The Wild Path

by Sarah R. Baughman

  Dad’s voice floats in behind me. “Can you imagine having one of these in the winter?” he asks.

  A hot, sharp feeling works its way into my chest, like I wish Mr. Hamilton could lift his barn up and bring it to me or someone else who could fill it with the animals it was meant for.

  All I can do is nod, and Dad squeezes my shoulder. “Maybe one day,” he says, but I hear how he swallows the last word down hard, and he looks quickly away. I guess he almost forgot what I wish weren’t true: that we’re not going to be needing an indoor riding arena. Without Sunny and Sam, we won’t even need the little outdoor one we have. It will sit empty, and if the roof doesn’t get repaired it will clog with snow in winter, and in summer the switchgrass will start to crowd the dirt Dad laid down and it won’t look like anything at all.

  Mr. Hamilton comes up beside me and leans his forearms against the fence bordering the arena.

  “I thought Jack didn’t have horses,” I say. “I mean, I thought you didn’t have horses either. You said his parents—”

  “They didn’t,” Mr. Hamilton says. “But I did.”

  “What?!” My jaw drops.

  “I thought I told you that, Claire,” Dad says.

  “Um, no!” I blurt, louder than I mean to. I spin on my heel and point to Dad. “You just told me about how you and Owen liked to go fishing instead of listening to Mr. Hamilton’s stories. Which are really interesting, by the way!”

  Mr. Hamilton bursts out laughing. “Well, thanks. But I don’t blame the boys for preferring fishing.”

  “I do remember watching you in here a few times, working one of the three-year-olds people would bring you to train,” Dad says to Mr. Hamilton. “You knew what you were doing.”

  “I suppose I must have.” Mr. Hamilton’s eyes twinkle.

  Where are they now? I wonder. How could a horse trainer like Mr. Hamilton not have horses?

  Mr. Hamilton must see the question slide across my face, because he catches my eyes with his and smiles. “My grandkids love horses,” he says. “But when Owen got that new job out West, and they couldn’t come around anymore, eventually I stopped seeing the point in keeping mine. I was getting tired too. I’m old, you know.”

  “Don’t you miss the horses?” I ask.

  “Hmmm.” Mr. Hamilton looks up at the ceiling for a second. Scratches his chin. “To be perfectly honest, I try not to think about it that much.”

  “Horses are a lot of work,” Dad says.

  “They are.” Mr. Hamilton nods. “But I’ll admit, not having them anymore has been—an adjustment.”

  Wings flutter at my shoulder. Not now, I think. When Mr. Hamilton said “not having them anymore,” all I could think of was Sunny and Sam. “I’m going to look around,” I say.

  I take my time, breathing deeply to push the wings away. I open creaky stall doors, brush spiderwebs from feed buckets, run my hands over saddles and bridles so dusty my fingers turn gray.

  But there isn’t much here. Not anymore. And there’s definitely nothing else even close to the box. If Jack Hamilton hid anything else, I don’t think it was here.

  Still, I can’t help peering into a few corners. I’m tipping up the feed bin, counting specks of old grain left at the bottom, when Dad says it’s time to go.

  “Thanks, Mr. Hamilton.” I shake his hand, my grip strong, the sparrows finally gone.

  “Thank you, Claire,” he says. “I hope I helped you with your project, but I would be glad to talk again if you’d like.”

  The word project brings heat rushing to my face. I realize that even though I learned a lot about the box, and what it might mean, I didn’t really talk to Mr. Hamilton about my research topic. “That would be great.”

  But as we walk to the car, I don’t think about my project. Instead, I wonder about Jack. Was he right? Did the horses survive? And if so, how? The questions spin in my head, pressing against my eyelids as I shut them tight and lean against the headrest in Dad’s truck.

  “Buckled?” Dad asks, turning the key in the ignition. I click my seat belt and turn to look out the rear window as we drive away. Mr. Hamilton’s still standing where we said goodbye at the barn door. I watch him raise one steady hand before striding toward the house, and I wave back as we turn down the driveway.

