Where We Are

by Annie McDonald

  “So, this whole dog thing is still working out, eh, Mia?”

  “Totally. Ever since I associated with the Kennel Club’s training collective, I’ve moved from dog to dog and town to town everywhere between Ontario and Alberta. I really have to thank Mom and Owen again for putting me in touch with Jack and Milo. Both are sweethearts. Please tell me you didn’t come all the way from Vancouver to check up on me?”

  “Speaking of sweethearts, how is your dad?”

  Leah had sidestepped her question, but Mia gave her latitude for the moment. She stepped into the trailer and talked out the open door. “You know Dad; the grass doesn’t grow under his feet. We Skyped last night, and he’s living it up with his pals on a river cruise in Prague. He’s thinking of coming back in time for Thanksgiving, but we’ll see!”

  “I’m so happy for him. I was worried he might never push through his grief.”

  The devastating accident that claimed Mia’s mom and Leah’s dad resulted in the two surviving parents sharing responsibilities for each girl. And so while Mia and Leah weren’t sisters by blood, Beth was as much Mom to Mia as Mikka Jarvis was Dad to Leah.

  “Speaking of changes, Owen seems really nice,” Mia said.

  “He’s a great guy. Adores Mom. I think he’s farming over a thousand acres so during summer, he’s busy. It took a bit of time, but she’s adjusted to farm life.” Leah poked the coals beneath the firepit grill. “She and the neighbor, Isabel, have become close friends. Mom’s becoming quite a cook thanks to her.”

  “Beth cooking? Well, that’s new! Speaking of which, the salmon will be a few more minutes. I hope you’re okay with Buddha bowls. Maybe over dinner you can tell me why you’re here.” Mia descended from the trailer and put two large bowls on the pop-up, fold-out picnic table, then grabbed a set of fish tongs and began probing the fish that had plumped beautifully over the crimson coals of the hardwood fire.

  “You know, it’s not just our parents I’ve been concerned with over the years. I’ve been worried about you, too.” Leah paused as Milo poked his nose under her hand until she gave him a face rub. “But I’m worrying less now.”

  Another sidestep, albeit sweet, noted.

  “I may have been wrong about you striking out alone on the open road,” Leah continued. “It seems to be giving you what you need for now.”

  “For now.” Losing Riley had cut her legs out from under her. For the first year, she’d felt devastated, shocked by the suddenness of it all, and utterly impaired by heartache. But as she’d hoped when she set out, the passage of time had helped her stand up and create a new set of bearings. It didn’t mean she missed Riley any less, but she was feeling the ground again and on occasion even dreamed that there was a path ahead of her. Tears began to well at the thought of both the loss and the hope. She swallowed and allowed herself to move through the feelings.

  “Is Isabel a Harris?” she asked once composed.

  “Not exactly. She started off as the Harrises’ farm manager. I’m not sure this is public knowledge, but she and Duncan Harris are romantically involved. Why are you asking?” Leah cocked her head.

  “I met someone named Sid Harris yesterday.” Her tone was as matter-of-fact as she could make it.

  “Oh? That’s nice. Duncan’s boy?”

  “Girl, actually. Woman. And not exactly nice. Bit of a bitch, it seems. Certainly doesn’t like this neighbor.” She jerked a thumb at herself.

  “Do tell.”

  Mia recounted her brief run-in as casually as possible, knowing that even so, Leah—a lawyer with well-honed discourse skills—likely noted her pretense and filed it away for future inquiry. She had only herself to blame. After all, Leah had learned a great deal about the intricacies of nonverbal communication from her during their time at graduate school. She’d even proofread her thesis on digital microgestures. So unsurprisingly, Leah not only listened to what was said but read body language with a critical edge that served her well in her practice.

  Happy to end the discussion about Sid Harris, Mia lifted the fish and set it on top of the rice and veggie bowls. “Salmon’s ready.”

  “How old is Flynn now?” Leah asked, stroking the head he’d parked on her lap, impeding her route to the table.

  “He’s seven. Still quick enough to stay clear from hooves, but he’s been slowing down a bit lately. Might just be the heat.”

  Once she poured the tahini lemon dressing over salmon, they set about enjoying their dinner, the dogs shifting from near the warm fire to more lucrative spots under the table.

