by Maya Rossi
Rose gives a rattling breath and my momentary guilt flies away wisps of smoke. “I came to check on… just get here, please.”
He cuts the call and I turn back to giving Rose what comfort I can. Her eyes flicker but don’t open and tears prickle my eyes. She isn’t supposed to die. The antibiotics should have worked and she would go on to give Grif more children and live happily ever after.
A part of me knows she won’t make it. But I don’t want to believe it. Maybe Grif will know what to do. Maybe after we go to bed, she will be miraculously fine in the morning.
With Clark by my side, I huddle over Rose. The barn is silent save for the snuffles and noise of animals rousing. Grif’s truck pulling up is music to my ears. I make sure Rose is fine and run out to get Grif. He bangs the truck door shut and strides, his features tight with grief.
When he catches sight of me, his face goes tight. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I place both hands on his chest to stop the flow of recriminations sure to follow. “Grif, Rose is in a bad way.”
Grif pinches the bridge of his nose, his breath leaving his mouth in a hiss. “It’s midnight--”
“Please, you can get angry all you want, check on Rose, please.”
We move to the barn. The second Grif sees Rose, his shoulders drop. I cover my face with my hands, unable to face the reality of Rose dying just like that.
I pace the length of the barn, raking my fingers through my hair. “Maybe we should call Maddie? If she’s already at the hotel we can bring her here. Or maybe we should give her more antibiotics. I read online molasses helps them--”
“Hey.” Grif’s hand on my shoulder brings me to a halt. I refuse to turn around. I don’t want to see the admission of defeat. As someone who has known Rose the longest, he should be able to help. Dammit.
“Hey, Olivia.”
With a sob, I turn towards him, throwing my hands up. “There should be something we can do, Grif, please. Anything.”
His eyes drop from mine. The guilt palpable and I realize I’m being too hard on Grif. Smacking a palm against my forehead, I moan. “I’m sorry for being… I don’t want Rose to die.”
Grif stiffens, standing straighter. A tall, formidable pantheon. “We have to let her go.”
I shake my head. “There’s something.”
“Look at her,” he urges, “really look. She’s suffering. I have to…” Grif gives an awkward shrug. “Wait in the car, let me handle this.”
There’s something he’s not telling me. He can’t meet my eyes and for the first time I notice his hand has been behind his back since he walked in. “Grif,” I say. “What are you going to do?”
“Handle it,” he snaps.
“How?” A dawning realization hits me. “You’re going to kill her?”
His silence is answer enough. I cover my mouth with my hands, shaking my head. “Y-you can’t.”
“She’s suffering, we have to,” he stops in frustration, “it’s the right and only thing to do.”
It’s then I know Rose is gone. Grif isn’t one to make such a decision lightly. I might have named Rose, but she’s Grif’s. Turning from him, I go to Rose. Her sides barely rise and fall with every breath. She doesn’t open her eyes or flick her ears. She is done.
Muttering a quiet goodbye, I hold my hand out for the gun he’s hiding. Grif eyes me warily. “What are you doing?”
No matter how much he tries to hide it, Grif’s loves these animals, and he’s hurting. If I can take away some of his pain, I will. “I want to.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He strips off his jacket with jerky movements. “Go wait in the car.”
“Grif,” I say, “I mean it. I want to do this, let me do this, please.”
He hangs the jacket on the door. Does he hesitate a second or two there to compose himself? There’s a noticeable rise and fall to his shoulders. He does. When he walks over, he’s composed.
My eyes skitter to his right hand where he grips the gun tightly. But I soon realize his composure is a front. When he sits by Rose’s side, his green eyes are stormy and wild with anguish.
“Go, Olivia,” he whispers, his voice ragged and hoarse.
“No.” I dash a hand across my cheek to stem the tears.
He points the gun at the back of Rose’s head, leading down towards the jaw. But his hands are trembling so bad the gun falls off to my side. I don’t hesitate. The gun is an old colt. Richard has one exactly like it at his old country estate where we spend much of the summer.
I’m careful to angle the gun like he did, at the back of Rose’s head, pointing down to the jaw.
Grif rubs his palms together, the rough calluses chafing and producing a whispery sound. “You shouldn’t, I should do this. Olivia, come on.”
Our eyes meet and I try to convey a sense of comfort and understanding. “I want to do this, for you.”
Jaw clenched tight, eyes dark with emotion, Grif nods curtly. He moves around to my side.
The shot rings like a boom of thunder in the small barn. The recoil sends me back and colliding into Grif. So that’s why he is behind me.
The animals, especially the chickens reacts, shouting their disapproval. Grif helps me to my feet. He takes a towel from a table in the corner, cleaning the blood spatters from my hand and feet. He takes the gun too, pushing it into his pocket. I’m staring at his face, trying to get a read on his state of mind.