  There aren’t many cars on our roads, which curve like pencil lines around the mountains and the water. It’s possible, if you time it right, to drive all the way from Cedar Lake to my house in perfect quiet, without seeing anyone else.

  Dad clears his throat. “What did you think of Mr. Hamilton?”

  I turn from the window and watch the steering wheel slide through his hands. “I like him. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he used to have horses.”

  “Yeah. I thought I did.” He rubs his chin, then looks quickly at me before turning back to the road. His voice gets quiet. “Actually, you know what, I probably avoided telling you without even realizing it. I didn’t want it to get you thinking about Sunny and Sam.”

  My eyes pinch and burn. “I was going to learn about his horses sooner or later.”

  Dad sighs. “I know. I guess I wanted to put it off.”

  My throat tightens, but I squeeze the words out anyway. “It’s just not fair, Dad.”

  We both know I’m not talking about Mr. Hamilton’s horses anymore.

  “I’m sorry, Claire.” Dad’s voice sounds thick, tired. “I really am. Your mom and I can’t see a way to make it work.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away.

  “Hey,” Dad says. “We’ll get through it. Hard things like this—there’s always another side.” Suddenly he presses the brake and pulls the car over at a turnoff. Then he points out the window. “What’s that?”

  From here, it just looks like a wall of stone. But I know what it really is. “Pebble Mountain. Obviously.”

  “We’re so close to it here, though, you can’t see the top even if you look up,” Dad says. “Right?”

  I nod, the muscly granite blurring beyond the glass.

  “But you’ve hiked all the way up before,” he continues. “So you know it’s there. Our house is on the other side, so you know that’s there too. Right?”

  I nod, wipe my eyes again.

  “Sometimes when you’re right up close to something, you can’t see the whole of it. But there’s always more,” Dad says, taking my hand. “I promise.”

  He presses on the gas and we move forward, around the road as it bends. I don’t want to let go of Dad’s hand, and he lets me hold it while he drives.

  Then my phone buzzes with a text from Maya.

  Hey.

  I let go of Dad’s hand and write back.

  How’s it going?

  Kinda better today.

  How’s your dad?

  Seems tired. Mom says he needs to rest. But I told him about my project, and he said it sounded good.

  That’s awesome.

  What are you up to?

  Got some primary research.

  Finally lol!

  Mr. Hamilton knew about the box too. Sort of.

  OMG. You need to tell me more.

  Promise.

  I slide the phone back in my pocket.

  Outside the window, pieces of my world flash by: the Moores’ dairy farm, with its big white barn and silo; the Jordans’ little ranch house with the yard full of ceramic ornaments and bikes and the kennel out back where they keep sled dogs; the now stubbly fields where in summer corn grows; the surface of Pine Lake, rippling blue and gray. That means we’re getting closer to my house, and also to the spot at the intersection of Route 15 and Mountain Trail Road where Andy used to drive us to hike up Pebble Mountain.

  The flutter feeling comes back when I think about Andy. How much more time until he’ll be back safe at home, sitting in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone and looking up, saying, “Hey, Little C.,” trying to pretend he hasn’t left me behind?

  But Andy doesn’t want to come home. And eve
n if he did, what would he find here? Would he come looking for the bag of pills in the closet? Would he charge the strange phone and keep it hidden in his coat pocket where nobody could see it? A tiny spark of the hot feeling I had when I thought about Mr. Hamilton’s barn sitting empty flickers inside. If I kindled it, I know it would grow.

  The sparrows swirl and tumble and bump into one another as they fly. I clasp my hands together and breathe, trying to steady their beating wings.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Letting go,” Sharon says. “That’s the idea I want all of you to think about as you leave today. What does it look like? How can it help you? This week, look for little ways to let go.”

  Sharon’s closing words feel like a blanket that settles over all of our shoulders. None of us move at first. Then, slowly, kids get up and start milling around, grabbing cookies and juice from the table.

