Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
After digging out an old pair of socks from the dresser, I reach over the sneakers to grab my old boots that are as well-traveled as I am. The leather has softened, but the form still holds strong.
Standing in front of the wall with hats that range from Little League to pro ball caps, I shift to the cowboy hats. Black felt is too hot, and my beige one is too formal. I pull the lighter summer straw cowboy hat from the wall and set it on my head. It’s snug but fits the way it should. It’s identical to the one I gave Cricket four years back. Wonder what ever happened to that hat. Broken in just right, soft around the band, but the brim still stiff and holding its shape. I don’t regret giving it to her because damn, she looked so fucking incredible in it, but I do miss it.
I leave my room but stop when a flashback of the sun flooding this landing, the curtains my mom made hanging wide open, comes back. She always put special touches around. I wish I had paid more attention when she was around. I can still feel her in the details—floral curtains at the top of the stairs, a teacup on the side table my dad never put away, the blanket she handmade using all my jerseys from my childhood draped over my desk chair.
Dropping my head back, I close my eyes and soak in the memory, letting the comfort of being near her again wash through me. Mom may not be here, but I know she’s watching over us. And sometimes I can even still hear her voice calling me downstairs for breakfast, in the creak of the steps when she used to come wake us up in the morning, and through the calm breeze after a passing storm.
I open my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s good to be back as I breathe a little easier, feeling more attached to this life with each passing day. My mom’s death was a catalyst. Maybe being home can tether me again.
Heading downstairs, I pause when I hear the TV. The volume is the lowest, just above silent. I continue down, quieter this time, and see the top of my dad’s head over his recliner. “Can’t sleep?” I ask, entering the living room.
I hadn’t realized he was actually asleep. His lap is covered in a blanket, and an empty cup sits next to him. I walk more carefully into the kitchen, but I know I can’t make coffee without waking Dad. So I slip out of the house and make my way through the first spot of light to the barn.
The large spotlight hanging over the entrance shines bright, so when I open one of the doors, the horses start to softly neigh as if I caught them off guard. I walk to Sunrise, my sister’s horse, and open the stall. Letting her mosey out, I know she’ll stay close. She’s always been a good horse, not one for trouble like Nightfall has found himself in a few times.
I take a brush to her coat, allowing her to get used to my presence. My sister is a lot lighter than I am, so I’m not sure how she’s going to appreciate the extra weight, though she’s more than built for it. And since Nightfall is the bigger horse of the two, my brother-in-law rides him most of the time.
Sunrise rubs her head against me, causing me to smile. I rub her nose and then fit her with a bridle collar and headgear. There are options of saddles, but I go for the one my dad used to ride when he was running the place.
It doesn’t take long before I’m riding again. Learning to harness the power beneath me, the ways in which the horse listens to commands or reacts, and speed will come when I’m ready to let her loose to run. She gallops down the grassy knoll and heads straight for my sister’s house. It’s a good reminder of who’s really in charge around here.
When she stops about twenty feet from the front porch, she starts to graze, and nothing I do—from asking politely to trying to lead her in the other direction—deters her from her current mission. So I sit and wait.
The front door opens. My sister pushes open the screen door with my new niece in her arms. She doesn’t say anything at first, the grin getting her amusement across loud and clear. But then she says, “Looks like you’ll be here a while. You’re welcome to join us for breakfast.”
Leaning forward, I ask, “She’s not going anywhere, is she?”
“She’s loyal through and through.” Christine steps to the railing of the porch and holds her hand out. Sunrise comes without a command to get nose rubs. My sister leans forward and kisses the bridge of her nose and then holds her baby up and whispers, “Look at the pretty horse, Julie Ann.” Looking off to the trees in the east, she smiles. “Sun’s coming up. Come on in.”