heavens or universe can deliver a positive outcome during times of struggle. When something goes wrong or if anything bothers her, Kat always feels better when talking to her Mom. She thinks back to her early 20s away from home. Kat, laying on her bed, dials her mother from her NYC apart‐ ment, then declares, “It was the worst day ever.” “The worst day ever? Tell me about it, Kat, but let me get a cup of coffee first, and I’m all yours. You can tell me what’s going on.” Her Mom’s soothing voice, an immediate cure. Letting the tormenting air out of a balloon, Kat would

105 run through the challenges of the day, and by the end of her tale, her Mom listening intently, offering kind words, under‐ standing, acknowledgment of her strife, made Kat feel better, gave her a sense of relief and that was that. She, along with her brothers, thought, and still think, of their Mom as the magical wonder able to solve the troubles of any day. “Should we go outside? It’s glorious.” Joanie winks at her granddaughters. “It’s far better than the stale air filling the common area.” “Sure, that seems like a great idea. Girls, can you get the door while I help Mickey outside?” Knowing the routine well and accepting a medical facility is the place where they see their Grandmother, they’re amiable to help and visit. “How’s work, Katie?” With sincere interest, her mother asks, taking a seat in a sunny spot near tulips just bursting through the dirt. “Ugh, I don’t want to talk about work other than it’s fine. It’s a job. But the girls will go to a horse show next month, a little local show, not big but their first one.” “Can I go, please?” Joanie looks delighted. “Maybe, let’s see when the time gets closer.” A tinge of pain hits Kat, and she’s sorry she brought up the show. She would love her mother to see all the girls have learned, how they ride. However, the challenge of taking her anywhere is becoming increasingly difficult. For now, Kat puts the distant event to rest. “Hey, Olivia and Stafani, would you mind getting my glasses from my room?” “Okay, Mickey.” Stafani stands, ready to run down the corridor once inside. “I want to ask you how Beth is doing, since she lost that trial, any better, with her mood? She still depressed from the ‘Not Guilty verdict?’”

106 “I think she’s accepted it. Doesn’t agree with the outcome but believes it was a fair trial and is feeling a little better, moving on, I suppose. She has a fresh case coming, always helps too.” Kat stretches her legs out, eyes closed, soaking in the springtime sun. “What’s this one about?” Joanie always loves the mystery swirling around Beth’s work. Another love that Kat and her mom share is mysteries; crimes stories—Patricia Cornwell books. They both eat them up. “This one’s a drug case.” “Tell me,” responds Joan also closing her eyes, her head tilts to the sky. “From what I know so far, a man in one of the Boston suburbs, I can’t remember which one, called the FBI with a growing suspicion about the house across from him. The man said he could see family members coming and going from the home on a regular basis, backing their cars up to the garage, trunks open, then leaving moments later. He never saw what was being loaded, but the regularity seemed weird. So, he called the FBI, and sure enough, this average white-collar American family turns out to be meth dealers, making it right in their own home. Can you believe it? This one should be an easy win from what I’ve read, but you never know.” Other than her conversation with her mother, the silence offers a deafening experience. Kat sitting upright and looks for her girls. “Well, I hope so because you know, Beth needs to be right. She needs to be in control of her life, that’s very important to her.” Joan reaches for a jar of cream out of her purse and lathers some on her wrinkles. “I know, Mom. You’re right. She does.” The door to the rehab center remains open, waiting for the girls’ return. Joanie pops the cream back in her bag and grabs a piece

107 of Nicorette gum. “I sometimes wonder how that little Bronson girl is doing and that poor mother of hers. Such a shame. She lost the baby during childbirth, on top of losing her husband even if he was abusive, a loss and now the kids growing up without their Dad.” “There was an article I read about in a new book. How some people are content when their spouse dies, maybe this woman is relieved to be out of danger, and she can focus on her son and daughter?” Kat wonders if the woman now feels sorrow or a newfound sense of relief. “Guess we will never know, Kat.” Joan moves the gum around her mouth. “We got your glasses, Mickey.” Olivia bounces out the door. “And your Werthers,” says Stafani with a grin. “Can we have a one too?” “Did I ask you for my candy, you little darling.” Mickey grins. “No, but you love Werthers Grandma Mickey. We thought you’d like one now, and we can join you too if you’d like,” says Olivia, the ever-budding diplomat. “We thought you’d like one?” Repeats Stafani “Just one, girls.” Kat winks at her mother. “My granddaughters are so smart,” replies Joan, spitting out the gum and popping a butterscotch candy into her mouth. “Mom, we gotta go. It’s time for a family hike with Beth.” Kat stands up, gathering her bag. “Aww, mom,” whines Olivia. “Do we have to?” She bows her entire body to the ground. “Yes, sweetheart, it will be a zip-zip walk and home for yummy pasta with Stafani sauce made with love and apple pie for dessert. Plus, Lily and Jan are coming over with the kids.” Kat holds the door for her mother and daughters.

108 “Can I come too?” Joanie asks in a half-heartedly tone. “Maybe next time, Mom, when your healthier. But I’ll be back in a few days.” Kat gives her mother a faint smile, feeling guilty again that her physical challenges create such a relentless problem in their relationship.

109 CHAPTER 14

Rory Tucker

You’ll like it, the words float around in her thoughts. Who doesn’t like a hayride through a maze? Rory sighs at the last words piping through her brain— me, I don’t like it. Now, she wishes she was anywhere but here, lost in a hazy, never-ending sea of green on green. Pushing through the tall stalks, she becomes more and more anxious as she tries to find her way out of the cornfield maze. “Mom,” Alexis’ voice rings in the distance. “Where are you?” Ariana chimes in, coming from a different direction. She hears her daughters’ muffled voices, calling for her, but can’t get to them. “Hey, Mom, who’s going on the trailer first?” Alexis’ words drag her out of the dreamy maze, and the green stalks disappear in a flash. “Topaz, Pepper, Or Noah?” Her daughter shouts below Rory’s open window. Drifting back to reality, she opens her eyes. “Wait.” Rory

110 sits on the edge of the bed. “What? I’m coming, hold on.” She shakes her head to wake up. What was that all about? She shoves the thought to the side, to analyze later. Getting dressed in a polo shirt, baring her barn’s name, Rory embraces the untarnished delight born from the rich‐ ness of introducing her new set of junior riders to the world of showing. Last week, going over the extensive list of all equestrian items they need to show in; velvet helmet, hair net, shirts, tailored show coat, tan breeches, belt, dark leather garter straps worn just below their knee in place of high boots, paddock boots—cleaned and polished, and a stock pin instead of a tie. An embellishment worn out of tradition by the ladies across the top shirt button. And black leather riding gloves. Can’t forget those. Rory loves the formality of showing and for some fami‐ lies, it can be an expense not worth spending, but for others, they enjoy seeing their child formally dressed, competing in a long-standing tradition of equestrian majesty, even if the show is in the small rural town of Gilray. The dress is an equalizing practice, though some only purchasing affordable accessories while others buy top of the line items their child will outgrow by next season. The choice is out of pride or feeling the best will create a classic variant of a pure winner. Once outside, Rory can see that Alexis has given the horses their feed and wants to load them on the three-horse trailer. “Hold on, Alexis, we need to get the crap stains off Noah. Here, hand me that rag with some ‘cowboy magic’ spot remover,” Rory instructs her eager daughter. Wiping Noah’s hind end, Rory stands back to inspect all the horses, making sure they’re ready; thoroughly clean,

111 colorful horses sleazies on, shielding their braids that took hours to do. Perfection with horse presentation is Rory’s unspoken rule, one she tries to impart on her kids and students. “Why can’t I show too?” Ariana’s voice takes on a whiney tone. “I told you, I’m just one person, and today, I need to focus on my clients, The Eddie’s and Warrens. They’re paying me good money to coach their kids, so please, let’s put an end to this whimpering,” Rory begs her daughter. “Fine.” Yells Ariana walking inside, slamming the door. That girl sure likes to slam doors. Rory thinks to herself. “Alexis let’s load Pepper first, she’s easy, Topaz, and last, Noah,” Rory explains to her daughter. One by one, they get the horses on. Rory starts the truck and heads down the driveway when Ariana comes running out of the house. “Hey, wait for Sparky and me,” she shouts in a good- humored voice. “Well, glad that storm’s past,” says Rory under her breath, but loud enough that Alexis hears it. Her teen daughter, in turn, offers a conspiratorial smile. Pulling into the verdant grounds, the early morning fog still creating softness soon to be broken by dozens of horses, some from other stables, some backyard ponies, all will be backed out of their haven, by their owner, trainer, young rider, with a final hop trusting their person is not leading them off a cliff. Many of them pacified right away by the dense grass, dropping their head to devour blades like a kid would candy. Other horses, those new to the grounds and or showing, will turn, swirl, leap, jump, enter fright or flight mode, trying to escape the dangers of lurking creatures alien to them. Driving toward the middle of the grounds, Rory can see Kat, Beth, and the two girls standing at attention along with

112 Ellie and Bridget, awaiting instructions. Smiling with a head- nod-of-a-greeting, her heart swells with joy, watching excite‐ ment brew from nerves. Locating a lovely shady spot, Rory pulls that truck wide and forward, backing up flawlessly straight with enough room behind her to unload the horses. She sees Kat watching her with a shocked expression, as though amazed a woman can maneuver a truck. “Good day, ladies, how are we this morning?” Chirps Rory to her little enthusiastic but apprehensive riders. “Good, Rory.” They shout in harmony as a single voice. Sweatshirts and PJ bottoms cover their show clothes. “Now Alexis and Ariana are going to help you get your horses off the trailer and tie them with a safety knot to the side. Your job is to get their water buckets in the back of the truck and help tie up their hay bags. After that, take your grooming brushes, and brush them down.” The girls stand at attention, nodding and soaking up her words. “Okay. Parents, you come with me.” Feeling in charge and in control, Rory’s body comes alive. She admires her daughters as they guide the neophyte competitors. Rory’s attention now fixes on the parents. “Hi, let me take you up to the booth, so you can register your girls.” Once everyone is doing what they’re supposed to do, Rory breathes a sigh of relief as the first part of the morning is well under control. The next challenge, she realizes, will be Topaz, who is exhibiting a fair amount of anxiety. “Hey Rory, you think Olivia will be okay. Topaz looks like she’s freaking out a bit,” says Kat, her voice tense. “Yeah, we need to keep her close to Pepper. She hasn’t been to a show in a while, her pasture buddy should help.” Rory sips her coffee, mildly concerned. Detecting both worry and maybe a little of anxiety from

113 Kat and possibly from Beth too, Rory thinks they too need a pasture buddy to tranquilize them before they get into their daughter’s head, especially knowing they’ve both said Olivia is a shy kid. But Rory can see and knows, riding is a self-esteem builder and week by week, Olivia’s growing confidence is obvious. Stafani is covering Noah with kisses, humming away without a care in the world, unaware she’s about to go into a show ring. Which is just how we like our lead liner to be. Rory thinks, knowing lead line with Noah will be like a trip down Pony Path Lane with a few more people watching and led by a clean, cotton rope, that looks like it’s more for show than functionality. Seeing Kat approach with an elderly man, she swallows down her last bite of an egg sandwich with a gulp of coffee. “Hey, Rory, I would like you to meet my Dad and his wife, Ellen.” Kat stands with a newfound ease, hands in her pocket, next to an elderly man and a middle-aged woman, both wearing broad hats and sunglasses. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Eddie. You too, Ellen,” replies Rory, a little shy meeting Kat’s Dad and Stepmother. “Good Morning, our first class of the day, Fitting and Showmanship is about to begin.” The announcer’s voice crackles over the intercom. “All riders please line up at the gate.” “Wait, what, all riders? They don’t divide the classes?” Kat’s voice takes on a new high-pitched tone, and she stares at Rory for guidance. Rory wants to slip Kat some “Rescue Remedy,” used on an anxious horse, but ignores the impulse and moves over to her students. “Ready? Not what I expected, but it’s what we got, so Olivia, you ready Sweetheart? You got this.” Rory reassur‐

114 ingly nods to Olivia, sensing her student is nervous but reso‐ lute to do her best. “Yes, Rory, I’m all set.” Olivia’s little serious face looks at Rory. Her mare fidgets, issuing a series of high-pitched calls for help. Rory does a quick check of gear, then adjusts Topaz’s bridle. “Is she okay?” Olivia tries to contain the horse’s strong head movements, jerking from side to side. It’s as if she’s looking for her pasture friend. “She will be.” Rory glances over at Ariana, seeing she has Pepper ready to go. “Hey, Bridget,” calls out Rory. “Bring Pepper a little closer, and when you two go in, try to stand near one another, okay?” Her students walk into the ring, looking sharp. “Riders,” the judge’s voice carries. “Get in a straight-line, side by side.” When Olivia and Bridget walk in, Topaz tries to rear, and Olivia instinctively circles her to keep her going. Rory knows this is a necessary move, but now Pepper is at the beginning of the line, and Topaz ends up three horses away from her security blanket. Rory, on the rail, helps direct Olivia. However, the prized Morgan horse is flailing Sans Pepper. Rory sees Olivia is checking her nerves, doing her best to keep Topaz circling, but Rory wonders if this was a mistake, bringing the Morgan. Her young rider appears so small in the class with older kids, teenagers, and even a young adult. Pepper just fourteen hands and an old pro at shows is at ease in the ring, so thankfully, Bridget is okay, more than okay, she looks relaxed with Pepper strutting her little pony self around, showing off. The class ends with composure from Olivia, but appre‐ hension from Rory about the rest of the day.