  “Ever hopeful, eh, boys?” Leah teased.

  Mia was as responsible with her dogs as she was with her own diet: clean, organic much of the time, with room for the occasional indulgence. Table scraps for the dogs were a no-no unless they were veggies.

  In between bites, Leah talked about work and the weather and moaned in occasional ecstasy at the odd kale chip or almond or dried apricot in her bowl. Mia listened quietly until the dishes were cleared and they were back in front of a newly stoked fire.

  “So, what brings you here?” Mia looked directly at her, cutting off her escape routes with a visual version of the same trick she’d witnessed Milo employ with the ATV.

  “What do you mean?” Leah cautiously replied.

  “I think we’ve known each other long enough to know when chitchat is being used as a smoke screen. And this trip is a drive-by; you flew in this morning and are leaving tomorrow. Something’s up. I know you love me, and I know you agree that time should be spent wisely. So spill.”

  Leah slumped in her camp chair, and her eyes moved again to the dancing flames. “It’s Jim. His last physical showed elevated PSA, the antigens associated with prostate cancer.”

  Jim was Leah’s husband. There’s that damned C-word again! Mia felt a wave of dread coursing toward her.

  “And they found a small lump.” Leah’s voice tightened, and her eyes dropped toward the ground.

  Mia let the wave crash. Cancer. Lump. The words settled uncomfortably, and she was silenced by the fear that echoed in her heart. Stay with it, Mia. And breathe. Be here for Leah. “Jim has always been religiously adherent to annual physicals, right?” she began calmly. “So whatever it is, it’s early, if it’s anything.”

  She put her hand on Leah’s knee, tilted her head to gain eye contact, and then gently raised Leah’s head with a finger under her chin. She could feel her fear as tears built and fell. Platitudes were just that, and Leah was a planner, so the best thing Mia could do was give her an opportunity to lay things out so that the overwhelming whole was made smaller by the piece. She took a deep controlled breath. “Okay, what’s the next step?”

  “He had a biopsy. And now we’re waiting. I feel odd about crying like this; early indicators are that most of the PSA’s are free, so the prognosis is likely very good. Not like…well…” She stumbled over her words.

  Mia jumped in, clear on where her friend was going. Riley. “I know. But you need to let yourself feel it all. Be angry. Be afraid. But also keep in mind that we have no evidence to suggest Jim’s prognosis won’t continue to be good and every reason to believe that it will.”

  Leah sat back and took a deep breath, finishing off her white wine. Mia was immediate with the refill, topped her own glass up, moved her chair closer to her friend, and took her hand before sitting back and staring into the flames. The two had grieved together over the deaths of their parents, shared their fears, lived their lives, and loved each other through it all. Even when they lived thousands of miles apart, there was never any real distance between them.

  “Jim is one tough nugget, Leah. He’d have to be to put up with you.”

  “You’re one to talk! Do you remember what you were like before Riley? Less like Flynn and more like Milo. Hyper. Always distracted. Bit of a mess, if I’m being honest.”

  Mia looked at Milo, who conducted a thorough sweep under the table with one ear tipped toward the crackling fire and the other on the treetops
swaying with the cascading winds. “Can’t argue.”

  “But she tempered you. Miracle worker, that woman. Tequila?”

  At the mention of their traditional nightcap, Mia dashed in and out of the trailer, returning with a bottle of Jose Cuervo and two shot glasses. She poured, and the two held hands, raising their glasses to the fire.

  “Limes are for cowards!” they said in unison, shouting at the stars, throwing back the golden liquor, grimacing, and then laughing along with Riley’s favourite toast. Riley had forever espoused the virtues of drinking tequila without the cumbersome accoutrement and taught Mia early in their fifteen-year relationship that “drinking it clean” took bravery but always warmed the heart.

  “You know, she is still leaving dimes. Even two years later.”

  “That’s crazy.” Leah squeezed her hand more tightly.

  “She doesn’t need to…I’ll never forget her.”

  “I know. And she knows that, too.”

  Two enthusiastic toasts later, Mia felt wonderfully mellow and guessed by Leah’s contented sighs that Jose had done his job. They sat, still holding hands, dogs at their feet, all parties temporarily mesmerized by the coals and flames. Then Milo and Flynn’s ears shot up, and the two leapt up, noses pointed toward the farm buildings whose lights were barely visible the valley.