  “You’re Claire, right?” Anna asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Little flutters hover at the base of my skull, but I concentrate on answering Anna. “Yeah.” I feel my cheeks redden. “I know I never say anything. Doesn’t make it easy to remember who I am.”

  “No worries,” Marcus says. “It took me ages to talk.”

  “Really?” I ask. Last week Marcus spoke so easily, shared so much, it’s hard to imagine him struggling.

  “You thought none of us would be able to relate, right?” Caleb says. He’s smiling, but not in a mean way.

  “Basically.” Marcus smiles. “Seems funny now.”

  I look down at my shoes. It feels like if I meet any of their eyes, they’ll all know that’s exactly how I’ve felt. That’s why I haven’t talked.

  “Man, we all thought that when we first started coming,” Caleb says. “Then we kinda realized we’re all in the same boat after all.”

  “So, Claire,” Anna says. “Is it okay if I ask who in your family has the addiction issue?”

  Sparrows flicker around my heart. “My brother.”

  The other kids nod. It makes me feel like I can say a little more. “He takes pain pills,” I explain. “I mean, he’s addicted to them. Or was addicted. I don’t know. I mean, he got hurt in this accident, with his snowmobile.”

  “Those pills are really strong,” Caleb says.

  “I found so many bottles of them in his closet,” I say. “It’s like he was saving them.”

  The other kids look at one another, almost as though they’re nervous. I can’t quite read their eyes.

  “Maybe that’s it,” Marcus says quietly.

  “It’s definitely cool that you’re here, Claire,” Anna says. “You should keep coming.”

  “Thanks.” Anna’s words, Caleb’s, Marcus’s, they all feel good. Like Sharon’s. Being in the same boat with them doesn’t seem like the worst thing.

  As we’re heading up the steps to leave, Nari taps my shoulder. “Hey, Claire,” she says. “I remembered what you said about your horses. Sunny and Sam, right?”

  I stop walking, turn to face her. “You have a good memory!”

  “They’ve been in my head off and on, ever since last week. I haven’t really wanted to think much about my sister, but talking to you made me wonder why she started liking horses so much.” She takes a deep breath. “And, okay, Sharon’s basically forcing us to figure out all these ways to let go, right? Well, I figure this might be mine.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Fear,” Nari says. “I told you I was scared of horses, right?”

  I nod.

  “Well,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I think it’s time to let go.”

  “How about tomorrow after school?” I ask.

  Nari sticks out her hand. “It’s a date.”

  When I get home the next day, Nari and her mom are already there, sitting at the table with Mom. Nari said her mom would drive her over; they must not have had any trouble with the directions I gave.

  Mom’s leaning forward, talking in a low voice, but when she sees me she stops in the middle of her sentence and smiles. “I’m so glad you invited these ladies over, Claire!”

  Nari’s mom has long hair the silvery-dark color of the stones. “It’s so nice to meet you, Claire,” she says. “I’m Ms. Datta. Nari is very excited to see your horses.”

  “I’m glad she could come,” I say, shaking her hand. It’s warm and soft, and she squeezes tight.

  “Horses have been so helpful for our daughter Pia,” Ms. Datta says. “We’re actually not quite sure what we’re going to do when she comes home and doesn’t have them around anymore.”

  I want to tell her she can bring Pia to see our horses, but I haven’t even told Andy or my parents about my equine therapy plan yet. My own thoughts about Andy feel like the sparrows now: tumbling, flighty, ready to burst.

  “Do you want to see them too?” I ask.

  “That would be fun.” Ms. Datta wraps both her hands around her coffee mug and looks at Mom. “But I’m going to talk with your mother for a bit.”

  “I forced her into a conversation,” Mom says, and she smiles again: a deep, real smile. I can tell she really likes Ms. Datta.

  Ms. Datta laughs. “It’s a pleasure, honestly.”

  “Nari, we should get going,” I say. “This is when I usually do all my chores.”

  “I’ll follow you,” Nari says, and we head out the door.