115 “So, how did that go?” Kat seems even more uptight about the potential disastrous outcome based on Topaz’s rather zealous behavior. “Well, it’s one class, let’s see how the rest goes.” Rory exudes a firm level of self-confidence in her voice, wishing she truly felt that way at the moment. “Rory, can you check in with Olivia, and tell her it’s okay?” Kat’s eyes fill with worry. “Sure. But it’s Stafani’s turn, which should go well. Next up are the two flat classes for Olivia and Bridget, one judges on the rider and one on the horse, but with the rider in control.” Rory continues speaking, explaining how the rest of the day will go, hoping to ease Kat’s mind, then excuses herself. Entering the ring with Noah and Stafani, they are in excellent form. Stafani looks around unphased by the intro‐ ductory class to the world of showing, with Rory leading them around. “Stafani, that was perfect.” Rory beams, patting her youngest rider on the back. At the end of the class, the whole Sky Hill crew meets the pair at the gate, offering heartfelt congratulations for the adorable display of innocence that comes from such a junior rider and pony with a flaxen mane. The day moves along at a quick clip. Rory needs to call her two walk-trot riders out of the warm-up ring. “Bridget, Olivia, ready? Your class is up.” The best friends, mimicking the older riders, game faces on, trot to the exit, stop their hacks in front of Rory, ready for the highlight of their day. “Now, Topaz should be much better in here, because she’ll have a job to do. And it’s up to you to keep her focused, okay?” Rory glances up at Olivia’s kind, innocent, but bright eyes.

116 “Yes, and my diagonal, you’ll help me with that?” Olivia is shy that she hasn’t mastered the full art of proper posting. “Yes, look for me at the rail, I’ll nod my head yes or no, okay?” Rory tells her rider. “Walk-trotters, please enter the ring.” The announcer’s voice booms across the show grounds. Rory standing on the rail, tries to be polite, but also blocks out Kat, who is on edge about this class. Even with Beth by her side, Rory can tell she’s nervous for her daughter in a way she wasn’t for Stafani, probably because Rory was in the ring with her. With each new command from the Judge, both her riders look beautiful. And Topaz has quieted down enough to look regal, an excellent illustration of her breed. The riders line up, Rory moves near the announcer’s booth to hear the results. She wants to make a good showing, at least have her students in the ribbons. With a class of eight and only six placings, she studies the lineup, feeling they must be in the top three. The announcer starts from the bottom, going up. “In sixth place . . .” The ribbon runner hands an emerald green ribbon to a girl on a swayback horse with ribs show‐ ing. An older gelding, Rory determines. Only three placings to go. Her girls will be in the top third. Rory does a we got this nod to the fervent parents on the rail. “And in third place is Holly Johnson.” The announcer states. “First and second.” Rory overhears Kat breathing a sigh of satisfaction. “And second place goes to Bridget Warren.” The announcer states to loud cheering from Ellie and her family along with Rory. “And in first place, Olivia Eddie.” More cheers, this time

117 from Beth, Kat, and her father with Ellen clapping by his side. With an emotional surge in her throat, Rory sees Olivia staring at her, holding up the royal blue ribbon to her, not her family. The second class has the same results, 1st, and 2nd with more hugs, cheers, utter joy for a day of success on many fronts. Not bad for a first showing. Deciding not to say anything to her clients about the last announcements of the afternoon, Rory grabs a bottle of water from the back of her truck and sits with her own daughters, sharing the barn’s victory with them. “Nice job, Mom,” says Alexis, patting Rory on the back. “Should’ve been me out there,” moans Ariana, kicking at the tall grass. “That wasn’t even your class, Ariana. Why can’t you be happy for them, or, at least, for me.” “Because I want to show.” Her daughter weeps. “I want you to take me to a show.” “Sweetheart, come here,” responds Rory, trying to be patient with her daughter. But she takes off walking. Slouching her shoulders and head bowed, she heads to the truck, not quite slamming the door. With a crackle of the loudspeaker, Rory tilts her head to the booth, indicating the families joining her should listen. “Day End Championships . . . In Lead Line, Champion . . . Stafani Eddie. In Walk-Trot, Champion . . . Olivia Eddie, and Reserve Champion, Bridget Warren.” Rory looks at Alexis, watching the families all give each other celebratory hugs. The kids squeal in disbelief. Kat, Olivia, and Stafani give Rory a big hug. She feels a little bashful when Kat embraces her. Timid, she’s unsure why. “Oh, my gosh, Rory, that was amazing.” Kat, glances at her

118 daughters and Bridget, and then turns back to Rory with a gigantic smile. “Hey, kiddos, can we get a picture with Granddad and Ellen?” Asks Beth, she too beams, but in a more subdued way. Standing off to the side, Rory can see Kat just glowing with an appreciation for her daughters. Would seem, for Kat, it’s not about winning for the sake of winning, but the spark of passion the day has created in her children. “Hey, parents, how about you ride, take some lessons? We have a few adults who trail rides, which I bet you’d love,” offers Rory, taking a gamble that at least one of them is curious about riding. All eyes fall on Rory. “Didn’t you say you used to ride?” Rory, trying to persuade at least one adult—Kat—holds her gaze. Kat replies, “I was Stafani’s age.” She glances at her father. “I did it for a summer. A few times into my twenties. I haven’t been on a horse in years, but it would be fun, I bet.” She glances at the other mothers. “Anyone else interested in—” To sweeten the pot, Rory tosses in some adult activities. “Now through October, we have Friday adult nights.” She pauses a moment to think. “A trail ride followed by snacks around the bonfire, BYOB,” “Hey, I’ll come with a bottle of wine.” Ellie raises a hand. “Me too.” Beth smiles at her friend, then picks up her belongings. “Count me in for both, Rory. I would love to get back in the saddle,” responds Kat, looking from family member to family member, and then at Rory. “Great, see you all next week for your lesson, girls.” She directs her attention from her younger students to the parents. “And Friday night for some adult time, ladies.” Rory winks at Kat, then smiles at Beth and Bridget.

119 CHAPTER 15

Kat Eddie

After a year of lessons for Olivia and Stafani, thinks Kat, and now, I’m going to ride. Seven when her mother brought her to Sunny View Farm in Bedford for lessons, she was too naïve to understand the gift being offered. Also, such a bashful little girl, her mother practically had to drag her into the bustling barn that first day, wearing her little equestrian outfit, boots, black velvet hunt cap, no longer deemed safe by today’s standards. The case with so many objects from her childhood, from cribs to car safety rules. A few things Kat fondly remembers most from her summer of riding; the sweet smell of hay, the largeness of the horses, her kind riding instructor, Barbara, and sitting on a pony, not understanding what she was doing. She tried to follow along with instructions called out to her, posting around the ring without effort, without fear, liking it well enough, but not finding it exciting. So, one day, when it was time for her lesson, rather than

120 jump for joy, the way her kids do today, she told her mother she didn’t want to go, that she wanted to play baseball with her friend Doug instead, and that was that. Mom gave in too quickly. A character flaw perhaps, yielding to the whims of a child, rather than developing a level of commitment in me, her young daughter. No matter the reason, that day has lingered in Kat’s mind her entire life, creating a what may have been moment. Even with the handful of resort trail rides on lifeless horses, she’s had an itch not silenced until age twenty-eight, during a long weekend trip to Vermont with friends from Boston. They stopped off at a family-run barn, and Kat thought it would be great fun to take a lesson. Her thoughts drift to that day. “Hey, nice to meet you,” says Kat. “Thank you so much for letting me ride with such brief notice.” Nancy, the owner, extends a hand. “Glad to have you,” she replies. “Now, you said on the phone, you’ve ridden before, right?” “On and off for years.” “Well, wonderful, happy to help you get your horse fix. This guy too big for you?” “Oh, my gosh, no, he is gorgeous.” A sense of giddiness and exuberant joy washes over her. Finally, rather than hopping on a pony or dead horse walking, she mounts a spunky 16.2 hand gelding, an actual horse. Kat jumps up on the hack with ease, eager to go. Trusting Kat was an actual rider, and somehow looked like she knew what she was doing, Nancy had felt confident at the time, choosing Buck for her guest. “Looks great, how about you pick up a canter?” Not understanding what to do because she never got past trot‐ ting, she asks, “What do I do again?” “Stop posting, put your right leg back and . . .” Before her instructor could finish her sentence, Kat was off, moving in perfect rhythm with the horse, so much so, she thought,

121 my God, this feels so much better than posting, almost better than sex. My body is in absolute, perfect synchronization with this guy. She whirls around the ring. “Now this is fun.” Kat’s heart pumps with exciting speed induced by adrenaline. But she heard Nancy. “Looks like she’s got the horse riled up. Hey Kat,” calls out Nancy, “A little fast, slow down.” The feeling of synchronicity changed to thoughts of, shoot, how do I slow down, wait, how do I stop? And then panic set in. Slipping off to the left, arm out, trying to balance herself against the unmoving wall, and snap. She hit the ground with a heavy thud. Shearing pain lit her arm on fire, and her friends drove her to the country hospital over bumpy dirt roads. A few hours later, and after a shot of demurral, euphoria had set in. Hey this doesn’t hurt at all, she thought at the time only to be interrupted by narcotic nausea and x-rays confirming a broken elbow. Kat had scratched the itch back then, or so she thought. That was until last week’s show when Rory had offered lessons to the Moms. It was an offer Kat couldn’t refuse. “Hey, can I ride the blonde horse.” Kat finds it hard to tear her eyes away from the magnificent animal. “Would you look at her? She’s so beautiful.” “That’s a Palomino, Mommy, her name’s Kit Kat,” explains Olivia, looking at Kat. “Yup, I saddled Kitty Kat up just for you.” Rory checks the harness again. “Would you like a lead line considering it was what, twenty years ago when you last rode? Your balance might be a bit off.” “I’m ready, Rory. You know, I ride my bike seventeen miles a day. These puppies are hard as a rock, so I think I can handle a trail ride,” brags Kat, laughing. She knocks on her leg.

122 Beth and Ellie, already opening their bottles of wine, pick a comfy spot to settle into. “Ellie and I will be here by the fire, in our chairs, safe and sound.” Beth holds up a glass. “Just make sure you come back in one piece,” she crackles, then takes a sip of wine. “You want me to show you what to do, Mommy?” Beams Stafani, tugging her Kat’s leg. “Yes, thank you, sweetheart. What should I do now?” “Get up on the horse and go.” “Like this, do I put my foot in the stirrup?” Thinking she will hop on with ease, Kat stands by Kit- Kat. But after multiple failed attempts, and hearing snick‐ ering all around because she can’t quite get her foot in the stirrup, confusion sets in. Stafani stares on, bewilderment shining on her face. “Mommy why are you trying to get on the horse from the ground?” “How about you follow me to the mounting block?” Rory offers, hands on her hips, head tilted to the left. “Well, I guess we can do that, Rory,” Kat says with a hit of amusement, “or we can all watch me make a fool of myself.” Yielding to pressure from the many eyes upon her, Kat leads the horse to the block. She visualizes her daughters popping themselves onto the saddle. “Well, okay, this might be easier.” She swings her right leg high in the air, much higher than need be, lands in the saddle but not without a near fall off the other side of the horse. More laughter sounds. “I may need a refill at this rate,” says Ellie with a chuckle. “I’m so thrilled I can be this evening’s entertainment. Hey, can someone take a picture of me with my blonde friend here?” “Look at you, Mommy,” cheers Olivia. Stafani, standing by her side, jumps up and down.