  “Is that thunder?” Leah asked.

  “Too patterned. Horse or wandering cow maybe?” Mia got out of her chair and calmly took Milo’s collar. “Flynn, trailer.” His obedience was a testament to his breed’s willingness to please, a quality that made her work much easier than people typically thought. Flynn moved toward the trailer and stood, rigid with vigilance, at the base of the steps. Milo, too young to have reached a comparable level of understanding, began tugging and pawing at the dirt in his struggle to investigate.

  “Milo, that’ll do.” Mia’s tone was calm yet authoritative—surprising given the tequila consumption—and Milo refocused on her command. He looked toward Flynn and followed him into the trailer without a further glance at the source of the noise, which was getting clearer.

  “Good boy.” She shut the door behind them and turned back to the sound. “Horse?”

  She strained at the darkness, seeing the blacking out of the farm’s lights and listening as hooves clicked up toward the camp, then made out the unmistakable shape of an approaching horse and rider in the arch of the firelight.

  * * *

  Aaron had been right. Sid had been rude. She was rude lately. And exhausted. Lots of excuses but not any one of them worth making. Just get it over with, she thought as she saddled up Annika, her fifteen-year-old Tennessee Walker. It was a beautiful evening for a ride, but she hesitated, wondering how Annika—not ridden since last summer—would respond.

  Is there anything or anyone I’m not failing?

  At dinner, Isabel let it slip that the McCanns’ dog trainer was camped near the step. Sid suspected Aaron had mentioned the incident with Kinda Cute and her dog, and this was Isabel’s way of suggesting without suggesting that a truce was in order. Sid had always appreciated Isabel’s subtlety, but it wasn’t until she was an adult that she recognized it.

  When Isabel first arrived at the Harris ranch, Sid was twelve and had just lost her mother. Grief had charged into her adolescence like an angry bull, thrashing and bucking and kicking until she could do nothing to protect herself other than curl into a ball. She knew the loss changed her. She’d been a happy, intensely curious, courageous girl who’d become sullen, sad, and remote. And she would have rebelled if anyone had tried to take her mom’s place. In retrospect, Sid could see that over the years, Isabel had carefully led a delicate dance managing all aspects of the ranch’s finances, personnel, and household. Without trying to take anyone’s place, Isabel had managed through loving care to buoy both her and her devastated father.

  Sparked by Isabel’s mention of the trainer, once Sid saw the small fire burning toward the back end of the Miller’s west acreage, she felt her own conscience ignite and went to the barn to tack up. Mounted and taking a slow, steady pace up the south side of the Miller’s fields near the Harrises’ fence line, Sid saw the fire clearly through her field glasses along with two figures seated beside it and their flickering shadows on the shiny silver trailer.

  Ten minutes into the ride, Sid stopped and assessed Annika’s stamina, making sure the gradual ascent wasn’t too taxing. Another look through the binoculars revealed Mia, easily recognizable by her shoulder-length blond hair, and another person, a guy perhaps, with short hair. Another ten minutes and an echo of women’s voices reached her. So, not a man. Another look. The two were holding hands.

  Oh. Okay. Kinda Cute is kinda taken.

  She felt a quiver in her gut. Disappointment? No. Jealousy? Ridiculous. She certainly didn’t have time to distract herself with another miscalculated dalliance, but her attention—against her own better judgment—was riveted to the intertwined hands, so by the time she arrived, she was no longer as resolute in her reason for being there as she had been fifteen minutes before.

  “Limes are for cowards?” she said aloud, taking inventory of the camp.

  Well, that was stupid. Admitting to eavesdropping. Not particularly neighborly. A bit stalky.

  “Oh, it’s you.” The response from Kinda Cute was almost as frigid as the tops of the mountains behind her.

  She and her friend had come to the edge of where the light reached. While the greeting sounded commanding, perfectly fitting for a dog trainer, Kinda Cute’s body language betrayed her. She was shifting somewhat, almost but not quite unbalanced. Her eyes were locked on Sid’s, but her hands were brushing off the front of her jeans and then shaping her peasant top into a respectable shape.

  “Yes, it is. My name, if you’ve forgotten, is…”

  “Sid Harris. My territorial neighbor. Yes, I recall.”

