by Tudor Robins
“Why? I mean, are you sure he doesn’t go over? Maybe he does, and he just doesn’t tell anybody.” Even as I say it, I’m remembering the look on the face of the ferry worker when he guided us onto the ferry this morning. Maybe not surprise at me driving. Maybe shock at seeing Jared going to Kingston. He, of all people, would know if Jared takes the ferry.
Betsy’s shaking her head. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but once, when his mom pushed him, he said his dad died the last time he left the island, so he prefers to stay.”
I replay Lacey’s half-statements – “You’d have to go to Kingston, or Ottawa to go to Meg’s kind of show,” and “It’s not the dentist he’s afraid of …” Jared cutting her off both times, warning her to stop talking.
And his mom – what did she say? – “It’s not me you have to convince. I’ll be more than happy if you can get Jared to the dentist.” She wasn’t worried he wouldn’t go to the dentist, she was afraid he wouldn’t get on the ferry.
No way ...
We pass the cottage that, for me, always marks the final approach to the dock. The island is coming up fast ahead of us. “I should go. I’m driving.”
Betsy walks as far as her car with me. I pause to hug her. “I’m still kind of in shock about this. It’s so hard to believe.”
She squeezes me back. “Well, I find it equally hard to believe that after all these months, you took that boy off this island just like that.”
I snort. “Well, he was in a weakened state.”
“I’m being serious, Meg. He seems to trust you.”
Wow. As I walk back to the truck I wonder, is Betsy right? How could she be? It must be a mistake.
But it explains a lot. Jared’s tears on the way over to Kingston – they make sense if today was the first time he left this island for nearly a year. Even more so if the last time he went was for his dad’s wake.
I hesitate before pulling the door open. Should I ask him about this now? Or when he feels better? Or never?
A noise interrupts my train of thought. A snore, to be exact. I look over to see Jared sound asleep. He’s still pale, and the dentist’s pushing and pulling has left his lips dry and cracked, but his features are relaxed; there’s no pain in them.
I’ll see if I can drive off the ferry smoothly enough to avoid waking him.
Chapter Twenty-One
How is he?
My sleep is more interrupted than the bad old days at the beginning of the summer.
The last I saw Jared he was semi-conscious and collapsing into his bed. He was still sleeping when I checked on him after riding Salem, and he was still sleeping when his mom came home early from work to keep an eye on him.
How is he now, and how has he been for the last nine months? Never leaving the island? Not once? Not ever?
The pain of a tooth abscess seems like nothing compared to the pain that must have driven that reaction.
I don’t need my alarm clock. I’m up super-early. So early, that I run first, then come home, swim, get dressed, then ride my bike up to Jared’s and I still have an hour and a half before I have to be at work.
How is he?
Rex meets me on the road, escorts me into the driveway and waits while I lean my bike against the barn.
I scratch his ears. “Hey buddy. I need to see Jared.”
The dog’s ears tip forward and he runs ahead of me to the kitchen door. He whines and paws at it. Please let Jared open it.
“Meg!”
“Hi Mrs. Strickland. Sorry for being here so early …”
My words are cut off by the smushing hug she pulls me into. I hesitate, then circle my arms around her too. Rex leans against our legs, his tail whacking the door frame.
She steps back. “I owe you, Meg. You did something amazing for Jared yesterday.”
“Oh, it was really mostly the dentist.”
She smiles. “Well, of course, I’m glad his tooth is better, but we both know it was much more than that …”
“OK, come on Mom. Leave her alone.” Jared’s hand on his mom’s shoulder guides her out of the way, and there he is. He’s wearing jeans, as usual, and a t-shirt, as always, but he’s barefoot. It makes him look vulnerable. His feet, and toes, are long and narrow.
“Are you staring at my feet?”
“Yes, sorry. I might be.”
“Why?”
“They’re nice.”
“Keep her around Jared!” Mrs. Strickland walks by the doorway carrying a coffee mug and a plate. “I’m your mother, and even I don’t like your feet.”
“Whoops. Sorry. Didn’t know she was listening.”
He steps out onto the porch with me and pulls the door closed behind him. “Now she’s not.”
“Good.” He grins and I shake my head. “I don’t mean ‘good’ that your mom’s not here – I like your mom – I just mean, you look good.”
“Better than last time you saw me.”
“A little. Although I do find drool very attractive.”
“Hey!” He grips my arms. “I wasn’t drooling.”
“Whatever.” He’s so close. I could just step forward. I could just lean my head against his chest. I could …
The kitchen window cranks open a few more inches. “Jared Strickland, you be nice to that girl. You owe her.”
“Oh God. My mother. Sorry.”
“Like I said, I like her.”
He sighs. “She means well. Everybody means well.” He lets go of my arms and drops to the top step, pats the wood beside him, and I sink down too. “I’m guessing you heard some things about me yesterday.”
My instinct is to deny it, but that would just be stupid. Somebody, somewhere on the island was probably told what sandwich I ordered from the bakery yesterday – even though it was plain old chicken salad; even though they probably didn’t care – that’s just the way news travels around here. It would be dumb to tell Jared I haven’t heard anything. “Betsy mentioned something.”
