Page 45 of Love Wells Kept

Her shoulder lifts half-heartedly. “I guess it’s okay if I get my horse after my birthday.”

We round the corner of an outbuilding, and the main barn comes into view. It’s a large white building, desperately in need of a good cleaning and some fresh paint after a long winter. In the distance, smoke from the wood-burning fireplace in our house curls up through the spring air, obscuring the gently swaying treetops and the mountain range beyond that.

“Thank you for being patient about the horse thing,” I say to Odessa as I climb out of the saddle. I haven’t been horseback riding in a while, and I feel it in every muscle. “In the meantime, we could get some more riding in with these two. I had a lot of fun today.”

“Maybe next time you’ll beat me in the race across the field….” Her boots hit the ground with a heavy thunk, and she ducks under the gelding’s neck to smirk at me. “Probably not though.”

“Oh, it’s on, little miss.”

Saddle tucked against my side, I stroll past her, stopping briefly to smooth my free hand over the choppy bits of hair sticking out of her braid. My heart pounds when I step into the barn, the smell of hay and horsehair and dust lodging in my throat. I don’t dare glance toward the far stall. Not sure I’ll ever be able to without reliving every second of that day.

“How was the ride?” Red’s voice yanks me away from the edge of spiraling.

“Good.” I sigh, tossing my saddle onto the rack.

“Bet getting some time away felt good.”

With a breathy laugh, I say, “Yeah, the fresh air was nice.”

Riding with Odessa, just the two of us, had felt good—better than I wanted to admit. She yammered on about school and plans for her birthday party, taking up space and not giving my brain the chance to wander. For the first time since the accident, my mind rested—actually rested.

And yet, guilt gnaws at me, knowing Jackson’s ensconced himself in our bedroom, lying sick and heavy and alone in our bed. It feels wrong to be in the sunlight, laughing and chatting with Odessa, acting like everything is fine. What kind of wife takes off riding while her husband battles demons a few hundred yards away?

Red follows me back outside and grabs the saddle that Odessa’s struggling to pull off her horse.

“Mom tried to race me and lost,” Odessa says proudly.

“Did you cheat like you did that time me and you raced?” Red raises a brow.

She huffs, indignant. “Going through the creek instead of taking the bridge isn’t cheating.”

“It is when we agreed the bridge was part of the racecourse.” He laughs, shaking his head, then turns to me and gestures to the gelding I was riding. “I was going to trim this one’s hooves, so I’ll put them away for you guys.”

He doesn’t mention that it’s Jackson’s horse, and Jackson should be the one taking care of it, since Red has about ten of his own to deal with. But I thank him with a soft smile I hope expresses all the gratitude I can’t speak yet.

Odessa utters a hurried thanks over her shoulder before taking off down the gravel driveway, skipping and humming to herself. She needed the break, too, and that helps ease my guilty conscience.

I saunter behind Odessa, eyes set on the house and the way it seems to be tugging at me, drawing me back in. It’s not that I don’t want to be there, or be with Jackson, because I do. My entire body physically aches when I’m away from him, but a small, selfish part of me wants more of the carefree bubble Odessa and I were in on the mountain.

“Hey,” I call ahead to get her attention. “Want to make beaded bracelets when we go inside? We haven’t done that in a long time.”

She beams back at me. “Okay!”

I’m careful with the front door, gingerly closing it with a soft click rather than letting it swing shut. Using the side of my foot, I hold down the heel of my other boot and wiggle my foot out of it, watching in my periphery as Odessa does the same. We’re both silent, walking on eggshells, knowing Jackson is likely in bed. If this is our new normal, I’m not sure how we’ll survive it, to be honest.

The kitchen greets us with the scent of freshly baked cookies, and the mess around Rhett’s mouth when he grins at us over a large glass of milk tells me they’re chocolate chip. Odessa roots around in the bottom cupboard of the china cabinet for her bracelet-making kit, then flops down into her chair at the table as if she’s come in from a long day of working cattle.

Beryl’s quick to sidle up to her, cookies and milk in hand.

I steal a bite from one of Rhett’s cookies—no preschooler needs a stack of five cookies all to himself—and tousle his hair. “Hey, bud, we’re going to make bracelets, if you want to join us.”

He mumbles something incoherent around the cookie crammed in his mouth, but quickly slides off his seat to move closer to his sister. And it’s evident that horseback ride did good things for Odessa, because she doesn’t make a single snarky comment about his grubby fingers reaching into her bucket of multicolored beads.

Once I have a fresh cup of coffee in hand, I sit across from them at the table and cut a piece of elastic cord for his tiny wrist.

“I’m making one for Daddy,” Odessa says, eyeballing the length of elastic held between the sharp points of her scissors. “Do you think this is long enough?”

I reach for the clear strand, looping it and trying to imagine his wrist. The way it felt with my hand wrapped around it when I held on to him for dear life in the hospital. With a gulp, I nod and hand it back.