“Grif?”
“It’s late.”
“What of the -- Rose?”
“I will handle it.”
Without a word, he grabs his jacket and leads me out. Clark falls into step beside us. When we get to the truck, I place a hand against the door when he moves to open it. He looks at me in question and the naked grief stamped on his strong boned face is intrusive to see.
I glance away as I reply, “I want to be there, when you bury her.”
We drive to the shed beside the house and he grabs a digger and shovel. His shoulders are hunched, and he doesn’t say a word. With Clark’s help, I find my way to the flowerbeds by the stream to get some for Rose. Grif heads back to the barn to get Rose. I don’t mention he’s gone a journey of once, twice.
Finally, we drive to a high ground at the very edge of the property. Grif still doesn’t acknowledge my presence as he takes off his jacket and shirt. Digging the grave is brutal, backbreaking work, but I watch Grif do the work of three men everyday like it’s nothing. When he’s done, i walk over, shocked at how deep the grave is.
“It has to be deep enough for the rains not to pull it up again,” he says.
He handles Rose’s body like a man handling special cargo. There’s a strong smell of gunpowder and blood as he walks past. He lays Rose’s body sideways and jump out. For a second, Grif stands by the uncovered grave, shoulders hunched, irresolute but vulnerable.
“All right?” he asks softly.
“Yes.”
He grabs the shovel and begin throwing in sand over the body. The lights from the truck highlights the corded muscles of his back and thighs as he worked. He makes it look effortless but I have trouble even lifting that shovel. He doesn’t catch his breath. The motion of his hands to and from sand to grave is mindless and heartbreaking.
In record time, he is done. I place the flowers over the grave and say my final goodbye.
We head back to the house. While he goes to clean and drop the shovel and digger, I move to the bar in the library, serving out a small portion of his favorite whiskey.
Grif likes to drink as he reads many evening we usually ended up at the library before going to bed. The clock over the library desk reads after three. Just a few hours before he has to be up for work. Something tells me, Grif isn’t going to turn in, instead he will wait out the darkness in the living room.
Or find more work to tide him over.
When I return to the living room, Grif is seated on the couch dust and all. He will be furious about that later. I’m relieved when he grab
s the glass of whiskey from me and downs it in one gulp.
My chest is tight with emotion and I can’t hold it in any longer. “I’m off to bed, Grif.”
He doesn’t reply, but it’s fine. Totally. I head upstairs. It’s in the shower, while I’m scrubbing the dirt from my body that the full force of the night’s events hit me. A so bursts out of me as I stare at my bare hands. Grabbing a bar of soap, I scrub hard.
I don’t stop washing until my body’s tingling all over. Out of breath and tears, I drop by the side of the tub and take deep breaths to still my pounding heart. We did what we could, but Rose was gone.
I pad naked to my room, only to come up short when I see Grif seated on the bed. Eyes aimed at the door, he doesn’t turn around.
“Are you decent?” he asks gruffly.
“No, uhmmm, give me a second?” I tie a robe around my naked form and walk over. “Hey.”
Dropping to my haunches before him, I search his face for a clue why he’s in my room aside from the obvious. Except to knock in the mornings to announce the serving of breakfast, Grif has never been in my room.
He throat muscles work, convulsing and contracting in a disturbing way. I drop my eyes to his feet. They are slim and long, like that of a swimmer. There’s dust and dirt stuck to his toes. The smell of blood, earth and musk clings to him like a loved one.
“How did you get the door open?” he asks hoarsely.
My head jerk up at the unexpected question. “What?”
“The barn door, it’s hard to open and,” he inhales a ragged breath, “I’m sorry--”
“No, no, it’s no trouble getting it open. Well, it was hard.”
He nods, looks around the room like he’s seeing it for the first time. “I didn’t ask if you liked the decor. I know it’s all pink. I’m sorry, I just— you liked pink. And— we can redecorate if you want?”
It’s true the room radiates pink like a sugary drink. But it works, somehow. It’s harder to imagine Griffin with his huge and powerful arms handling the frills in my room. But it was with the same gentleness he placed Rose in the grave, the same care and love he shows handling the smallest plant or baby chicken.
I’m unable to stop myself falling a little in love with him in that moment.
“And, I -- uhmm, fuck.” Grif drops his head into his hands. “I shouldn’t have let you handle the gun, I’ve been--”
I place a reassuring hand on his knee. “Richard taught I and Dana shooting together, it’s the one thing I’m grateful for that man for--”
“I should have been strong, the adult,” he forces through gritted teeth
His green eyes are at the darkest I’ve seen them with unshed tears. My heart breaks for him as he clasps his hands tight together and rock forward and backward, muttering, “Stupid, stupid.”
“You were yourself and that’s all you need to be, with me,” I urge.
