Cowgirl

by Nance Sparks

  Carol worked her way across the street. It wasn’t much farther than the mailbox and she was becoming an expert on the crutches. As Carol made her way closer, she could hear men calling out numbers, saws running, and loud rock music. She couldn’t imagine being able to focus on the details with all that commotion. Carol looked around the job site, wondering which guy was Trevor.

  “Ms. Matthews, over here.” Trevor waved. He was jogging toward her. “I owe you an apology.”

  “I’m not following you. What’s going on?” Carol looked at the young man. A bandana kept long scraggly hair out of his face, and he was missing a few teeth. She imagined he had quite a life story.

  “Well, see, the thing is it started raining and I had a box of stuff on the tailgate of my truck, but I tossed it in the truck with my tools and my gear so it wouldn’t get soaked. I guess I forgot all about it, but then I went to grab my impact driver this morning and saw the box. When I looked inside, I knew I’d screwed up royally. The boss gave me your number.”

  “Trevor, what’s in the box?”

  Carol followed Trevor to the back of a rusted old pickup truck. There was a tattered box sitting on the tailgate. He motioned Carol to the box.

  “You see, when we were pulling off the second story, I was sent up in the boom after they removed the tree. I saw this stuff in the rubble and thought you might like to have it.”

  Carol looked in the box. She instantly recognized her aunt’s purse. Beneath it was her jewelry box and a photograph of Aunt Suzie and Uncle Frank that had always been on their dresser. She lifted the photo and there was Uncle Frank’s wallet and his key ring in the same wooden dish he’d pull them out of when she was a kid and it was time to go to town for coffee with the guys, which always meant ice cream for her. Tears welled in her eyes as she ran her fingers over the fragile mementos of another life.

  “Again, I’m really sorry it’s been in my truck all this time.” Trevor reached up and ruffled his scraggly hair.

  “No harm done. I’m not the least bit upset. I’m quite grateful to have these things. Thank you for rescuing them from the rubble. I appreciate it more than you could know.” Carol smiled, hoping to reassure him.

  “Do you need me to carry this stuff across the way for you? I don’t mind, seeing how you have crutches and all,” Trevor said.

  Carol reached into the box and picked up her uncle’s key ring. She looked over to the driveway. There sat the Impala, in the same spot her uncle had parked it in after his last trip up to the coffee shop. Carol thought about it for a second. The Impala was an automatic, no clutch. She had wheels!

  “Actually, would you mind carrying it over to that car?” Carol jingled the keys.

  “No, ma’am, not at all.” Trevor smiled, his tongue briefly poking through the space where a tooth had once been. Carol tried not to stare. She turned and led them to the Impala.

  “Well, I’d best get back to work. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Matthews. I’m real sorry for your loss.” Trevor set the box in the back seat.

  “Thank you again, Trevor. I appreciate it.”

  Carol climbed awkwardly behind the wheel of the car, her crutches riding shotgun, the door closed. She held the keys in her hand for a moment. She drew in a deep breath. She could smell Aunt Suzie’s perfume and Uncle Frank’s soap. She touched the worn spot in the leather of the steering wheel, where Uncle Frank always rested his hand. The package of spearmint gum that he always had in the cup holder was sitting there, one piece missing. It was comforting and sad at the same time. Carol slid the key into the ignition and started the car. She looked into the review mirror and saw Aren’s barn and the open loft door. More and more, that was feeling like home. Time to get back to that soup and figure out what was missing.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Carol Matthews?” the nurse called into the waiting room.

  Carol stood up, positioning her crutches beneath her arms.

  “Please follow me. We’ll take a few X-rays and then the doctor will meet with you in exam room four.”

  “Thank you,” Carol said, following the nurse to the X-ray area.

  After the four X-rays were taken at various awkward angles, she waited on the exam table in room four. It seemed to take forever. Finally, the doctor entered the room.

  “Hello, Ms. Matthews, I am Dr. Kumar. Well, there’s good news, very good news. Your leg is healing up much better than expected. Looks like you’ll get to go home with a walking cast today.”