123 “Thank you, sweethearts. Hey, I see why you two like being up here. Laney, you and Ted want to race?” “I can see what kind of student you’re gonna be, lady. There will be no galloping or even cantering tonight. Maybe a trot, but we’ll see when we get up there.” Rory shakes her head from side to side, but she seems delighted Kat is enjoying herself. “Raincheck on the race, Kat, maybe toward the end of the summer when you get your sea legs, so to speak, then you’re on. Ted and I will kick your butt.” Laney laughs. “Deal. Rory, I’ll need the fastest horse in the barn, so I can beat that woman by a country mile.” “That’s Mic, Mommy, the one I ride,” says Olivia. “He’s so speedy.” Recalling the nimble horse’s movement for her daughter’s lessons, she decides to slow things down a notch. “hm, well, let’s see what Kit Kat’s got first, she might do the trick.” Atop her own horse, Rory seems so relaxed—at ease as if in her element—gives instruction to the ladies. “Laney and Wendy, why don’t you two go first, and I’ll take the rear to make sure our eager friend here stays inline. Alexis and Ariana, can you ask your Dad to come out and light the bonfire and get Sparky, he needs to sit this one out, just in case I need to rescue Kat here.” “Dad, light the fire,” barks Ariana. “Well, I could have done that.” Rory holds her daughter’s gaze. “Why didn’t you?” “Why? Because I’m asking you, that’s why. Now, go ask him to his face to make sure he hears you.” Observing the exchange between Rory and her daughter, Kat gathers there’s an ongoing battle of wills. “Ladies, let’s head out,” says Rory. “Kat, hey Kat. Over here.” She waves an arm. “Take up your reins and give Kit a gentle kick.” She pauses. “No, gentle.”

124 “Okay. Okay.” Kat, laughing at herself, rights the horse and falls in line. Finally, moving in the right direction, and now walking past her laughing spectators lounging by the fire pit, she says, “Have fun loafing away while we hit the trails.” Parading into the neighboring field, the ladies make their way along a mown path through dense, tall grassland, over a babbling brook, round the bend—framed with goldenrod— guiding them to wooded hills, and onto the old snowmobile trail strewn with loose rocks. Kat loves the natural cadenced of Kit Kat underneath her. Feeling very much at ease, she begins the steep climb toward the top of the hill. Laney and Wendy ride ahead, chatting away. Kat, about ten yards behind them, notices the steep drop to the right that they ignored. Oh shit, yikes, okay, don’t look, she thinks to herself. “Look straight ahead and lift your butt out of the saddle slightly. This helps Kit Kat, and with nothing to worry about, she’ll take good care of you.” Rory, right behind her, offers supportive words. “How about you tell me about those bike rides?” Kat begins a long rambling description, happy to offer her knowledge about the world of cycling. “I do a few different rides. One short, seventeen miles up to the falls after dinner. It’s my ideal time to ride. I love it, especially when the air is hot, the hotter, the better, sweat dripping down my face, blood pumping with the uphill climb, past that gorgeous farm with that idyllic red barn and wide open hay fields, not that many cars at all, just me riding along with my dreams. As I get closer to the falls, I think my heart will burst during the last twenty yards. Or so you know the steepest part by Polar Lane?” “Up by that blue house?” “Yes, I get there heaving, but I see that amazing view over

125 to Chesterland, those hills, no houses, just an expansive opening. I turn, pointing my bike downhill, fly back home, no brakes. The warm air . . . Oh, my God, the air feels fantas‐ tic, cooling me down, wrapping my entire body in a blanket of sultry summer. And all I can hear is the wind whipping through my ears and my wheels spinning away. I love how my legs, my mind, and my complete body feel.” “And that’s the short ride?” “Yes. The longer rides, thirty-five miles, I do on the week‐ ends, to make sure I have enough daylight. That’s all about endurance with lots of time to think about stuff. But by the end, my rears sore, but otherwise, I always feel great, healthy, and I eat, lots and lots.” “Well, that sounds like torture, Kat, everything but the eating.” Rory giggles. “Yeah, biking’s not for everyone. But it’s been my exercise escape for a while, even in New York City, riding around Central Park, it’s like this whole-body thing that also gives that feeling of going somewhere, you know? But I guess I enjoy pretty much all sports.” “For me, it’s riding. That’s all I’ve ever done, ride.” “Tennis? Squash? Swimming? Track?” “Nope, horseback riding. It’s my drug of choice, makes my life whole.” “I get it, everyone’s got their thing. Well, I’m sure glad to be out here finally doing this, didn’t think much about riding again, that I ever actually would.” “Let’s test those leg muscles of yours and see if we can catch up to Laney and Wendy, you’ve trotted before, right?” “Yeah and cantered, a bunch of years ago, but a piece of cake.” “Gently kick and start posting, Kit will do the rest.” Kat, with confidence, gives Kit Kat a kick, and the mare moving instantly, with Kat losing her balance. She regains it,

126 posting, but she can’t seem to get the rhythm of up-down. Instead, she does an up, up, down, down. “Holy cow, this is hard, why is this so hard?” “Different leg muscles,” says Rory. “Way different muscles than riding a bike, my friend.” “No way, you all make it look so easy, but this is so diffi‐ cult. It wasn’t this hard twenty years ago.” Kat laughs at herself. “We all age, lady, even you,” chuckles Rory, poking fun at Kat’s athletic nature. Seeing Rory on horseback like this, so relaxed and care‐ free, offers a sharp contrast to her usual reserved demeanor. “I’m gonna need lessons Rory. My God, I should be able to do this, I’m an athlete, you know?” Laughing, Rory agrees, “Yeah. They would be great for you.” She pauses a moment, then says, “Maybe you’ll be in Stafani’s group in a few months.” “Well, that would be good,” replies Kat, teasing right back at her new sassy friend. “How about we start next week, because this is ridicu‐ lous? I have a race at the end of the summer, you know.” Kat babbles away. “Whoa, woman, lessons first, Saturday mornings, 9:00 am? You, me, and Kit Kat?” “Yes. I have to. I think just a handful will do, and I should be good, galloping, in a few weeks, maybe a month, and I bet I can beat you in a race.” She smirks at Rory, who returns the look with a bright smile. She and Rory both laugh. Kat, a tad competitive, wants to excel. “One lesson at a time, lady.” Rory shoots her an all- knowing look that screams, there’s no way on Earth her new student will gallop this year. The horses, now at moving at a steady walk, reach an old

127 stone wall with boulders toppled over, creating an entryway to an open field beyond the woods. Guiding Kit over the rocks, Kat can’t believe the expan‐ sive, colorful panorama in front of her eyes. Passing through a portal to another land nowhere near Northville, she takes in the vast open scenery of flowing grass dotted with butter‐ cups, Black-eyed Susan’s, Evening Primrose, and Hedge Bindweed. Distant rolling hills, leading to miles and miles of a most welcoming view, fills her vision. A picture of nature, the way God intended, unoccupied by houses, cars, and people. “This is what’s on top of that hill I’ve been looking at this last year? Is this yours, Rory?” “That stone wall there is the property marker, just up to the edge of the woods. But out there, that’s our neighbor’s. Five hundred plus acres back up to more old snowmobile trails, and onto conservation land.” She notes the pride in Rory’s eyes, and something else, peace. The easing of her furrowed brow, and the relaxing of her shoulders provides an energy that shouts home—Kat understands the feeling. When she was a kid, the property in back of her house offered so much stillness; a playground with trees, streams, and boulders, providing props for many magical adventures she and her brothers leisurely invented. But without gratitude, she thinks to herself, because she and her siblings thought everyone had hundreds and hundreds of acres to play in. But her childhood yard was wooded, not a slice of the wide-open country like this. “How often do you get up here? Wait, have my kids been up here? Is this where you take them on trail rides?” “Yup, this is it. There’s a short loop about thirty minutes. The one we’re doing tonight, and longer loops, an hour, two hours, three hours.” “I can’t even get my bearings, where are we?”

128 “That’s toward Chesterville, that hill might be the one you see when you bike, and over that way is toward Mont‐ gomery.” She points. “To the left beyond those hills is Conroy, and behind us is back toward Northville.” Feeling comfortable on Kit Kat, imagining she’s in the wild west like the cowboy movies she used to watch, Kat sees herself sailing through this field right before her. Looking around, she feels immense satisfaction in her being; the world enveloping her with sun rays radiating down on her face. Now plodding through the meadow, Kat looks at Rory and can see this must be her slice of heaven, sitting over her hellish life below. Her outlet from her harried life. A place that, no matter the time of year, would offer reclusiveness from any worry, an inspirational spot, letting you know harmony and sanctuary still exists and are yours to savor. “This is gorgeous up here, Rory,” “Glad you like it,” she says with a content sigh. “It’s my sunny place. I come up here all the time with the kids, but sometimes on my own.” Kat felt as if Rory wanted to say more but stopped. Looking around, she notices birds chasing one another in fun flight, and a group of bunnies fleeing from an unsus‐ pecting fox. This would be a delightful spot for just about anyone who loves nature, what, with the wilderness all throughout. It’s as if time has halted the ever-creeping devel‐ opment plans of civilization. “You’re one lucky woman, having this right in your back‐ yard, such a marvelous gift.” “Thank you,” utters Rory, her body swaying to her mare’s slow, but steady walk. “Does Max come up here?” “You’re kidding, right? No, Max doesn’t ride. He hasn’t been up here in years.” “Well, if I lived nearby, I would want to be up here all the

129 time, because it’s beyond wonderful. I feel like I’m a million miles away in a land of complete purity and grace.” Locking eyes with Rory, neither one of them says a word. Kat feels a surge in her heart. “It’s serene, breathtaking.” “It is,” says Rory. “The scene never grows old.” A bond for the vision God gave to the world and society left alone, Kat thinks, then breathes in the splendor of nature. “We should head back.” Rory motions to Kat to move out. Making their way onto the back end of Pony Path Lane, the women laugh at Kat’s challenge to Laney. “You made it! You stayed on.” Stafani jumps up and down. “Mommy’s alive,” she shouts to those gathered around the fire pit. “Really? Did you all think I would perish up there, fall off or something?” “We thought Kit Kat might buck you off,” teases Ellie. “Quite the opposite, Kit Kat and I did very well. In fact, we’re starting lessons next week, so come September, maybe August, well, probably August, I will beat these ladies out in the mountain up yonder.” She points in the general direction. “You both should check it out up there, it’s gorgeous.” “Hey, who needs wine?” Beth offers, partially hearing Kat. Her selective hearing filters out what’s she’s interested in, and what’s just perceived background noise. A pattern devel‐ oped after nineteen years of married life, but one Kat’s tiring of day by day. The ladies fill the empty folding chairs scattered around the bonfire, now reaching the top of a dead tree, limbs darting from the flames. Passing around cheese, crackers, and Doritos with dip, the parents soak up the twilight evening with peepers calling their mates in the nearby stream. The wine and beer buzz- induced conversations turn silly, and the hectic work week slips away. All the kids run around the farm, hiding from one

130 another only to jump out and scare each other with cries of delight. The night is just about perfect, a mixture of nature, pleasant conversation, a blending of characters from diverse worlds. Kat, sitting between Rory and Beth, catches Rory telling Wendy about Northville High. “I didn’t know you went to Northville, Rory, what year did you graduate?” “1984, but graduate, if you call it that. Most of the time, I cut classes and hung out in the park.” Rory, holding her thumb and index finger to her mouth, pretends to take a hit off a joint. “Back then, I knew more about pot than anything academic.” She pauses a moment. “I graduated without knowing how to read. You can say, I fell through the cracks. Thankfully now, we know what to do with ADHD, but back then, they just thought I was careless. But when I needed a job, I realized I had to teach myself how to read, so I could pass my CNA test.” “Really?” Questions Kat in disbelief that someone could graduate this way, and that same person, could turn around and teach themselves something on their own that the school couldn’t. “How did you do that?” “I bought kids’ books, and just kept studying, didn’t tell anyone, was too ashamed, but not anymore. I could blame the school, but that doesn’t help. At least now, they know what to do for kids with ADHA, like my daughter.” “Grab that picnic table, it’s falling apart,” yells Max, coming out the back door. “Max, what the hell are you doing?” Rory does nothing to hide her annoyance that he interrupted the conversation. “Brad and Jim and I are taking care of this table you’ve been pestering me about,” he shouts. “So, here we go.” And with that, the husky men invade the women’s space and hoist the table in the air.