  The sun feels so warm, I peel my gloves off and stick them in my pocket.

  “So you do this every day?” she asks. “Take care of the horses, I mean?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I mean, my mom helps sometimes. But I really like to do it myself.”

  “Will I be in your way?” Nari waits behind as I push the barn door open.

  “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that.” I motion for her to follow me inside. “It’s fun to have a friend here. It’s just that my mom always wants to… I don’t know. Talk about everything.”

  Nari laughs. “Oh yeah, there’s always something to ‘process,’ right? Like about your brother?”

  It feels kind of strange to laugh about Andy, but it also feels good to be with someone who knows exactly what I’m going through.

  “Especially lately,” I say, then almost wish I hadn’t. Nari doesn’t seem to react. I lead her toward the stable, but she stops in the doorway.

  “Whew,” she says. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Actually, I do. Like I told you, horses have always scared me.”

  “No problem,” I say. Interestingly, the fact that Nari’s nervous doesn’t bring my sparrows back. Instead, I feel totally calm. “We’ll start slow.”

  I bring Nari to Sam’s stall and let her look at him from a couple of feet away.

  “He’s really huge,” Nari says, her eyes wide.

  “Horses are big,” I say. “But a well-trained horse like Sam is also very gentle. One good thing to know about horses is they are prey animals, and their natural instinct is to run away when threatened.”

  “So they get nervous too.” Nari laughs shakily.

  “Exactly,” I say. “But if we’re relaxed, it helps them feel relaxed because they know they’re safe.”

  Nari takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to bring Sam out,” I say. “You can wait over here at the wall, then I’ll bring you over to meet him.”

  I look up at Sam and scratch between his ears as I clip his cross-ties. “I’m going to have you approach him at an angle, from the front,” I tell Nari. “Remember, Sam is really gentle. When you get near his head, put out your hand for him to catch your scent.”

  “Will he bite?” Nari asks, her voice rising.

  “No way,” I assure her. “Here, I’ll put my hand out with yours.”

  Sam snuffles around Nari’s palm, taps it lightly with his lips.

  “He likes you,” I say. Nari smiles.

  Next, I hand her a currycomb and demonstrate how to move it in circles over Sam’s shoulders, flanks, and back.

  “Does y
our brother like horses too?” she asks.

  Thinking about Andy and horses makes me feel like there’s a heavy stone in my stomach. “He always did,” I say quietly. “Lately he seems totally different. His letters are… weird. I don’t really know how to get him back to being himself.”

  Nari stops brushing and looks at me. “I don’t think my sister will ever be herself again. Hey, by the way, he’s really soft.” She pats Sam on the neck.

  “Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask. “Thinking that she’ll totally change?”

  “No.” Nari’s eyes glimmer with pain. She shakes her head like she’s trying to make her answer true. “I don’t let it. But my parents don’t like that. They want me to support her. They say it’s part of being a family. I just feel like it won’t work.”

  “Yeah, I have no idea what will work with my brother either.” I hand Nari a hard brush and show her how to swipe dusty loose hairs away from Sam’s back and flanks.

  “One thing my mom always says is that we all have to walk this path together,” Nari says, pressing down on the brush. “It may or may not look the way we expected it to.”

  “I like that,” I say. “And it makes sense. Wouldn’t you miss your sister if she never came back?”

  Nari chews her lip, looks away. “When you put it that way,” she says softly, “yes. Of course I would. But I’m also frustrated with her.”

  “It makes sense that you would be.” I picture the pills, the phone. But I don’t feel like talking more about either of them right now, so I clip a lead rope to Sam’s halter. “Do you want to learn how to lead a horse? You can help me bring him to the arena for lunging.”

  “Lunging?” Nari’s eyes narrow in confusion.

  “It’s a way to exercise horses,” I explain. “But also a good way to train.”

  I show Nari how to stand on Sam’s left side, holding the lead rope in two places. Together, we slowly move out of the stable. Walking toward the arena, I gradually distance myself from Nari until she’s leading Sam all by herself.