  “Holy crap! That is great news! Are you serious?”

  “I do not joke around about broken bones,” Dr. Kumar said, very matter-of-fact.

  “How exciting, let’s get to it! Oh, it’s been so hot, I’ll be so excited to get this thing off! What are my restrictions?”

  “Well, it’s been just over five weeks since the fracture, and while the fibula was fractured, it was aligned almost perfectly and has knitted quite well. The notes from the hospital state that the tibia was also fractured, but it must have been an anomaly on the single X-ray that was taken. I can find no break of the tibia bone in any of the X-rays taken today. I checked each of the four different positions and nothing shows up. You were very fortunate, Ms. Matthews. While the cast wasn’t completely necessary, it certainly helped speed up recovery since you avoided any weight bearing on that leg. I’d recommend the walking boot for at least a few days to a week. The fibula isn’t a weight bearing bone, but maintains ankle stability, so beyond that, I’d let discomfort be your guide. Certainly, come back in if you experience any sharp pain or feel you are unable to bear weight.”

  “Oh my God, that’s the best news ever! Thank you so much!”

  “You are most welcome. Please, give me one moment to gather the proper tools and we’ll have you test out the boot. If all is well, you’ll be on your way.”

  The cast came off in no time at all. The nurse, who insisted Carol call her Kelly and not just nurse, was so kind. She gently washed the lower leg and applied some soothing lotion to the chafed area. Carol savored how the air felt on her skin. It was short-lived. Kelly slid on a thin sock up to her knee before fitting her in the walking boot.

  “You’ll want to keep a sock on your leg to protect the skin from sweat. Here are a few extra-long socks. If it feels sweaty, change it. You can take it off to shower or when you won’t be walking on it,” Kelly said.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Carol tucked the spare socks into her purse.

  Kelly handed Carol her crutches. “Let’s take a few steps up and down the hall, just to see how it fits.”

  Carol used the crutches to support her weight at first. It felt a little weak, but it also felt amazing to step down on that leg. She supported much less of her weight with the crutches by the end of the long hall, where Kelly swapped the crutches for a cane. Carol tried the hallway again with great delight, and she felt more stable with the cane. Another step toward freedom. She couldn’t wait to share the news with Aren.

  Carol left the doctor’s office and headed back to the farm. Aren was just coming up from the back of the property on Doc when she pulled up to the barn. Carol watched Aren, so relaxed in the saddle, while the horse trotted up to the hitching post. God, she couldn’t get any sexier.

  “Hey, you, what did the doctor say?” Aren asked, sliding down off the horse.

  Carol opened the car door and stepped out. She put the cane on her good side, as advised by Kelly and started walking toward Aren in the new boot. “It went this good!”

  “Look at you. That’s fantastic news!” Aren walked up to Carol. “What’s the first thing you’d like to do?”

  “Doc’s saddled up, so could we maybe go for a ride? Dr. Kumar said I had no restrictions. The cane is just for balance while I get used to the boot, and the boot is just for a couple of days. Apparently, the shin bone wasn’t broken, just the little one on the side and it’s pretty much healed.” Carol felt like she was begging, but she didn’t care. “Can we?”

  “I
might have a stirrup that will hold that boot, if you’re sure you want to.”

  “Oh, I’m sure!”

  Carol walked with Aren to retrieve Wyatt and then followed her again to gather the tack. She felt giddy to be back in the saddle again. Aren fitted the larger stirrup onto the saddle and then helped Carol mount up on Wyatt. The stirrup worked perfectly.

  “How’s Doc doing on the trails? I’m excited to ride him,” Carol said, stroking Wyatt’s neck.

  “He’s doing pretty good. Maybe someday you can ride Doc, but he’s still pretty green. I know Wyatt will keep you safe. Doc may spook if something scares him, and if he threw you, I’d never forgive myself. That’s why I’ll be riding him until I know he’s safe enough for you.” Aren moved easily into the saddle and Doc’s ears twitched like he was listening.