131 “Excuse me,” says Max. “Coming through. Excuse me.” The men, maneuvering around the group of women, hurl it on the fire, creating an explosion of sparks. Flames flicker, reaching up to the stars, bringing the near-dead branches back to life and shuttering with fear. Beth gives Kat a telepathic look, acknowledging the guys are getting rowdy. “Olivia, Stafani, I think it’s time to go,” calls Kat. “Bridget, us too, you have soccer tomorrow,” Ellie rises, collecting her things. “Time to head home.” “Wendy, Laney, you staying?” Rory looks at her remaining friends, hope shining in her eyes, as if pleading for someone to hang around. “I’m going to call it a night also. Got work in the am. Jim, let’s go.” Replies Laney, touching her friend’s forehead, bidding everyone else goodnight. Wendy, taking a big swig of beer, replies, “I’m here if that man of mine is playing with your guy.” Somewhat sad to be leaving, seeing Beth ushering their girls to the Honda, Kat takes a moment to say goodnight to Rory, “Thank you so much for the trail ride.” “My pleasure, lady.” Maybe the wine, perhaps, the warm night air, with peepers singing in the background or possibly the shared prior experience, but whatever the impulse, Kat moves toward Rory, who closes the gap between them for a hug. The embrace offers a new bond of developing friendship.

132 CHAPTER 16

Rory Tucker

“Hey, Rory, how’s it going today?” “Good. How about a trail ride, instead of ring work for a change?” “Yes, I’d love that. What a perfect day for it.” “My last lesson this morning canceled, so if you have time, I could take you up to Peaks Hills.” “How long would that take?” “About an hour, will that work?” “Absolutely, we’re having a family party tomorrow for my Mom, Olivia, Stafani, and my older brother—all summer birthdays—a bunch of Cancers and Leos, in one room, so I have some stuff to do this afternoon, but if I’m home by say 1:30, we should be able to go up there.” “Sounds good, hey how old, will your girls be again?” “Olivia will be eleven and Stafani nine, which I just can’t’ believe. Going into 6th and 4th grade.” “Time flies. My girls just turned sixteen last month, going into the eleventh grade.”

133 “Wow. Are you, or are they thinking about where they’ll go to college?” Kat pauses a moment. “Maybe even an equine school?” “Not sure, neither one is that great academically. And neither their father nor I have more than a high school education.” Looking a bit wistful, Rory sighs. “But I would love it if the girls would go. Some New York Schools have an equine business program. It’d be good for them to get out of town, too.” “That sounds like a great idea for them. It seems like the horse world is calling out to them, yes?” “I hope so, Alexis more for training, and maybe, Ariana doing something in business sales. She’s a talker that one, like her Dad, in a good way.” “I found one of the best things about going away from home, was that feeling of independence, branching out from your parents, cutting the umbilical cord, so to speak. I love my parents, but I went to school in Boston, and when I grad‐ uated, that was that. I never lived at home again, at least, not full time.” “That’s so brave of you,” replies Rory, wondering where she would’ve gone if she’d had a choice. “You think your kids will do that too?” “I think so, but, and it’s a big but, if my kids want to live with me after they graduate or even go to college at Pine Valley, say and live at home, I’d be good with that too. It’s so expensive out there. I didn’t do the rational thing and try to build up savings. My autonomy was way more important to me, but hey, everyone’s different.” Dust kicks up down the drive. “Hey, Kat, my next lesson is here. Give me a call if you can make it this afternoon, okay?” “Will do,” says Kat, then the line falls silent. The lesson plays out without a hitch, and before she knows it, the afternoon rolls in and along with, Kat.

134 Passing over the stone wall into the wide-open field that Kat so admired her first time on the mountain, Rory encoun‐ ters the same familiar feeling of unearthliness flooding through her body seeing it once again. “Hey,” says Kat. “How about I try a canter?” “I’m not sure Kat, maybe you could do a short one just to that tree, straight ahead, but keep it slow, okay? You’ve only done it a few times in the ring.” “Why, Rory Tucker, are you babying me?” “My job, lady, is to protect my students, especially the fearless ones who don’t know what’s best for them,” snickers Rory, trying to maintain a bit of control over her student’s overzealous desire for speed. Looking around the scenery, Kat glances her way, again as if for reassurance. “Kat, you know what to do. Give TJ a little squeeze, and you can try to go a little faster by putting your rein forward. I’ll be behind you; in case I need to pick up the pieces.” “Good to know.” And off Kat went, like a shot, hand all the way forward down TJ’s neck, bouncing around the saddle like a scarecrow blowing in the wind, but somehow staying aboard the horse now in full gallop, and Kat chuck‐ ling away. “That’s enough, sit back and give a slow pull back on the reins, wild woman.” “That was beyond amazing. The speed part, I was kinda bouncing around. Did it look like I was bouncing around up there, ‘cause it felt great, out of control but flying through this field, man, oh man.” “You’re crazy, woman, let’s not let this get out. What, five lessons and your galloping like your being chased by a wild beast.” Rory can’t help but smile, but also admire Kat’s atti‐ tude toward life. She seems like such a free spirit, loving life to the fullest, Rory thinks, wishing she could let go like that at times. And passing

135 that onto her kids, always so optimistic. Maybe never a natural equestrian but enjoying herself. She smiles, taking in her new friend. More horsing around though than committed ring work. Whatever form it takes, Kat sure loves being up there. Rory thinks to herself, continuing to appreciate this woman’s energy more and more. “Rory, first, when can we do this again, and second, when we do, you need to race by my side. And last, I don’t think this would ever get old, this breathtaking view, particularly atop a horse. It just creates this immense surge, a unifying taste of peace in my soul.” “I’ll come up here anytime you want. Taking the kids is great, but coming with you, my friend, is a treat. I have to say, your enthusiasm is infectious.” “You know when I lived in New York City, I had this dream about living in California someday because I thought it would be so gorgeous, maybe by the ocean, that I’d be able to get much more in touch with a tranquil, spiritual variant of myself. So, I did before I met Beth. In the early ‘90s, I packed up my cats, and moved out to San Francisco, close to good friends from college who had moved there a few years before. My best friend from high school was there too. She and her husband offered me their condo when I arrived, a landing spot to get settled. Couldn’t ask for a better setup.” “Wow’s sounds idyllic, but you came back, why?” “Yes, I did. I was in Pacific Heights for just two weeks when I went to this retreat at a Franciscan Monastery, just beautiful, all the buildings in this Byzantine Revival architec‐ ture, mature fragrant gardens, shrines, hard not to feel harmony in my being. I remember talking with one monk about how hard it was to feel that same way in NYC, just so dirty, homeless people all around, not much greenery outside of the parks. And he told me something I’ll never forget.” Rory rides next to Kat, their horse meandering. “What, what did he say?”

136 “He said, ‘To archive true peace within your soul, you need to find the same happiness you welcome here, anywhere, anytime. Your surroundings do not create genuine tranquility, it is within your soul that you achieve pure bliss’. His words hit the core of my being.” “So, what did you do?” Rory slides deep in thought about her life with the girls, the horses, and Max. “I think he also realized that I was very homesick for my family, loving California, but missing my family. And I did move back, after seven weeks, even though the car rides along the coast were magnificent, and I had friends. But I missed the east coast, my parents, and the beauty here in the summer, where I think it’s the most spectacular place, so back I came. But the funny thing is, I took his words to heart, began meditating in NYC, and started achieving peace while riding a subway, eyes closed mind you, but still.” Rory, nodding, takes in the scenery, breathing at the moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Kat. I’ve been nowhere beyond Aruba. Well, I did travel for a week or two to Oregon. I was raised here, my parents are here, so was Max’s and his parents. The way you talk, I don’t even get half of what you’re saying, but the way you say it, I can’t explain it, but it makes me peaceful.” “Why, thank you, Rory. I appreciate you telling me that. Hey, couldn’t you see living in a house over on that ridge? Would you and Max ever try to approach your neighbor and buy a piece of their land?” “I’ve moved too many times with Max. I hope this will be our last, even though I think there’re other pieces of land better suited for an equine business than the one we have, but . . .” Rory paused, not sure how much to talk to Kat about her marriage. Kat has such a gentle soul, she thinks to herself, I feel like I could tell her anything.

137 She wants a best friend so badly, to have someone listen to her rather than being the listener. It’s something Rory hopes for, longs for. Someone who is hers and hers alone to confide in; therefore, she risks it and dive into some of her personal thoughts and feelings. “I’m not in love with Max anymore,” her words come out barely above a whisper. With this statement, Kat turns her full attention to Rory, and nods, showing she’s all ears. “Ah, yes.” “I haven’t been for a while. Not really sure how much I ever was. I mean I loved him when we got married, but life has been so hard for so many years, and all I can think about is how to escape from it. I could never leave with the girls, and he would never let that happen. Plus, I could never afford to live on my own with them, so I feel trapped, until maybe when they are older, on their own, but I worry about that, if they don’t go to college and aren’t able to make a living for themselves . . . I didn’t go, and I depend on Max for everything, even the business, so if I tried to leave, I’m terri‐ fied I’d lose my horses, the business that I’ve worked so hard for. So, I just keep going, and I know sometimes, I drink too much with Laney, that I drink to drown out what’s happening.” Getting choked up, Rory stops herself from saying any more. Moving TJ closer to Rory’s horse, Bailey, Kat then leans over to give Rory a hug. But in the process, she slides into Rory, heads and shoulders colliding, which lightens the mood, creating an ice breaking giggle that slips from between Rory’s lips. Kat, in her attempt to support Rory, ends up needing assistants, so Rory pushes Kat back into her saddle. “Rory, I’m sorry things are so hard for you.” Trying to shift the attention away from herself, Rory turns to Kat. “How about you? You and Beth seem to have it

138 worked out, those two amazing kids of yours and the way you are with them Kat, I admire your parenting.” “Thank you, the kids are everything to me, a family is everything to me, just like it was for my Mom and grandpar‐ ents, and I guess my Dad, although, with his second wife, things are different. But with Beth, well, it’s platonic these days, has been for quite a while. I love her, but kinda like I like a family member. But she just doesn’t appreciate what I’m all about, and she sure doesn’t understand my parenting.” “I know what that’s like,” mumbles Rory. Kat nods knowingly. “I think it kinda works now because she’s gone most of the week, but it’s because she’s gone most of the week that what we had is gone. We were like balsamic vinaigrette before, shake the bottle, and we’d flow together. But now, we’re just two separate bottles, oil, and vinegar. Not enough of a connection anymore.” “That’s sounds lonely.” Rory glances over at Kat to gage her reaction to her statement. Kat’s head nods, her eyes soften. “Yeah, I feel like I’m on my own; although, we talk most days, but it’s just babble. It’s kinda like I have my life and there’s life when Beth’s energy comes into the house, which seems like its compensation for being gone all week, like she needs to insert herself all she can to make sure the household has her character running through it, but that only undoes what I do during the week.” “Wow, that sounds hard.” Rory’s brow furrows, taking in all Kat’s saying. Kat sits up in her saddle a bit. “It is for me, and it’s hard for the kids. For example, when I’m doing my usual breakfast routine, which is needed to keep things rolling along, but when I do my usual thing, she barks at me and the kids. ‘They can get their own breakfast, they’ll eat when there’ hungry,’ “blah blah blah.” Kat laughs, making an exaggerated movement with her hands in the air, letting go of the reins.” “Oh man, that sucks.”