He nods. “If it wasn’t her, it would have been my mom, or Doug, from the ferry, or somebody else.” He looks off to the fields. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Not crazy. But I have to admit, when you said you didn’t like to leave the island, I had no idea you meant not at all. Like, literally, not setting foot off the island …”
Jared’s furrowed brow, serious face, make me pause, change tacks. “Maybe you could explain it to me. Then I’m sure I’d understand.”
He looks at his watch. Great. Is this him getting ready to duck out of the rest of the conversation?
“Have you had breakfast?”
“Um …”
“Didn’t think so.” He stands up, gives me a hand, and pulls me to my feet, then leads the way into the kitchen. “Pancakes or waffles? Bacon or sausage?”
“Can you even eat? With your mouth?”
He grabs a spatula. “Are you crazy? I missed a whole day of eating I need to catch up on. Plus, antibiotics are amazing things.”
His mom walks in, dressed for work, bag over her arm. “Hey Mom, I’m making Meg pancakes.”
She smiles. “Great. Have a good day you two. Bye!”
Jared makes great pancakes. I like my bacon crispy, and he doesn’t, so that works out well. Between the two of us, we finish all of it.
Even after yesterday’s dental work, he eats faster than me, so I mostly chew, and he talks.
“It wasn’t like I planned to not leave the island ever again. I didn’t think of it like that.”
He spears a piece of pancake. Chews. Swallows.
“It was just the first few times I went to get on the boat after my dad died I thought ‘If I hadn’t left that last time, he’d still be alive.’ And then I’d think ‘What if something happens to my mom, or Rod, and I’m not on the island?’” He holds up his hand. “And I know that’s not rational thinking, because they leave the island, but it wasn’t a rational thing. My chest would get tight, and I’d breathe faster, and then, you know how it is; I’
d see somebody I knew in line, and they’d pick up whatever I needed over in Kingston …”
“Mmm-hmm.” I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Yes, you’re right. I got you do to that for me. But I so appreciated it, and you did such a good job.”
I swallow my mouthful. “Go on.”
“And then I just started avoiding it. It’s amazing how you really don’t need to go over if you don’t want to.”
“But, Jared, nine months?”
He shrugs. “I know. And then people started noticing, and my mom started bugging me, and then I felt like if I did get on the ferry everybody would be staring at me.”
“Yeah, well instead I got stared at.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re hot and the guys who work on the ferry like the look of you.”
I wave my fork at him. “Try again.”
He shrugs. “That’s it. That’s my story. Until one day a really bossy girl forced me to go on the ferry.”
“Oh, now I see how this story’s going to be told in the future.”
He laughs. “If the shoe fits.”
I glance at the microwave clock, and nearly choke on my bacon. “Crap! I have to get to work!”
He grabs his keys. “I’ll drive you. I guess I owe you a lift.”
**********
He picks me up from work too, because I left my bike at his place this morning.
“So, what’s the plan for this afternoon?”
“Jumping.”
“Really?”
“Yup, it’s about time. Especially if I’m going to give Lacey those lessons she wants.”
“Hmmm.”
He accelerates as the truck hits the straight stretch of road leading to his house and I have to roll my window up so he’ll hear me. “Hmmm, what?”
“Just, I was starting to wonder if jumping for you was a bit like the ferry for me.”
I stare at him. “Really?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, the last time you did it, your horse died. And every time I mentioned showing you kind of ducked the conversation.”
“Yeah, well apparently you wanted me to barrel race her.”
He shrugs. “Hey, I didn’t know you couldn’t jump at the shows on the island.”
I lean forward. “Well, anyway, you’re wrong. I wasn’t the one avoiding conversations.”
He brakes for the turn into his driveway. “Yes you did. Don’t lie.” He fake pouts. “I got you this perfectly good horse, and made you a beautiful sand ring, and you don’t want to show her.”
It’s instinct that makes me reach out, and grab at his bottom lip. It’s what I do when a horse is standing dozing with his lip hanging down. Except, as I touch the soft skin, Jared jumps, and I remember he’s not a horse.
I gasp. “Sorry! Did I hurt you? I shouldn’t have done that.”
He grabs my wrist, brings it back to his mouth. I’m not sure what to do, so I fan my fingers out with my thumb touching his lips, my pinky cupping the curve of his jaw, and the other fingers spreading across his cheeks. Soft skin. A tiny bit stubbly. Warm.
Warmth shoots through me, too. “Oh …” It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a noise to accompany an exhale. A way to manage the butterflies swarming inside me.
I stare at him, and he stares at me, and I think the more I get to know him, the easier things are between us and, at the exact same time, the more I get to know him, the more tension crackles between us.
Like now. I can practically hear it.
Until Rex barks. And barks, and barks. There’s a pick-up truck pulling off the road.
Jared swallows hard. “Rod.”
I lower my hand. “And look. Lacey too.”
He brushes my hand along the seat, where they can’t see it. “OK?”
“OK.” I smile. “Lacey seems to have pretty good timing.”
“Oh my God!” Lacey picks the burrs out of Salem’s tail as I wrap her legs. “I heard you took Jared off the island!”