  “Ah, so because I don’t know how to milk a cow, or drive horses with a wagon, you assume I don’t know how to ride?” Carol laughed, adjusting to the saddle. She raised herself up out of the saddle, and found that her foot and leg felt good and sturdy. They headed off the farm and onto a trail at the back.

  Once the horses were warmed up, Carol looked over to Aren. “I admit I’ve never trained a horse or lived on a farm, but I never said I couldn’t ride!” With that, Carol nudged her heels into Wyatt’s sides. “Let’s go, boy!” Wyatt opened up, extending into a strong gallop. Carol turned in her saddle, and Aren and Doc were right at her side.

  They allowed the horses to have their head and enjoy the run while in the open field, but Carol gently pulled back on the reins as they approached the woods. She’d never been on these trails and knew Aren should lead.

  “That was amazing! I loved it!” Carol’s heart was pounding. “I’ve never ridden a draft horse before. I learned to ride on a variety of skinny gaited horses. I love feeling the muscles working beneath me, and the gallop wasn’t nearly as rough as they told us it would be.”

  “Where’d you learn to ride?” Aren asked.

  “My parents insisted I was active in something. I wasn’t really into sports, didn’t care much about the piano or any other musical instrument, but I loved horses. I had every Breyer horse I could get my hands on, neatly displayed on shelves in my bedroom. After a lot of convincing, they finally agreed to send me to horse camp. I attended each and every summer. We’d spend all summer riding, grooming, and caring for our assigned horse. I can’t recall a happier childhood memory than those spent out on the trails.” Carol smiled and tilted her face toward the sun.

  “What was your childhood like? Did you enjoy life as young Carol Matthews?” Aren asked as they plodded along down the trail through the dense woods.

  “I had a great childhood. My parents were strict but fair. Schoolwork always came first. I had certain chores that I had to do every day before I could change into my play clothes and go outside with my friends. I grew up in the suburbs and all the kids in the neighborhood hung out together. We’d take turns when deciding whose pool we’d swim in during the summer and whose mom had to tolerate our wet boots and clothes in the winter. I had a complete storybook childhood.” Carol smiled. “Now my teen years, I think those were years that my parents would have liked to exchange me.” She flinched at her choice of words but kept going. “But my childhood was great.”

  “Were you a rebellious youngster with no respect for your elders?” Aren asked.

  “I was a snotty, self-centered bitch,” Carol admitted. “I took off, snuck out, drank, smoked. I was every parent’s worst nightmare. I was struggling with my identity, with my sexuality. I was angry at the world and thought that the world owed me. I was absolute hell on wheels.”

  “What snapped you out of that? I can’t even imagine that side of you,” Aren said.

  “My parents gave me a choice. Counseling or reform school. I started counseling at seventeen. After the first session, I knew if I kept up my attitude that I was going to crash and burn or end up in jail. I had an amazing counselor who listened without judgment. She was the first person I told about my sexuality. Believe me, it was much easier telling her than it was my parents. I quit drinking for the most part, I quit smoking completely. I found respect for myself. I found that I liked myself a whole lot better as a respectful and considerate person than I did as a partying asshole.” Carol shook her head.

  “What did your parents say when you told them that you were a lesbian?”

  Carol grew quiet for a moment. “I never did tell them. They died in that car accident and I hadn’t mustered up the courage to tell them yet. I never told Aunt Suzie and Uncle Frank either. My mom and Aunt Suzie were raised in the South and both were faithful Southern Baptists. Aunt Suzie probably more than Mom, but some things are just not okay with the Baptist church or in the South in general, and being gay was a big one. I’d already been enough of a disappointment with my behavior. Now there’s no one else in my family left to tell. Do you think I’m a coward?”

  “You’re asking me, the person who couldn’t tell the woman she was in love with, that she was in love with her, if I think you’re a coward?” Aren twisted in her saddle and smiled. “You’ll get no judgment from me, young lady!”

  “Pretty boring, aren’t I?” Carol asked.

  “Not at all, it’s great that you had a joyful childhood. I admire you for knowing your limits and accepting the help when you questioned your identity. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re amazing to talk to, and you ride like no one I’ve ever met. I could hardly call anything about you boring,” Aren said.