139 “Yup, so I answer with a bit of a snarky voice, ‘this works for getting out the door and catching the bus, so what’s the prob‐ lem,’ And then we get ‘the talk’, and I tune out, and the kids just bare the lecture, and then comes the final blow, ‘Kat why don’t you go for a bike ride, and I’ll take care of things here,’ the underlying meaning, leave me with my kids, I need to properly parent them without you around. So, I go because I can’t stand confrontation, and boy, oh boy, is she contrary.” “I had no idea. And your parenting is great.” “I don’t want to make waves, so I go ride it out, feel better, and move on. Olivia wants to come, but she’s too young for that distance, plus Beth wants her to stay home. A bit of a Catch 22.” “Wow, when I heard you tell Ellie it works, I thought you meant you two were okay doing the part-time thing.” “Nope. I think about how life would be if we could just split up without a fight, any big thing. I know I don’t see Beth the way someone else would. I’m just too drawn to people who have a rainbow of personality traits, those that ride the emotional rollercoaster of life, be silly and absurd, laughing with the innocence of a child one minute, talk about God, the heavens, fate, death, but the mundane dealings of day to day, inevitable in any marriage. My two long-term relation‐ ships, Beth being the second, resemble my Dad, stern, and grounded.” With sadness Rory declares, “Max has been my only long- term relationship longer than two years.” Turning to looking at Rory, Kat's arms swing wide. “The world can’t possibly comprise people who fall in love only to feel like they’re in prison five to seven years later. I once read about a country that has seven-year renewable marriage licenses. After seven years, renew or split up. No divorce, just a simple agreement between mature adults, realizing they may grow apart. It sounds great in concept. But I believe in

140 genuine love, I believe it exists, it’s out there for everyone, they just need to find their soulmate.” “I guess I believe it. I don’t know if I think it’s for me. Maybe, I think I’ve been in love, but with sex, it’s always been terrible, I just hate it, can’t stand it.” “Oh, Rory, it sounds like you haven’t found the right person. It’s beautiful, making love that is, it’s the best, but like I said, I’m in this platonic situation, so I’m not one to talk. But I feel I’m way too young at forty-eight to be done with my sex life.” Kat laughs. Heat warms Rory’s face at the mention of sex. “I’m just shy around that subject.” “You know what Rory, I think you should have more faith in yourself, in your abilities to live on your own with your kids. You could do it. Everyone needs to be happy and not live a life filled with sadness because you think there’s no way out. My Mom always says, when God closes a door, he opens a window, follow your heart, Rory, come up here to this place, feel your heart and follow it, figure out what you want.” “Thank you, Kat, thank you for listening to me. I’m not sure what I want.” She pauses. “That’s not true, I want my kids and my horses, and I want peace and joy, but I guess I don’t think I deserve it. I’ve never had the whole package, and I guess I don’t believe it exists. I have stuck to my dreams and followed my heart where horses are concerned, but it always seems to come at a cost. This is my agony, be peaceful and leave empty without my horses, or stay and just catch glimpses of calm, like this moment.” Kat stops her horse and stares at Rory. “I believe in you and think you can have it all, my friend.” “Maybe, hey, I almost forgot, I wanted to ask your advice about Alexis.” Giving TJ a slight kick, she moves along in tempo with Rory. “Yes,”

141 “She came out last week to me and Max. Her father says it’s a phase, which upset Alexis.” “It would.” “Right, I know, but I know nothing about the lesbian world. You’re my first gay friend, well my older stepbrother was gay, but you’re my first gay girlfriend, am I getting awkward here?” “Just a little,” Kat nuzzles Rory. “No not at all, I’m teasing you no worries. How can I help?” “Well, I want to be supportive but don’t know how to do that, so I wanted your advice.” “Just listen to her, let her discuss stuff, let her talk about any girls she likes and act just like you would if she was talking about a guy.” “Except I wouldn’t have to worry about making sure she has a condom in her purse.” “Yes. A benefit, no unwanted pregnancy, good job, Rory. But, just remember, love is love, let her love who she wants, that’s my advice to you, my friend. Lesbian land can be a beautiful place, so let her visit it, and see where it leads her.”

142 CHAPTER 17

Kat Eddie

Speckles of fall display their first glimpses of brilliance with dazzling reds and shimmering golds, surrounding the farm’s hillsides. Kat feels as if she’s about to pass through a mystical gateway she knew existed, but unavailable. The universe’s plan, or call it fate, guides me toward a desired path I’ve been unconsciously imagining for years, long before I knew Rory existed. She ponders her thoughts. Are powerful desires about to reveal circumstances brought about by a cosmic shift, offering a gift not flushed out. Oblivious to the dramatic shift her life is about to take, Kat enters the tack room, almost pushed inside by an unex‐ pected wind, swinging the door wide open with a bang. Leaves swirl around the cement floor with a rustling song. Kat enters the room and comes upon Rory rearranging saddles. She and Rory both seem to catch their breath, not from the sudden breeze, but from a gasp which is soon replaced by a blush of excitement—one that’s familiar to Kat.

143 She sees Rory’s sparkling blue eyes glistening all the more, holding the glance only for a moment before looking away. Recovering from the instant or maybe a needed diver‐ sion, Kat stares at Rory, “Hey, did you feel that wind?” “Yeah, it came out of nowhere.” Rory’s face flushed, and she brushes strands of hair out of her eyes. Kat senses a different emotion coming from Rory, but she’s not sure what it is. “I love that vest, maroon, with pink, those colors suit you well.” “Why thank you, lady, it’s good to see you, how was your week?” “Long, but good. I’m glad to be here, and I’m more than ready for our ride. Who else is here?” “Laney, Wendy, and Guy, her brother. I think we’re just about ready because we’ll use the horses the girls rode in their lesson. It’s also Max’s birthday, so a few more people are coming over for cake.” “Sounds good.” Kat moves a little closer to Rory, but conscious of her personal space. “Beth brought some wine with veggies and dip. You need her to get more stuff?” She feels her heart beating like a school kid but tries to ignore the silly feeling. “That’s plenty.” Rory moves a step closer to Kat, short‐ ening the distance between them. The patter of little feet sound behind her. Tearing her gaze from Rory’s, Kat whirls her head around to see her daughters. “Hey, Mommy.” Olivia comes through the garage into the tack room, helmet in hand, and hugs her. “Hi, Mommy.” Stafani pops into the room too, her pink half-chaps clank when she walks. She also joins in the hug. “Group hug,” She giggles. Kat wraps her arms around her girls, her sensitive brown eyes dancing with delight. “Hi, girls. Did you have an excel‐ lent lesson?”

144 “Yes, I jumped.” Olivia beams; her eyes open wide. “Me too,” Stafani chimes in, not to be out done by her sister. “That’s wonderful, should I jump up on the trail ride?” Kat tickles them, and they squeal merry children sounds. “Please don’t,” demands Beth, entering the tack room, arms full of veggies, wine, and chips. “We need you in one piece.” A stilted laugh escapes Kat’s lips, she’s nervous with Beth in the room. Is it guilt or annoyance? Brushing the feeling off, not sure why she has it, she replies, “No worries, I’m not going anywhere.” “Hey Beth, you’re staying, yes, with the kids for the bonfire? It’s Max’s birthday, so we’re having a little party.” “That sounds nice, Rory.” Beth approaches. “Do you need me to pick anything else up for you?” “Thanks, but I think we’re fine, nothing fancy, just the usual BYOB, Ariana, and Alexis made a cake. It’s just a good old farm birthday party, if Max gets back, that is. He went out drinking,” “With friends?” “With his three amigos, me, myself, and I, but we should get going on the trail ride, so we can be back in thirty to forty minutes, kinda a quick ride tonight, if that’s okay.” “Fine with me.” Beth places the veggie plate on the table. She turns to Kat. “I hope you have a good time up there. The girls and I will be here when you get back, enjoying the pleasant country air.” Kat feels a lump in her throat and the same silly school‐ girl nervousness all at the same time. Her expression fixes on Beth. “Time to head out,” announces Rory to the group, and the ladies and Guy fall in line, traveling the path on horseback. On top of the hill, Rory stops her horse. “Laney, you want to give Kat the good news?” Her voice offers a lively tone.

145 “You know I do. Okay, Kat, because you’ve earned the most improved rider for the season, we’re gonna let you race us, so we can beat your ass in this field. You up for it?” “Ladies, you are just too good to me.” Kat gathers her reins, adjusts her helmet, her body teaming with enthusiasm. And with that Kat took off, creating quite the frenzy with the other three horses. Guy a total novice, shouts, “I’ll sit this one out.” The open field, about a hundred yards long, is the perfect spot for the horses to kick up their heels when permitted freedom to run. Kat, already ten yards ahead of her friends and laughing, is bouncing all around. She gives TJ free rein, allowing him to go fast, too fast. Coming up close behind though is Laney, with Rory pulling even. Wendy hangs back, deciding to stay with her brother. About fifty yards of field to go before the dirt road and arbitrary finish line, Rory pulls ahead of Laney and Kat, but not to be outdone by Rory, Kat kicks TJ and keeps even with Rory. Now approaching the dirt road, but with the field narrowing, Rory moves left and jumps over an old small wooden fence, giving extra flight to her mare landing on the road, a nose ahead of Kat and Laney. Kat’s amazed at Rory’s skill. She concedes the race but already itches for a rematch. “Next time.” Kat catches her breath, adrenaline pumping through her veins. “Next time, it’ll be me flying to victory.”

146 CHAPTER 18

ROY TUCKER

Horses put away, Sugarland pumping out “Already Gone” from the paint speckled antiquated boombox, the bonfire blazing away, beers flowing, and Max, liquored up and full of himself, gives everyone hugs. Rory comes up to Kat and whispers in her ear, “Well, he’s in rare form tonight.” “Looks like he’s having some fun.” Kat glances at Rory sideways. “He was up at the Ashland Inn all afternoon, reliving his glory days, before me that is.” Max saddles up to Rory from behind, giving her a wet kiss on her neck. “Dance with me, Rory.” His body swaying, Rory bothered by the interruption. “Maybe in a little while. Why don’t you get yourself some food, soak up that alcohol.” She pauses, then adds, “Honey,” as an afterthought. Max turns to go, his back to his wife staggering. Rory watches him walk away, and she can’t help saying

147 the words, even though Kat is right next to her, “I hate your ass.” “Well, aren’t you brazen, Rory.” Kat blinks twice at her friend. “He didn’t hear me. If I had more courage, I’d say it to his face.” Rory’s eyes fix on her husband, then soften when she looks back at Kat. “Hey, Mom, come sit next to me,” Alexis calls to Rory. “Duty calls.” She turns to go, giving Kat’s arm a squeeze. A sudden ache to hug her hits her. And when Kat returns the touch, it only intensifies this odd sensation Rory is unfa‐ miliar with. She sits next to her daughter. Emotional confusion, from a duality of the raw emotions now running through her brain, pinging within her body. Glancing at Max, she almost feels sorry for him—almost, but the urge to touch Kat, the sudden rush of desire, catches her off-guard. Knowingly, she needs to nip these feelings in the bud, concerned that her uninhibited laughter and giggles may soon be mistaken by Kat, a lesbian. Equally important, for Rory, a straight woman, one might be put off from such a comfortable relationship with a lesbian. However, with the months flying by with gentle ease, Rory likes her new friend more and more out of sheer appre‐ ciation. She gets me, she thinks with a smile, and me her. But the feeling in the tack room earlier this evening caught her by surprise, her heart skipping a beat, a bodily reaction out of her control but, none the less, one she must check and keep in place. Therefore, Rory must speak to Kat, not sure how she’ll put it, but somehow, she must let her know that she values their new friendship, but being a straight woman, it might be confused for something else—but shouldn’t be. Kat grabs a chair by the bonfire.

