I glanced at Hannah. She smiled shyly at me.
“I bought her,” she said. “Can you believe it?”
I gave her a flat look. “No, I can’t believe it.”
The tack, at least, was very fine—used, but of good quality. The horse had been groomed recently. I smoothed a hand down her leg and she lifted it, making me smile. Clean hooves.
Then I folded my arms and cleared my throat.
I looked at Hannah.
“You don’t know shit about horses,” I said.
She and Nate stared at me. Was I speaking in tongues? They glanced at each other, then Nate started to laugh and Hannah grinned.
“Well, you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” she said.
A smile twisted my lips. Oh, you’re funny, little bird. I studied her, assessing, smiling. The red sweater … the lippy attitude. I liked this girl. Fuck, I loved her.
I jerked my head at Nate in a gesture that said get off. He slid down from the saddle and handed me the reins.
“She’s a … a Saddlebred,” Hannah said. “She’s seven.”
I stroked the horse’s neck.
“Her name is Written in Verse,” Nate said.
“They always are weird,” I said. “Horse names.”
“True,” he said. “You remember Overtime Magic?”
I laughed spontaneously. Overtime Magic had belonged to Aunt Ella. She was an ornery old quarter horse, nothing magic about her and no overtime in her.
“And Razzle-my-Tazzle,” I said.
“Yeah. Seth got a kick out of that one.”
A hot, uncomfortable feeling simmered up my throat, so I gripped the horse’s mane at her withers and swung onto the saddle. My sneakers felt clumsy in the stirrups. She danced sideways and I shortened the reins. Nate gave her cinch a little tug.
“That’s right, he did,” I said, focusing on the horse below me. I was always a good rider, but I was out of practice. Slowly, I found my equilibrium, weight in my heels, my body relaxed.
Written in Verse hugged the fence.
I leaned down and kissed her neck.
“You’re a pretty lady,” I murmured, “but a little too skinny for my liking. We’ll feed you well, don’t worry.”
Hannah shimmied along the fence and laid a hand on my thigh.
“You look good on that horse,” she whispered.
I glanced at her and felt the pull of her. Her hand on my leg …
God, if Nate wasn’t standing there.
“You look fine on that”—my mouth twitched—“on that fence.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled. She seemed about to laugh, then about to cry. My God, if everyone would quit crying at me.
I tightened my legs against Written in Verse and she walked on, and I took her around the paddock at a trot. That young horse wanted to run. I knew the feeling.
“I’m going to take her out,” I said, nodding toward the meadow.
Nate frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good—”
“Go ahead,” Hannah said. She beamed at me and I smiled at her. I remembered these compulsive smiles we used to share, like starstruck idiots.
I urged the white mare out of the paddock and took her up to a gallop. That speed always comes with a thrill of fear. Written in Verse ran smooth and fast. I couldn’t hear anything above her hooves and the rushing wind, which was just the way I wanted it.
When I returned to the paddock, the sun was halfway behind the mountains. Nate sat waiting on the fence. I dismounted and he caught the reins.
“Just because I’m talking,” I said, “doesn’t mean I want to talk about everything.”
“I don’t need you to.” He slid off the fence and I looked sidelong at him.
“Do you need to talk?”
He shook his head.
“I’m going home soon. Tonight I think I’ll go out and buy supplies for this girl.” He patted the horse’s cheek. “I’ll walk her to the barn.”
“I don’t want you to go yet.”
“No?” Nate chuckled. “You’ve seemed ready to see me go for a while.”
“I wasn’t myself. I haven’t been…”
“That’s all right.” Now he patted my cheek. “I’ll come back. I need to see my family.”
“I am your family.”
“Matt…” He kept one hand around the reins and pulled me in with the other. He brought my face against his shoulder.
I know something about grief. I learned it the hard way, which is the only way. The thing I know is that grief is no feeling—no feeling at all. When it comes, we expect a terrible pain or drawn-out, stinging sorrow. Then we learn that grief is a vacuum. Even tears would be preferable. It is no feeling that comes and comes; it is loss itself.
After a while, Nate told me to go up to the house. He said that Hannah was my family, too, and not to be angry with her about the horse.
I thought about the horse as I walked back. An impulse buy, it seemed. With Nate leaving and Hannah ignorant of horses, I would need to care for the animal, which was no simple task. I wouldn’t sell it, though. I already loved it. Hannah must have known that the moment I saw the horse, I would love it.
And if I didn’t care for it, it would die.
Animals are that simple. They need our care and we love them for needing us. Children are the same.
I stopped midstride, and then I ran.
Chapter 33
HANNAH
That evening, Matt returned to the house alone.
I met him in the doorway.
His hair was wind-mussed and he was panting.
“Where’s Nate?” I said, looking him over.
“Taking the horse to the barn. He said he’s going to buy some things for her. He said he’s leaving soon. Did you know that?”
I gazed dumbly at Matt’s mouth as it moved. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this—an abrupt return to clarity and full sentences.
“Are you … okay?”
“I’m not angry about the horse. I like the horse. Hannah, what—Chrissy, the baby…”
“Come in, come on.” I closed the door and led him to the great room. He refused to settle on the couch. I sat while he paced. “What do you want to know?”
“Is Chrissy … all right?”