When his head drop to his hands and he shows no sign of snapping out of it, I rise and hug him tight. “It’s okay, Grif. You’re caring and kind and loving and far from stupid.”
Somehow we end up on the bed. He’s dusty and dirty and I’m just in my robe but I don’t care. Grif is shaking all over and apologizing for his stupidity. I can’t shut him up, but I can hold him. And I do.
We fall asleep with Grif in my arms.
Chapter eleven
“Do you regret knowing her?”
The question drags me from the dark vestiges of sleep to the daylight. It’s probably Grif’s time to get up. With a jaw cracking yawn, I stretch.
“Olivia,” Grif admonishes as my head hits his jaw.
“Sorry, who?”
“Rose, do you regret knowing her?” he asks.
I almost miss the significance of that question then I recall what he said at the stream about everyone leaving. Gathering my robe around my body, I face him. “Would you prefer if Rose never existed for you?”
Grif’s eyes get’s this faraway look. “Eric gave her grand mom to me.”
“Eric?”
“My twin brother.”
I nod, carefully choosing my words like I’m picking my way through the rocks by the stream. “It would be worse not knowing Rose at all. Besides people die when they get sick or have accidents.”
Grif leaves the bed. He grimaces when he sees the film of dust stuck to his side of the bed. “Sorry about that,” he says.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I say hastily. He’s careful to avoid my gaze as he backs away from my room. When he’s gone, I cover my face with both hands with a groan. Why do I feel I’ve done something wrong?
My phone pings with an incoming text. I groan louder. It’s mom, texting since I refuse to pick her calls. I’m happy here, the last thing I want is to return home.
∞∞∞
My heart is pounding too hard, and it’s got nothing to do with my strong cup of black coffee. Rick props his feet on the living room table and I have to grit my teeth to hold my words in. He gives me an impish grin.
“And that’s how I’m stuck explaining to the waitress my wingman would rather stay home and play house with a beautiful girl, not that I blame him and--”
“Stop,” I snap. “She’s eighteen years old and my stepdaughter and don’t remind me it’s ex-stepdaughter or I swear to God—”
Olivia walks past. “Don’t stop on my account,” she says.
Like she flipped a switch, I’m blushing for no reason. I slept in her arms last night. She comforted me. An eighteen-year-old. Shouldn’t it be the other way round?
“Huhuh.” Rick wags his eyebrows suggestively.
I want to hit him.
With a grunt, I carry my coffee cup to the kitchen. Olivia stretches up on her tiptoes, taking something out of top cabinets. Her flimsy top and shorts puts her body on display. Determinedly, I look away. After last night, I know her body is soft, and that she has amazing fortitude. Guess which of the observations are giving me trouble?
When I can’t stand seeing her struggle any longer, I reach up to get the plate for her. The action causes her buttocks to brush against my front. I’m assailed by her delicious scent of citrus and exotics. I must have paused too long, taking a whiff of her perfume. Olivia turns her head to check me out.
“Grif?”
I clear my throat and move away. “Maddie will be here this morning and --”
“Why?” she snaps.
I frown, studying her closely. Olivia dislikes Maddie and I don’t know why. “I want her to check the whole herd, I need to be sure it’s not --”
“I get it.”
When Maddie’s truck slices through our awkward exchange, I’m eager to leave. Thirty minutes later, Maddie is done looking through the herd. She assures me Rose’s death was a one-off. I’m relieved to hear that part.
“I keep thinking if we could have done more,” I say, leading Maddie to her car.
She drops a familiar hand on my arm and squeezes. “I can bet with my life you did right by Rose. She was old, Grif.”
“I know.” I clear my throat and take a step back. “Thanks for everything.”
Maddie looks disappointed, and then irresolute. “Come with me to the dance tomorrow.”
I’m stunned. As the only vet serving our community and the next, Maddie rarely has an off day. Plus, she’s way out of my league. With her blond hair perpetually tied in a ponytail, her slim figure draped in jeans and the laugh lines around her eyes, Maddie isn’t just beautiful but comfortable in her skin. I shuffle my feet, unsure how to respond. “Are you sure, I mean they are way better prospects in town --”
“You mean they are more like you?” Maddie asks mock seriously. “A complete gentleman, kind and good looking?”
I hate nothing more than feeling the full blast of someone’s attention. It makes my skin itchy, like I waded through a patch of stubborn weeds without my jeans. It is ironic because I grew up desperate for a speck of attention, from my parents Eric, and Lily. Here was Maddie, smiling wide, eyes soft with
appeal, willing to go with the dance with me.
A year ago I would have jumped at the chance. Why am I hesitating?
“I’m not too great with social situations,” I warn.
She laughs. “You forget I know you better than most. I come here once a month.”
Even though she’s right, I’m compelled to add. “I will be debeaking the birds tomorrow and I don’t know how long it will take so…”