“I think this is going to be a good thing. New beginnings. Sometimes we have to leave the past there . . . in the past, so that we’re able to move forward.” I reach over and squeeze her hand.
As the group of men disperse, moving back to their tractors, Saige jumps up from her chair and jogs down the small hill toward Brent. She hollers something, and Brent turns around. I sit up straight, pausing as I wait to see what’s happening. Brent places his hands on her shoulders and, with a nod, he steps back.
Saige shakes both of her hands next to her sides and begins to walk toward the large barn door. She pulls one of the large doors open and stands frozen in place. Brent jogs up behind her and opens the other door, turning around to look at me just as I stand up and trek down to meet them.
Saige turns around, our eyes locking for a moment before she spins on her heel and steps into the barn. A flood of emotions takes over me as I watch her disappear into the darkness. My heart thrums with worry.
I approach Brent, who keeps his eyes trained on her inside the barn but holds out his hand to stop me from coming any closer.
“Give her a minute,” he says quietly.
I’m able to see over his shoulder. Saige is standing next to one of the empty horse stalls. She stares down at the ground, and her shoulders begin to shake. I try to step around Brent, but he holds out his arm, stopping me.
“Just hold on,” he says. “She needs to do this.”
“I know, but—” I stop when I see her turn around and begin walking back toward us. It’s killing me to see her in pain.
She steps out, her pink cheeks wet with tears. Then she walks past us, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. As she finally passes us, she mumbles over her shoulder, “Tear it down.”
Brent looks at me before signaling the guys to proceed with demolition. I glance anxiously after Saige, wondering if she’ll ever be okay.
“Give her a bit,” Brent tells me. “She needs a little time.”
An hour later, I stroll down to the creek where I know Saige has disappeared to. But the boulder sits empty where I expected her long body to be perched. Instead, I find her across the creek, sitting at her father’s headstone. I contemplate leaving her, but I’ve left her long enough. I need to know that she’s okay.
The creek is shallow and large river rocks poke up from the bottom so I’m able to step across, jumping into the tall grass on the other side. “Hey,” I say quietly from behind her.
Her elbows rest on her knees and her head is propped in her hands. “Hey,” she responds, barely audible.
“Mind if I sit down?” She shakes her head from side to side, and I sit down next to her. “You okay?” I ask her, resting my hand on her thigh.
“I am,” she says unconvincingly, turning her head to me. Her face is splotched with red patches, and the remnants of her tears, but her eyes are dry. “I just needed to come here and talk to him.”
“I’m glad you did,” I admit to her.
“Did you watch them knock it down?”
“I did.” I nod once, watching her carefully. “It’s done.”
She sniffs and nods, wiping her sad eyes. “Amazing how quickly something that holds decades of memories, decades of anger, and decades of history can be resorted to a pile of trash in just minutes.”
I swallow hard, still worried for her. “The good thing about memories and history is that you remember them here.” I tap her forehead. “And the good thing about anger is that you can leave it at the bottom of that pile where it belongs.”
She huffs out a small laugh and leans into me. “Thank you for bringing me here.” She rests her head on my shoulder. “I was just telling my dad how much he’d love you.”
I smile, finally feeling hopeful. “You think so?” I ask, glancing at the headstone with “Michael Phillips” etched into the gray granite.
“I know so,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
And that’s where she leaves her anger, her fear, and her hurt—buried at the bottom of that barn, in a heaping pile.