148 Beth signals to her. “It’s time to go.” The came in separate cars. Kat takes a sip from her cup. “Hey, do you mind if I stay a little longer?” “Can we also stay, Mommy?” Olivia tugs on Kat’s arm, doing her best doe-eyed look. “No, kiddos, you come with me. We need to let Georgie out and we’ve an early day tomorrow with soccer for Stafani.” The kids, not putting up any resistance, give Kat a big hug and scamper off with Beth. It thrills Rory, the thought she can sit next to her friend. Studying Kat on her way back to the bonfire; her long legs and arms swinging in unison—the quick tussle of her hair. But Rory sees there aren’t any seats next to her, and Kat plops down three chairs away, near Wendy and her brother, Guy. Rory’s heart sinks, but she thinks, get a grip, what are you, in high school? However, the circle has positioned them a hundred and eighty degrees apart, allowing Rory to stare brazenly into Kat’s eyes without notice. I can effortlessly look at her now, Rory’s mind relaxes with her little secret. But Kat catches her peeking. Rory, about to turn her gaze away embarrassed, locks eyes with Kat in what appears as a moment of mutual understanding, mutual admiration. She and Kat continue to steal frequent glances at each other for the next thirty minutes, barely listening to the respective conversations going on around them. She notices guests leave one by one, clearing the area around the fire. Max too calls it a night, then staggers off. “I’m drinking cranberry and vodka. Want one?” Rory holds up her cup. “Sure.” Kat nods. Rory heads into the kitchen, makes two drinks, then uses

149 the restroom. Looking in the mirror, she examines her reflection. It’s the right thing to do, she thinks to herself. Clear the air. The air that now appears hazy, not from the drinks, but from an unspoken electricity she can’t understand. It can’t be from Kat, right? Rory toys with the questions within her conflicted mind. She’s about as gay as a woman could be, fully invested in her lifestyle. She couldn’t have an interest in the life I lead, or me in her. A sigh passes her lips. All the redneck talk, the flirting with guys that come by the barn. None of it matters to me. It doesn’t mean I’m interested in any of them, it’s just the way lots of straight women are with men, almost a social expectation. Her thoughts drift back to this evening, to the stolen glances. Kat’s caught me doing that—harmless flirting. I’ve seen her, and she just shakes her head, chuckles, and walks away. Rory splashes her face with water, grabs the drinks, then heads out the door, knowing she can talk to Kat, that the intimacy they’ve developed has created a safe space for such honesty. I’ll get it out, and we’ll have a friendly laugh and get on with life. Back at the fire, Alexis is the last person left sitting with Kat. After ten minutes, she too calls it a night. “I’ll be in soon, Alexis. Will you take Sparky in?” “He won’t come with me because he wants to be with you. Look at him, sound asleep in that chair.” “I guess he’s okay, night, sweetheart. I’ll be in soon.” “Good night, Alexis.” Kat waves a hand. “Night, Kat. Nice chatting.” Alexis does a quick run inside the front door. She flips off the porch light, creating a darker backdrop. Finally, Rory thinks. We’re alone. Taking a sip of her drink, but not wanting any more

150 alcohol to cloud her thoughts, she puts her cup in the chair’s mesh cup holder. Rory’s heart pounds in her chest knowing what to say but not how. Words jumble around in her mind. She turns toward Kat with a piercing intensity. Kat leans over closer to Rory, then utters, “I want you to know when I touch your arm or am silly, it’s not flirting. It’s not feelings for you, it’s . . .” Rory’s mouth opens, then closes. She stands up, her mind spinning. What just happened? What is she saying? She moves in slow, deliberate motions to the firepit. Picking up a long stick, she stirs the embers, moving the freshly placed log. A whirl of sparks waft up to the stars. Trying to figure out how to respond, Rory glances over at Kat who appears relaxed, watching her, almost relieved it would seem, that she said what she needed to. But with seconds turning into a long silent pause, Rory sees Kat’s pleasant smile turn to a questioning stare. This isn’t what I thought would happen, Rory thinks to herself. That feeling in the tack room, I don’t want that to just be nothing, to go away. Her heart thumps against her chest wall so hard, surely Kat can see it. Rory gazes into the flames, mustering courage from nowhere. She turns to Kat, puts the stick against the rocks containing the fire, then firmly but softly states, “Well, if you don’t, I do.” A dumbfounded expression covers Kat’s face. Rory sits next to her, feeling the warmth of the fire, and the body heat between them. “I do too. I do too, Rory,” whispers Kat ever so softly. Rory hears, almost not knowing whose voice articulates the tender words spoken. She places an arm on Kat and utters, “And so it begins.” For the next two hours, Rory releases a flood of emotions,

151 most from an unspoken place within her being, hidden from all—even herself. The evening’s complete. No more need be said tonight. Just knowing she and Kat have a sincere affection for one another, one just given life, her heart grows lighter but heavier with each passing minute. “It’s getting late. And you still have a drive.” Rory holds Kat’s gaze. Meeting Kat halfway, she and Kat kiss on the lips. For Rory, her first response is surprise—surprised by the gentleness.

152 CHAPTER 19

Kat Eddie

Could you be my soulmate? This was the question Rory put forth to Kat in an early morning text three days after confessing feelings for one another. Eyes closed, Kat replays the kiss. It’s a tender reminder that passion still exists within. The soul’s nucleus, the mutable energy of love, igniting pure bliss. What followed, was a vortex of emotion, stemming from years of seeking, searching for pure love, unadulterated love. The fateful bonfire tryst opened a floodgate, one by their, hers and Rory’s, own design, unknowingly, their wishes resonating with the others. It’s a cosmic explosion neither could foresee, and the dramatic chain reaction about to unfold leaves her mind reeling. All she knows, comprehends, is an answer to a long- sought prayer; the hope for another’s heart that would find hers, be there for her.

153 A complete belief, the newfound love offers a resolution to heartache, an exodus from an empty marital existence— not only for her, but for Rory, as well. Kat thinks about all Rory said that night. You’re the person to whom I can divulge my deepest secrets, desires, Rory’s words come flooding back to Kat. Someone I can lay my heart in the hands of, and you would want nothing more than admiration. Two hearts meeting, creating everything of unity, swirls through her mind. The royal blue background with white words on Kat’s phone probes, asking a heartfelt question, could you be my soulmate? In a flurry of finger movements, Kat drafts a response, could you be mine? The answer could only be yes but dangles in space. On the third day, at noon, Kat wants to see Rory, to be in each other’s company, without a thought of what could be next, without words, their paths had become one. Walking up to the front door, restraining her urge to run, while looking at the farmhouse in a different light, Kat can’t wait to see Rory. A thought hovers in her mind from nowhere, there’s no way I could ever afford to live here, to be with Rory here and cover the cost of the farm the way Max has. And Alexis and Ariana, while kind, are so different from Olivia, me, and Stafani. A sadness weighs her down. I can’t see living with them. How would that even work? The thoughts float in, then disappears in seconds, barely registering. They’re more of a subconscious opinion in the face of overpowering feelings of love, passion, and the driving force for a foreseeable future. Meeting Kat at the door, Rory steps out. “Let’s walk up the hill today,” says Rory, “instead of ride.”

154 A stroll will allow an embrace, unencumbered by horses, thinks Kat. Once around the corner, and with the house out of sight, Kat turns to face Rory—both, standing perfectly still, hug for eternity within a silent moment. Smiling, giddy, she and Rory continue a leisurely walk through the field. “I couldn’t wait to see you,” expresses Kat, hands sweaty. “Me too. I was so bummed. Max worked from home today. I wanted you all to myself, so I told him, we’re just going for a quick walk, not sure he heard me.” Leaning into each other, Kat feels the heat moving between their bodies, the longing. “I don’t know what Max would do if he found out.” Rory’s voice holds a dose of reality. “He might blow a gasket. Or he could fly off the handle and try to take the horses.” A realistic concern for Rory blooms, but it doesn’t change Kat’s mood; instead, a single portion of the current truth drift in the surrounding breeze. “Somehow, you’ll always have your horses,” declares Kat, believing a rainbow of luck fell into her lap, and Rory’s. She trusts only good things will encircle them, with the purity of passion sent by their guardian angel, granting them both a long-sought promise. Reaching the top of the hill, Kat embraces the perfect fall day. The Autumn, overcast day that New Englanders welcome, brings with it, seasonal climate change; a refreshing chill in the air after the endless, sultry days of August. “Kat, I know I mentioned this before, but I need to tell you . . . I uhm, maybe, a little bit more.” Rory, perhaps sensing the perfect time for an impending conversation, opens up. “I hate sex. I dread it and shut down mentally and physically. As a teen, before Max, I was promiscuous. I’d hook up with a

155 guy from some dive bar, and afterward, I would just cry and feel bad about myself.” Kat listens, offering only understanding. She hopes her gentle energy relays what it needs to in order to foster a safe place for Rory to discuss the topic of intimacy. Rory glances at Kat, fleetingly, as if making sure she’s listening without judgement. She continues, “But I did it again and again. I’m not sure what I was looking for, but something always felt off, and then Max came along. I just wanted it all to stop, and he was a way out, I guess. But even with him, I shut down, which pisses him off to no end.” Kat gives Rory a light touch on her arm, showing without words, she recognizes Rory’s pain. “Maybe all you need is a little affection, gentleness, and warmth.” With this comment, Rory takes Kat’s hand, then squeezes it. Placing her other hand on top of Kat’s, she continues to walk, and they share in a moment of peaceful relief. “This is nice,” says Rory, her words carry on the breeze. “What?” “A peaceful relief at just being myself.” Rory sighs, her breath heavy. “I’ve never had that without the expectation of going to bed.” “That’s so sad, I’m sorry.” “And I’ve no idea what it means to be with a woman.” “Well, I can tell you all about lesbian land, you know.” She shares a light-hearted chuckle with Rory. “And this may shock you, but I was also very promiscuous, slept with lots of guys.” “Really? You did?” “What? You didn’t think I had?” Kat peers at Rory. She titters, then bumps her shoulder into Rory’s. “Not sure. I guess not.” “I was trying to figure out my sexuality. I was with one

156 woman, my first, perhaps in love, but we were just too young. I was immature. Society was homophobic back then, and I think . . . maybe, I thought it was just that person, and maybe I wasn’t gay. Even thought for a bit it was perhaps some kind of weird loyalty, like I wouldn’t sleep with another woman. So, I was kind of a whore dog for a year, left and right, always wasted.” “So, then, you know what I’m talking about.” “Yes.” She pauses. “I never felt bad about the guys because I was using them. But I felt like I was cheating on myself though—if that makes sense.” Kat breathes in the cool air, enjoying the intimacy of the conversation. “I understand that,” replies Rory, smiling, as if a weight was lifted from her soul. “There was one guy I liked.” “Really? Do tell.” “He was the only repeat guy. We were roommates and would hang out. One of our other roommate’s boyfriend was a coke dealer.” “So, what happened?” “One night during a party, after mixing coke in a bowl with other stuff and drinking beers, we ended up in bed. Wasn’t weird or anything the next day. He had a girlfriend though, and they broke up, not because of me or anything, but we slept together a few more times. I was due to move anyway, and that was that. He was the last guy I was with. I was twenty-tree.” Rory nods, dimples on full display. “Hey, I lived with a coke dealer too. His name was Preston. If I were ever in love, it would’ve been him. But he cheated on me all the time, and I just took it. We lived together for two years. I was seven‐ teen when I moved in with him. It was a way to escape my family, long story there, but I moved in and thought I was setting up house.”

157 “And?” “Within a month, I caught him making out with this chick in the car below our window. My heart broke, but didn’t confront him, said nothing.” She looks away. “I thought I had done something wrong in bed, so I stayed. But one night, I gave him a choice.” “Which was what?” “Stay in with me and have a quiet New Year’s Eve. Asked him to not go to a party with the girl he slept with.” “How’d that go?” “He told me he was going, and I said, ‘if you do, I’m leaving.’ He looked at me and walked out the door.” She takes a brief pause, then continues, “I called my mom crying from a payphone, couldn’t stand to be in the apartment another minute. The next night, I went out dancing and met this guy —I called him oral sex guy. Now, I guess I liked sex with him.” Kat snickers. “Well, maybe you were gay way back then.” On the way down the hill, the conversation lightens up, and a discussion on future horse shows takes full flight. Once in the car, seatbelt on, Kat drives off. A ping on her phone fifteen minutes after arriving back at work, from the farm, grabs her attention. The letters of the text spring off the viewing screen: we split up. What? Kat reads the message again, then calls Rory right away. “What do you mean?” Kat jumps up and closes her office door. “When I walked into the house, Max called me in the kitchen. He said things seemed different. He asked if I still loved him, and I said nothing. So, he sighs then, asked ‘Do you want a divorce?’” “What did you say?” “I was shocked but said ‘Yes.’ It just tumbled out of my mouth, and he said, ‘good, so do I.’”