I straighten, smooth the saddle pad over the mare’s back. “Well, he didn’t have much choice Lace. He was in a lot of pain.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think he would have gone for me. Or my dad. Or his mom. We’ve all begged him. He would have stayed here and suffered. He likes you.”
“I don’t know Lacey. You wait until you have a tooth abscess and then figure out if you think anything would stop you from going to the dentist.” But my insides are warm. He likes me. It’s amazing to hear somebody else say it.
I pinch the inside of my wrist. Consider the source.
OK, true. But it’s still nice to hear.
We still haven’t picked up Tom’s jumps, but, turns out the reason Rod and Lacey showed up was to bring over a couple of the jumps Lacey uses with Cisco. “Or, as I like to call them, the obstacles he uses to time his refusals,” Lacey says, and I laugh out loud.
“I’m serious Meg. You should see him. This might be the first time any horse ever jumps over these things.”
I warm up while Lacey directs Rod and Jared in setting up the jumps.
My mind never stops. Heels down, toes in, leg on, seat light, shoulders back, hands quiet. Quiet. Quiet!
And Salem sends the messages right back to me. I’m not ready yet. I’m still stiff. I don’t want to take your contact. It’s hard work.
I’m tempted to take shortcuts. To jiggle my hands. To trick her into looking pretty, even if she isn’t working as hard as she should.
Be patient. I need to work hard if I expect her to. Use your leg.
I breathe, letting tension out, gathering oxygen to fuel my muscles. Keep my hands still and gentle. Squeeze her sides. She arches her neck, then hollows it again. Arches her neck again, and her mouth comes alive through the bit and reins.
But is it the real deal? Are we really working, or is one of us cheating? This is where a coach, or at least a mirror, would be handy.
“She looks good. She’s tracking up.”
“Oh. Thanks Lace.”
“Anytime.”
We’re as ready as we’re ever going to be.
Is Jared right about my jumping? Have I been avoiding it on purpose? I let the thought float through my head as I put Salem on a nice, round circle, building her rhythm and establishing her bend.
I don’t think so, but there’s only one way to find out.
I point Salem at the first jump.
She pitches her ears at it, swings them back to me, and I give her a tiny nudge with my leg and a reassuring, “Go girl” and hold her mouth just enough for support, not enough to get in the way.
Just like on the lunge line, she reaches forward into a canter and, just like on the lunge line, she takes off a stride out. I’m glad I watched her jump before doing it with her myself because, thank goodness, I’m ready. I keep my hands well forward up her neck, and put an exaggerated loop into the reins to keep from catching her mouth on the landing.
My heart leaps with her, and continues racing after the jump.
From excitement, though – and pride – but not fear.
“That was good!” Lacey yells.
“It was great!” I agree.
And it’s shown me exactly what we need to work on. Pacing, and smoothness, and accuracy, of course – always accuracy.
But not courage, or heart, which are the things you can’t really teach.
Salem’s not Major, and that’s OK. She’s brave, and eager, and smart, and sure-footed.
I may not want to show her, but I sure love schooling her, and that’s OK too.
Because, glancing over at Lacey, pink-cheeked, with her hands clasped in front of her, I’m pretty sure I know someone who would like to show this mare.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It’s my birthday, but I haven’t told anyone here. Not Jared, or Lacey, and I haven’t even reminded Carl and Betsy, who’ve been busy and distracted with the B&B booked solid for ten straight days.
The thing is, I’m perfectly happy. I have everythin
g I need. So why make a big deal about it?
Slate, of course, remembers. I take my cell phone while I hack Salem, and somewhere on our travels it makes a connection. When I get back Slate’s name in my inbox makes me smile.
Happy birthday Miss Meg. How’s the awkward cowboy? Any birthday kisses?
A noise at the barn door sends me whirling around, shoving the phone in my back pocket. It’s just the barn cat though; Jared’s working at Rod’s today. The text is cute between Slate and I; mortifying if Jared were to read it.
I make myself a whole box of Kraft Dinner for lunch and drown it in ketchup. Happy Birthday to me!
Then I take a book to the hammock – one of my favourites; already read and re-read half-a-dozen times – and read it cover-to-cover again.
I turn the last page with a sigh, and realize the breeze has died.
I’m so hot.
Ugh. Really sticky.
I have to get out of this hammock.
I look out to the sparkling river and, on the way, my eye catches the rowboat. That’s it. I haven’t been out on the water since the beginning of the summer.
I takes less than five minutes to pull everything together, and I’m shoving the light boat out into the bay, and rowing in search of the missing breeze.
It’s not in the bay.
The only thing more still than the air, is the water. When it’s like this, I can see all the way to the bottom. Long fronds of underwater plants, and fuzzy rocks at the very bottom, and sometimes man-made things, like an old anchor, or a boat propeller.
The only ripples are made by my oars in the water, and the drips that pour off them when I rest.
When I reach the middle of the bay, I row in a slow circle. There are lives going on all around me – in the occasional houses and farms on the land stretching down to the shore, and in the boats way out in the shipping channel – but here, right now, I’m totally alone.
It’s time.
I fish around in my back pocket and take out the braid I fetched from my room when I decided to do this.