  The air between them grew several degrees colder, and Sid settled deeper in her saddle and lowered the reins so that her hands rested on the horn.

  “Chilly. I deserve that.” she said.

  “And more,” Kinda Cute replied, crossing her arms and nodding as if her point had been made. This was followed by an awkward silence. A long awkward silence.

  When her arms uncrossed, Sid took the opportunity to end the stalemate. “Sorry if I’ve interrupted something. I saw the fire. Wanted to make sure things were okay.” Kind and polite. She was doing her best to put out of her mind the tiny bit of whatever had disturbed her when she saw them holding hands.

  “Well, they are. You realize that you’re the one trespassing now, right?”

  Even cooler.

  Sid spent the second awkward silence biting her tongue. She lowered her head and looked away from the fire, hoping that the brim of her hat hid her expression, which she hadn’t quite settled on. She was, after all, trying to be nice, and Kinda Cute was making that difficult. She was amused at the spunky retort and didn’t want her smile to fuel the fire. Screw it.

  Sid locked eyes with Mia. She couldn’t help letting loose a smile as she watched Mia’s reaction. Spunky looked ready to combust. Sid tightened a grip on the reins, expecting that at any moment, she might be tackled clean off her mount.

  “Yes, you are quite right. My apologies,” Sid said.

  “Anything else you’d like to apologize for?”

  Sid lifted a hand to her ear and tucked back the hair that had fallen forward as she rode. She knew exactly the apology expected, but this was too fun. “Only that I haven’t asked your names. And I’m still wondering about the limes.”

  “Are you…do you know what…how…”

  Sid was pleased to have unnerved her and was disappointed when Kinda Cute’s friend stepped in, presumably intent on rescuing Kinda Cute from herself.

  “Hello, I’m Leah Fleming. Beth Miller, your dad’s neighbor, is my mom. And this is my friend, Mia Jarvis.”

  Kinda cute Mia. “Leah. Mia. Cute.” Sid looked again at Mia, whose mouth was now shu
t, but whose eyes narrowed.

  “Yes, we get that a lot.” Leah raised her hand to Sid, who removed her glove to shake it.

  “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard…” Leah faltered. “Well, I’ve heard some about you.” Leah’s emphasis was on the word some, and her tone was apologetic.

  “Mostly good?” Sid looked at Mia, expecting a reaction.

  “You should feel free to imagine,” Leah said with an odd tinge of optimism.

  “Thanks, I will.” Sid held her smile and kept her eyes on Mia. I’m imagining a lot about her right now.

  Sid looked around the camp, taking a slow inventory of the setup as she turned her horse down-range. “And I think I’ll also take my leave. Three’s a crowd. You two have a good night.”

  * * *

  “Why on earth did you say that?” Mia flared as soon as Sid was out of earshot.

  “What?” Leah smiled, “Oh, you mean that I’d heard some about her? Well, why not? It’s true.”

  “It’s true all right. Didn’t I tell you? She’s even more arrogant than I first thought. And nosy. What’s with her checking out my stuff like she owns the place? And not apologizing. So rude!” Mia turned on her heel and marched back to the chairs by the fire. She poured another two shots and held one toward Leah.

  “I think I know her,” Leah said.

  “You probably just know her type. Did you hear how she said ‘three’s a crowd’? What do you think she meant? Honestly!” She downed her shot and poured another.

  “Okay, slow down there, darlin’.” Leah grabbed the bottle and set it down a long arm’s length beyond Mia’s reach. “What’s got your panties in a knot? Or who?”

  Instead of answering, she stared at the fire and then her glass, looking for a way to redirect the conversation and hoping Leah was drunk enough to forget. Was it that obvious? Hopefully it wasn’t so obvious to Sid. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed how Mia’s stomach had strangled the words in her throat or how her palms had become white hot in her clenched hands. At one point during the exchange, Mia’s heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she almost couldn’t hear Sid’s voice. But what a voice it was. The velvety alto carried through the night air like tumbleweeds across sand before hanging like a perfectly struck, barely-below-C chord on an acoustic guitar. More than once, she had to steel herself against the captivating resonance of its timbre. She cursed Jose Cuervo. When all she wanted to do was knock the annoyingly beautiful woman right off her horse, and the cocky smirk off her gorgeous face, Jose had undermined her resolve.