158 “What? Wait, I can’t believe this.” Kat, both overjoyed and stressed, feels as if a substantial, unmovable obstacle was magically removed without effort. But also, now feels the weight of following suit. She wants to but having to talk with Beth about this topic—the confrontation of that discussion— raises her stress level. “Kat, I don’t want to push you,” says Rory on the other end of the phone. “I’ll wait for you.” Once off the phone, Kat replays the conversation in her mind, over and over again. A predetermined fate, my path and hers, Kat thinks in silence. It’s as if someone flipped a light switch three days ago. The life Kat knew shifts like a lightning strike of certainty about their future. It’s not if she and Rory would be together, but how and at what cost. She still believes the decision will bring a wave of missing happiness for those closest to them, the spouses struggling through day-to-day existence. Kat had a cyclone like day, a tale out of a far-fetched romance novel; the hillside walk, Rory and Max splitting up, the morning text, and now coming back to the farm in the late afternoon for the kids regular afternoon lesson. The electricity in the air, unmistakable, with Max and Rory’s separation, already known by their kids. Kat walks toward the barn, but Max signals her over to his car. Oh my god, Kat thinks dreading any contact with him, what does he want? Max in a mood of defiance, his demeanor stern. She ambles over, sure that he’ll yell at her. He rolls down his window, “Thank you.” What the hell? He knows? Kat thinks, her body tense. “Thank you for being a friend to Rory and giving her the strength to leave. I have been trying to teach Rory how to be

159 on her own but never could. So, thank you for being a good friend to her, giving her the nerve to go.” “Your welcome,” answers Kat, freaking out with his words. What could he mean? And with that, Max speeds down Pony Path Lane, leaving behind a swirl of dust.

160 BRAMBLE BRUSH PART II ’TIL AN END DEFINED BY TIME

TURN the page for a Sneak Peek of Part II

161 CHAPTER 1

Rory Tucker

For the first time in her adult life, Rory woke feeling refreshed, cheerful, content, and giddy. With Max out of the house, she could sense an energy shift on the farm. Last night before bed, Alexis and Ariana were more at ease, not bracing for an impending outburst. Her mind drifts back in time to the evening before. “Crack up those tunes, Rory,” Ariana, now jovial and silly, crackles to her mother. She grabs Fresca by her two front paws, dancing in the family room. Rory joins in, allowing her new individuality to breathe with her kids. Now, returning to a new day, with the sun shining through her bedroom blinds, she stretches her arms high above her head, then reaches for her phone to text Kat. Studying the drafted text for a moment, and with no further hesitation, she clicks send. Whoosh. In a matter of seconds, the message, good morning, beautiful, shows received.

162 She knows Kat and Beth told Olivia and Stafani about the separation last night—five days after the bonfire. Since Beth is in Boston for most of the week, they’ll shared the house, for the time being, an immediate solution that created a sense of peace. ‘Good morning, sunshine,’ chimes her phone. The instant reply, sends reverberations throughout Rory’s body. Her fingers type a response, ‘how did you sleep?’ Feeling like a schoolgirl, she sends the message off. ‘With you on my mind,’ Kat texts back, her words make Rory’s heart hum along with Kat’s flirtatious nature. ‘Oh, how you tease me,’ she drafts a reply. Well, muses Rory, I can be coy right back. Finger over the send button, she reads over her message again, and then with a grin, sends it off. An incoming message makes her heart flutter. ‘I love teasing you, sweet, Rory Lee,’ Kat’s text message reads, ‘but I floated to sleep with dreams of holding you in my arms.’ ‘Get yourself over here,’ Rory replies on her phone. She bursts with a glow of happiness she’s never felt. Arching her body, stretching her back, she wonders how she got so lucky. ‘I can, this afternoon,’ Kat’s text comes within seconds. ‘I’ll be watching the clock, hoping time flies, Kat,’ she types out the words of her response. “Who says I can’t be romantic,” giggles Rory to Sparky, her voice no louder than a whisper. Getting out of bed, Rory hums a familiar tune. Alexis comes into her room, eyes scouring the room, “Mom, what’s that noise?” “That’s me, humming.” Alexis rolls her eyes, shrugs her shoulders and heads downstairs. Rory’s tormented soul senses an unfamiliar sensation that

163 feels fantastic, joyous, and buoyant. Excitement about life rather than dreading the day ahead has her looking forward to the work ahead of her. Even her most delightful experi‐ ences with her horses never created the same complete body, mind, and spirit sentiment now coursing through her being. I’m free, the phrase whispers in her mind. That’s what this is. I’m free to be myself, to express a passion for another that’s pure and genuine. She’s not sure if she should trust the feeling, though, because it surfaces out of nowhere and feels foreign. A valve in her core releases goodness to defeat the pessimistic, harsh, and insensitive path she’s walked her whole life. Always a desire to run away, to escape, but not now. Now, all Rory can think of is running into Kat’s arms. She can’t believe that this woman is interested in her. A thought creeps into her mind. Wait, this is too good to be true, negative thoughts weigh her down. What if Kat gets to know me and . . .” Her thoughts, spared by the ping from her phone, dissipate. ‘Hey gorgeous,’ Kat’s text says, then continues, ‘I’m counting the moments until I get to see that smile of yours.’ The timing of Kat’s text offers the perfect remedy for the negative images flooding Rory’s mind. Reading through their messages to each other, she’s instantaneously back in her sunny place, pondering all the things she and Kat will do together. What she appreciates the most about Kat is her back‐ ground. So different from her own. Kat has been to so many places in the world, is educated, well-spoken, and is so aware of so many varied subjects, and her parenting ability is right at the top of the list, the way she’s so tender and soft-spoken with Olivia and Stafani. Rory can’t help but think how Kat will be such an incred‐

164 ible influence on her kids. They’ll eventually spend time around a person who has so much optimism. Her mind’s racing with thoughts, and a flood of inspira‐ tion about all the changes she can make to the house, to the farm, to her life, overwhelm her, but she welcomes the input. God answered prayers, she smiles to herself, and sent me an angel to love. When Kat arrives in the afternoon, like school kids, they skip to each other, barely able to contain the enormous grins. “Move in, Kat. We have that small bedroom upstairs, and you could stay part of the week.” Rory, gaging Kat’s reaction, can feel her heart beating like a herd of stampeding horses, fearful she was asking too much too soon. “Wow, um, I would love to.” She pauses a moment. “Wait, how would that work?” “When Beth comes back from Boston, you could stay here.” “Are you sure? What about your kids?” “They like you, and you know they love the food you bring to the shows.” Kat laughs, “That they do.” Sparky springing on her lap, and Fresca too clamors to be part of the group. “Maybe that could work.” Kat’s gaze loses focus. “I would love to be with you.” “But what?” “No, it would be great, I kinda got a pang.” She rubs her chest just over her heart. “Not being with Oliva and Stafani full-time . . . uhm, but they love you so much, so I think they would understand. And it would be better for Olivia and Beth with me out of the house. And being in the house when Beth is there at this point, would be weird. Yes, I think it’s a great idea.” With the positive response, Rory’s eyes light up. Unable

165 to wipe the smirk from her face, she throws her arms around Kat. “I could take the futon from our house, and it will be cozy.” She returns the hug. “Oh, Rory, I need to teach you about cozy—our family’s go to word, the ultimate state of being.” Rory flops back against the couch, filled with an ecstatic feeling of liberation. The fresh breeze around a person who espouses endless joy. “I hope you will teach me so much and take me to places I’ve never been; some people think I’m so one-dimensional. I have this one friend, not a good friend, but she thinks I’m boring because all I talk about is horses. It’s all I know, but I want to experience more. I want to do different things.” “I’ll take you to New York City for the weekend. You’ll love it. And we can go skiing this winter.” “Uhm, wait, no skiing for me unless its cross-country.” Rory sits upright, grabbing Kat’s arm. “Oh no, that’s way too much work. But downhill, the speed flying down the slopes, that’s the way to go. And it’s gorgeous on top of the mountain. You look out at the view, point your skis downhill, and then swish.” Rory nuzzles her head into Kat’s shoulder. “I feel so happy, Kat. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. Well, when my kids were born, but that’s different. I’ve never felt this light, it’s as if a tremendous weight is off my shoulders.” “You are so sweet, Rory, so kind and sensitive.” “No one has ever called me that. How can you see what I keep hidden from everyone? How do you do that, allow my walls to drop? I’ve had so much hurt and don’t trust people. I mean, I see the good in everyone, but I don’t trust people with my heart, except my kids. But everyone else in my life has burned me at some point or another, so I’ve created this tough exterior to keep myself protected. Except you . . . What is it about you, Kat?”

166 “It’s our angel. We have a guardian angel. She brought you to me, and me to you. I believe our angel is watching us, sprinkling these feelings, like pixie dust all around us, letting us know everything will be okay.” “You’re my peace and joy.” “How do you feel about having tenderness with a woman?” Kat’s eyes fill with a searching depth. “All I know is how much I want to be with you. How much I think about you all the time. How much I want you in this house with me and my kids. I think your energy will be so good for all of us.” “But we’ll not tell them anything yet?” “What about you, when do you want to tell Olivia and Stafani?” “You know, they both love you. And they weren’t upset that Beth and I split up. They know we aren’t a good couple. The living situation will be another story, though, but I think they’ll be happy you and I are together. I some‐ times believe Olivia loves you as much, if not more, than she does Beth. And Stafani is so easygoing, happy-go- lucky.” “Well, I’m not sure about Alexis and Ariana. Alexis might be more comfortable because she is out now. She might have an easier time, but Ariana is a Daddy’s girl. She’s okay with him out of the house because of all the fights, but she still wishes we could work it out, so she might be a tough one.” “What would we say if I’m here?” “That we’re friends. That’s what they know, and that you also split up, so we’re helping each other out.” “What about Max, will he still pay the mortgage? I mean I can help a little with food and stuff? I should pay you some rent, but . . .” Kat’s brow puckers, “I’ll have the other mort‐ gage to pay, but I could contribute something every month.” “We can work all that out. And Max made a promise that he would handle the mortgage, so the kid’s and I have a place

167 to live. He likes you, so I don’t think he’ll think anything if you live here.” “Hey, did I tell you he thanked me?” “For what?” “For helping you leave him.” Rory laughed and leaned into Kat, “You helped me all right.”

168 CHAPTER 2

Kat Eddie

Kat’s mind reels. Everything’s happening so fast. Her raw emotions for Rory remain intense. She feels sure she’s falling head over heels in love with Rory, in a way, she’s never done before. There’s such an ease between them, a natural flow of harmonic emotions. Is this the person I’ve been searching for? Was this the person I wrote about, without knowing I was doing so, all those years ago in New York? The powerful emotions are familiar, the hunger. The first time she fell in love, never went anywhere. In truth, back then, they didn’t have a chance. So, Kat really has no idea how real it was beyond knowing she liked that person which is so true of Rory now. Only I like Rory so much more. There’s a distinction between the two emotions: love and like. Love is all-encompassing, profound, blinding, deep- seated, but to like someone too is an essential component to any secure relationship.