  Aren turned Doc off the forest road. Carol followed suit, patting Wyatt’s neck. Aren whistled for Bailey who was still on the forest road up ahead of them. Carol looked up in time to see Aren looking over her shoulder, a mischievous grin on her face. She watched Aren bend her knees and knew what she was about to do. Carol beat her to it as she nudged Wyatt’s sides, urging him into a full run. “Race you home!”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  As they were unsaddling the horses, Aren thought about Carol’s childhood. She’d never known anyone with a normal childhood, which made it abnormal. She wondered how a woman like Carol could even be interested in someone like her. Someone with so much hurt, anger, and disaster in her past. She didn’t feel worthy of someone with Carol’s light, sweet personality. She shook the thought and focused on checking the last of Doc’s hooves for rocks.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been in the house over there?” Carol asked.

  “I haven’t gone back inside except to clean up, drain the water lines, and steal the pot belly stove. So, I guess it’s been about four years.” Aren momentarily paused the good brushing she was giving Doc’s coat to look at the house.

  “Did you ever think of just knocking it down and building a small cabin?” Carol picked up another brush from the tack box and started brushing Wyatt.

  “Still not liking life in the loft, eh?” Aren asked, laughing.

  “No, no, I like the loft just fine, but wouldn’t it be a nice luxury to have a full-size kitchen sink, not just a single bowl, and a stove with an oven, or a refrigerator that held more than a couple of gallons of milk and a bit of butter, or a freezer that wasn’t four hundred yards away? When is the last time you made bread or baked anything? Do you know how hard it is to plan something for dinner to surprise you when all I have to work with is a Coleman stove, outdoor fire pit, and a Crock-Pot?” Carol asked.

  Watching the progress on Carol’s aunt and uncle’s house did have Aren thinking more and more about fixing up the old farmhouse. There were some good memories within those four walls. Laughter and teasing over who washed and who dried the dinner dishes. Then, once they had decided, the silly silent water fights that would begin as they flicked water at each other when the other wasn’t looking, and then giggling about it until Phyllis would put a stop to the fun. Aren thinking about helping Phyllis unload groceries and noticing that she’d picked up the double stuffed Oreos that Aren had begged for all week. She thought about Thanks
giving and how after dinner she’d go out with Ron to cut down a young pine for a Christmas tree. They’d tie it onto the sled to drag up to the house. Later that night, they’d make hot chocolate and decorate the tree. She hadn’t had a Christmas tree since her senior year in high school. The thought of putting one up always made her feel empty and alone. Maybe it was time to change that. Maybe, if Carol stuck around, she’d have company this year.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t push.” Carol’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

  “You’re not pushing. I’ve been thinking about it lately too. The rebuild going on across the street has somewhat inspired me. That and you.” Aren smiled. “Getting all that stuff out the other day helped me remember the good things too.”

  Aren led Doc and Wyatt to the pasture gate. Carol opened the gate so that the horses could go run and play. Aren walked back toward the front of the barn carrying halters and lead ropes. “I’ll be right back.”

  Maybe it was time to see if the good memories could silence the bad. She took the loft stairs two at a time. There was a key hook at the top of the stairs where cobwebs and dust covered the old keys. Aren grabbed the set for the front door and made her way back downstairs.

  “Come on, let’s see if I can stand being in there with all the ghosts.”

  Bailey ran past them as if she knew she was going to her old home.

  They walked silently side by side around the front of the house that faced the road. A driveway leading to a two-car garage was off to their left. The porch was covered in soft beige vinyl siding, the windows were trimmed with a deep barn red. Aren loved how the colors complemented each other and was glad she’d had the house re-sided after she’d purchased the farm. Aren helped Carol up the steps, taking each step one at a time since the new boot didn’t flex at all. Aren was shaking so much that she had to use both hands to get the key into the lock. She unlocked the door and shoved the keys into her front pocket. Before she could ask, Carol had tucked her hand into Aren’s. The gentle squeeze gave her the confidence to turn the knob and start to push the front door open.