169 When with a person you enjoy, she thinks to herself, the warmth, serenity, honesty, and delight at being in the company of a genuine friend builds the basis for a healthy relationship. And to have her friendship with Rory turn into a romantic bond is more than Kat could imagine would happen between them. And oh, so fast. Reminiscing, her life’s events flash by. It’s the effortless phases, the ones falling into place offer a sign it’s meant to be. She sighs. But those times that don’t fall into place, no matter how hard I try, is a sign stating this isn’t a happening thing.” Kat thought about the time she went away on a spur-of- the-moment trip with a friend from college after graduation. Although, she had the money, the time, and the desire, she just couldn’t get the vacation to fall into place. Two days later, she found out why, her grandmother died. The family matriarch’s sudden death in the ambulance en route to the hospital for a precautionary check-up for a horrible cough was a sudden surprise to everyone. Kat’s Grandmother’s last words were, “I can’t possibly go to the hospital, I haven’t been to the hairdresser.” Her heart had stopped on the seven-minute ride to the emergency room, and the paramedics were unable to revive her. Kat became the person her Aunt leaned on for help with all the funeral arrangements, which ended up stretching over Holy Week, the Catholic tradition surrounding Easter. A week of ceremonious tribute was more than befitting Mormor, who had once been a model in Paris during the 1920s, commanding respect throughout her lifetime. Life with Beth also became an example of trying to fit a rectangular peg in a round hole. No matter how much she tried, the two of them weren’t able to communicate and come to an agreement on an argument about nothing. Throughout the years, trying their best to keep the conflicts from the kids. But now with Rory, it feels like a magic wand being

170 waved from heaven above, guiding the relationship, pulling the strings of the life and leading them to a unified trail of bliss. But Kat has angst over being away from her kids full- time. She recalls judging another person she knew from one of the baby groups she attended, who had split from her spouse; therefore, living with her son part-time. How could she do that? Questioned Kat every time she saw the acquaintance. And now here she is in the same boat. How she would do that, Kat reasons, is out of an altruistic belief this love is heaven-sent, to benefit all involved. It’ll ultimately be better for the kids to see me in a happy alliance and creating a new-blended family, the thought surfaces in her mind, than stay in an unhealthy, loveless relationship. But Alexis and Ariana still create an uneasy feeling for Kat, especially when imagining living with them. They’re so different and more than anything, her intuition tells her, while they’re all civil, would they be comfortable with Kat’s style? She can’t help but wonder if they’ll accept her. And accept their mother not only leaving their father, but being with a woman? The emotional tug-of-war continues for several hours; however, love wins out. And Kat decides those images are feelings and not facts. No need to worry, she says to herself. My passion for Rory is the guiding force, and many aspects of living on the farm feel right. “I mean it’s beautiful up there.” Kat studies the flawless mountains during her evening bike rides. The same moun‐ tains she admires atop Rory’s farm.

A few weeks later, Kat’s setting the futon up in the small bedroom in between Alexis and Ariana’s room. She stares

171 out the window. The horses grazing away in the pasture create a feeling of satisfaction. Her decision to move in proves appropriate. The room is tiny, painted a light soothing blue. No closet, only room for her bed, a nightstand, a lamp Rory brought down from the attic, and a dresser. The window has a beau‐ tiful chiffon yellow curtain, stylishly hung with a tie, framing the lush hillside. Standing at the doorway, Kat has to admit, it’s very cozy. “Hey, Rory, I need to get a comforter and sheets.” “Let’s go to Wally World,” “Where?” “Walmart, haven’t you ever heard it called Wally World?” “No, and I haven’t been to Walmart in so long.” “Then, let’s go and get you some stuff for your room.” Rory throws her arms around Kat’s neck. “Wally-World? Well, all right, let’s go,” Kat’s voice sounds amused even to herself. “Ariana and Alexis,” Rory calls downstairs, “you want to come? We’re going shopping.” “No, that’s okay. We’re going on a trail ride,” Alexis shouts back to her mother. “Kat, it’s just you and me.” Rory winks, then grabs her purse. “Onward.” Kat’s relieved the kids aren’t coming for the straightforward reason, she and Rory haven’t figured out how to contain their affection for each other. “Hey, I’ll play you some Sugarland, they can teach you all about the world you’ve been missing, the world I’ve been living in, in red neck land.” “You teach me about cowgirls, and I’ll introduce you to lesbian land.” She cracks a grin, then laughs. “There’re some ground rules you need to be cognizant of.” “Why are you laughing, is it bad? Should I be scared?” Rory’s eyes narrow with a playful mischief.

172 “Maybe,” Jokes Kat, giving Rory a light touch on the back. Walking out to the car, Rory glances at her phone. “Hold up. I got a message.” “Who’s it from? The girls?” “No. It’s from Mike, a family friend.” Clicking her phone, her jaws tighten. “Ugh, what a pig.” “What?” “This guy, Max’s friend. He knows Max, and I split up, and he assumes he can send me dirty jokes.” “What are you going to do?” “I’m not sure. What should I do? I hate this guy, but he keeps sending me this stuff.” “Well, maybe text back and tell him to stop and grow up, that you don’t appreciate his humor.” “He believes he’s friendly, this is how the guys in my life are.” “Well, Rory, that’s just wrong,” “Here, let me help you.” Kat assists Rory with a respond to Mike, telling him to leave her alone, that she’s not interested in his messages, and to grow up. “There. A taste of red neck land,” says Rory, then she sends the message. “So, how about lesbian land, what do I need to know?” Although they’ve been together for a few weeks and sepa‐ rated from their spouses, no one except Kat’s mother knows about the relationship. To date, they’re affectionate, but only engage in little more than making out. Kat understands Rory’s gun shy about sex. Describing for Kat, her experience with men, and how terrible it was. And in all honesty, Kat’s fine taking things slow, wanting their innate affinity for one another to naturally unfold. “Well, this is more from my days in New York, but a bit here too, lesbians can have some problem with boundaries. For example, Mike, would you or do you think you could ever be friends with him, on your own?”

173 Rory pulls into the parking lot, then swings the truck in a spot near the door. “Well, not him, but, uhm, I guess, I mean I deal with guys all the time here at the barn, farriers, vets, and so on.” Kat grabs a cart. “But are they your friends? Do you call them at night and talk to them for hours, or go out for drinks, just the two of you?” “Well, no. I guess not, I did once, and it went all wrong. The guy got this absurd idea and was a total jerk.” “Exactly, but with women, especially when things were a little more homophobic, women stuck together, groups of friends. So, you have a group of twenty friends and your partner. Anyone of those other women could be a potential lover.” “Oh, I didn’t think about that.” “You’re gay, and usually gay, because you’re attracted to women. So, you have a fight with your girlfriend, and your friend is right there to listen to your woes, one thing leads to another and bam, you sleep with her because she’s available and sexy and . . .” Putting some chips in the carriage. “Is it the same with guys?” Rory’s voice full of wonder. “For guys, it’s even more so because they’re so focused on sex. They can be with their boyfriend, hop in the bathroom for a quickie and come right back to their man, without thinking twice. But for women, there’s much more of an emotional connection. Once you sleep with someone, you’re a couple. Time and time again, I’ve been with friends, and within the friend group, their lover became their ex but remained a friend. And their friend became their lover. How many straight women do you know would be okay if her best friend slept with her boyfriend—not too many, but in lesbian land, it’s incestuous, or maybe more developed, and lots and lots of gay couples have fantastic, long-term committed rela‐ tionships.”

174 “Yikes, lesbian land sounds scary.” Rory’s eyes narrow, peering at Kat. “No, women are the best. But just like in the straight world, some have boundary issues.” “I don’t want anyone hitting on me. I’ve had that problem with men all along. And I’m not sure if I’m gay.” Kat bites the inside of her lip, a sudden worry. Rory might just be experimenting, and I’ve just turned my life upside down. “I just like you, and I see a future with you, Kat.” Leaning into Rory with a hip check, she walks down the bedding aisle. “Same here, sweet Rory. I’m here and not going anywhere.” Kat stuffs the slight insecurity beyond her thoughts. “Hey, should we get some stuff for Halloween, I love decorating for the holidays. My favorite is Christmas.” “Me too. December is my favorite month. Hey, what about those scary-looking ghosts to hang from the porch? And I would love to mow the lawn, can I do that?” Kat drops the goblins in the cart. “Why, sure if we can get the mower to work. Max would mow three times a summer. The mower works like crap. I also want to call my nephew. He collects old scrap metal, so we could get rid of all that stuff and clean up the junk around the dumpster.” “Yes, the dumpster, that will go away?” “You know it. I hated the sight of that thing.” Thrilled with the domestic chitter-chatter about the farm, decorating, cleaning up, buying bedding for Kat’s room, she feels a deepening bond becoming more apparent. “No. No. No.” Rory’s eyes widen, then fix down the cold remedy aisle. “My Mom.” “What? Where?” “She’s walking right toward us,” whispers Rory, “she works in the pharmacy here.”

175 “La, la, woohoo,” Cindy calls out to her daughter. “What are you doing here?” “Hi, Mom, this is Kat. She’s the one whose kids ride at the farm, and also is the one I told you is moving in.” “Hello there, so nice to meet you.” Cindy’s chipper face radiates immediate warmth. “I’m so glad you’ll be helping my daughter at the farm, but I’m sorry about your marriage. Rory has told me so many pleasant things about you,” “Hi, Mrs. Beltrano,” “Call me Cindy, please,” “Cindy, nice to meet too.” Kat tries to be casual, knowing her face is flushed. A silly smile works its way across her mouth. “Yes, my separation is too bad, but I believe it’s better for everyone, you know. And I was so happy Rory offered me a place to land.” Without responding to Kat, Cindy inspects the shopping cart. “Is this for you? Ohh, I love the iris down comforter.” “Yes, and these sheets. I think the blue will match the curtains and the walls in that room.” Smiles Kat. “What good taste you have, Kat.” Cindy nods, full of approval. “Well, I think so too.” Kat feels a giggle ready to burst out. So, she does a quick sideways glance at Rory. Cindy eyes Kat, tilts her head, then stares at her daugh‐ ter. “Well, you gals have a good time. I’m on break and have to get back to the pharmacy. You know, I’d love to have drinks with you two. Maybe later, I’ll bring Dad up and visit?” “Yeah. Mom, I’ll call you. Maybe next week would be better, okay?” Cindy kisses her daughter on the cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. Love you. Call me. And Rory, you look beautiful today, are you using a new cream?” “Maybe, Mom, the one you bought me. And you know with Max out of the house, life is easier.”

176 After shopping, paying, then exiting the store, Kat breathes an enormous sigh of relief. “Yikes. I’m sorry. Was that awkward?” Rory busts out laughing. “Because I was having a tough time with this silly grin on my face and not having these goofy eyes for you.” Kat unloads the basket. “She’s the first person I’m gonna tell,” says Rory. “How do you think that’ll go?” “She’s gonna love you. But I’m a little nervous, just have to do it.” “And your Dad, how about him?” “Well, Cody, he’s my stepdad. But he’ll be fine. His son, my stepbrother, was Gay,” “Was?” “Yeah, he died from Aids in the early ‘90s.” “My God, I’m so sorry,” “My Dad took it hard, my Mom too, but they loved Jack, accepted him, loved his partner too, would visit them all the time in the West Village.” “Wow, that’s so good. I wonder if your brother used the non-profit where I worked. They served meals to people with Aids. I was there in the early 90s.” “I’m not sure. I remember Jack, and when he was dying, not much else. I was a lot younger, only fourteen at the time, and they moved into our house when I was six.” “Just the same, I’m sorry, Rory.” “That’s okay. It was a long time ago. But hey, let’s get home and set this stuff up. You know, Kat, you make me so happy. I feel like I can tell you anything. And trust me, there’s a lot to say . . . so much about me, I just don’t know what I did to deserve you.” “It’s our angel. We have a guardian angel watching over us, and you know I’m so happy to be with you too.” Rory leans over and kisses Kat right in the middle of the

177 Wally World parking lot, risky since they both recently split up from their spouses and have hardly told anyone yet about their relationship. But Kat couldn’t help but feel an immense surge of passion. Watching Rory drive, Kat can’t stop looking at her. She takes in every curve of this woman who’s transforming before her eyes—a metamorphosis, an unfolding of beauty pouring out of Rory’s essence. Her root being brought to life. A persona Kat suspected was there, and all it took was just a little kindness, loving warmth, and trust that allowed this woman to shine through. The kind, sweet, sensitive person she truly is, no longer needs to hide behind a dense veil of protective personality traits developed over the years, shielding her heart from further harm. Rory’ blossoming, and Kat’s falling deeper in love.

178 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Byron is an emerging author of poetry and women’s literary fiction. Born on Long Island, raised in Westchester, New York, she now resides in Western Massachusetts with her incredible and inspirational family. She writes transcen‐ dent works about the individual spirit, passion, and the power of positivity through contemplative thought.