Turning toward the door instead, she grabbed her keys as she ruthlessly replaced the words “procrastination” and “avoidance” that were floating in her head, with words like “justified” and “food is necessary.” Anticipating escape, all five dogs suddenly decided to race her to the door and in the scuffle of pushing them aside she bumped into an outbound mail cubby hanging on the wall. A couple items fell out and, as she picked them up, Matty noticed that the topmost envelope was addressed to the telephone company, stamped and ready to go.
Pausing, she looked at all three of the envelopes. The second was addressed to the power company and the third to someone in DC. None of them had return labels, but reasoning that it would be a bad thing to run out of power or lose access to a landline, she shoved all three into her purse, just in case, pushed her way past the dogs, and locked the door behind her.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the town of Windsor. Making her way around what was perhaps the most backward, wayward roundabout she’d ever driven through, she slowed down as she traveled down Main Street. She passed a number of quaint-looking stores including an ice cream shop, a quilt shop, and a gift boutique. She also couldn’t help but notice that there were two bookstores, one new and one used, on the few short blocks. Pulling into an empty parking spot across from the one selling used books, she acknowledged that the town might actually have something in its favor—with two bookstores, how bad could it be?
She hadn’t seen a real grocery store on her short trip through town, but she stepped into a small health food store she’d spotted and found most of what she needed. The man behind the counter was nice enough to give her directions to a farm stand that carried both fresh vegetables and local meats, which was all she needed to round out her pantry for a week or so. Also at the recommendation of the clerk, she crossed the street to Frank’s Fed Up and Fulfilled Café to grab a mocha before heading out to the farm.
She eyed the menu hanging from the wall behind the register as she stood in line. Much to her mother’s chagrin, Matty didn’t often eat breakfast; she wasn’t interested in having it now, either, but figured it was always good to know what was available.
Stepping up to the counter she looked at the man on the other side. He certainly wasn’t going to win any fashion awards any time soon, but it was the fleece vest he was wearing over his shirt that caught her eye. It was already pushing eighty-five degrees with about the same amount of humidity and in deference to economics, she assumed, the air conditioning wasn’t exactly cranking.
“Aren’t you hot?” she asked.
He looked at her, hovering a pen over an order pad. “What do you want?” he answered.
She almost laughed. He stared back at her, an eyebrow raised, daring her to take up more of his time. Whoever he was, he was throwing down the gauntlet. But she was pretty sure he’d never encountered a Puerto Rican girl from the Bronx with a heavy DC influence before. Matty leaned against the counter and smiled.
“I’d like an iced mocha, please.”
“We don’t make iced drinks,” he responded.
“You do now. You know, it’s not that hard. Just the mocha and a little ice.”
“We don’t make iced drinks,” he repeated.
“I understand. It is hard; you have to have the right mix of drink to ice so that it doesn’t get too watered down and all that. How about this,” she continued, placing her hands on the counter and leaning toward him. “You make me a nice little mocha and then hand me a big ol’ cup of ice and I’ll take care of it. That way, if it doesn’t live up to your obviously high,” she paused and let her eyes drift over his clothing, “standards, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.”
She saw his jaw tighten as his eyes narrowed on her. She continued to smile but it was fifty/fifty whether he would actually make her what she‘d asked for or kick her out. But if there was one thing she’d learned in life, it was to never let them see you sweat.
She raised a brow at him, issuing a silent challenge.
After what seemed like hours—silent, still hours—but what was probably closer to ten seconds, the man threw his pen down and began muttering to himself as he stabbed buttons on the register.
“That’ll be three-fifty.”
She knew better than to gloat, so she silently pulled the money out of her purse and handed it to him. Then she dropped a generous tip in the tip jar and stepped aside to wait for her beverage. A few minutes later, she walked out, iced mocha in hand. The man’s attitude didn’t bother her; in fact, she kind of liked it. At the very least, it showed that some people in this town had character. She might not love that character, but in her opinion, it was always better to have it than not.
After swinging by the local farm stand to pick up some veggies and meats, she made her way back to Brad’s. Taking more time than was reasonable to put the groceries away, she made an early lunch, cleaned up, brushed the dogs, and washed the cat bowls before finally admitting to herself that what she was doing was procrastinating.
Once she acknowledged it, the type-A part of her insisted she “beat” her inclination, buckle down, and start writing. But another part suggested that it wouldn’t be such a big deal to explore Brad’s gardens—that it might even be inspirational if she did. Of course, standing in the kitchen experiencing an acute case of analysis paralysis, she knew the former wasn’t as easy as it sounded or the latter as helpful as it could be given that it was unlikely Brad’s beautiful New England garden would do much to inspire her modern-day political thriller set in Beijing and New York City.
And because she couldn’t quite bring herself to make a decision either way, she started to clean some more. She was tidying up Brad’s already tidy shelves in the office off of the kitchen when she took a moment to look out the big picture window onto the cow pasture.
It was a picturesque view of a gently rolling field. Green grass grew to knee height and the light brown cows, reminiscent of Norman from the movie City Slickers, dotted the landscape. Only they weren’t grazing.
She frowned and walked over to the window to get a closer look. When she had a better view of the six bovines, her head, of its own accord, cocked to the side. Scattered near a few of the large maple trees that grew along the edge of the field, the cows were lying down. All of them.
Was this normal? She had no idea. Her mind flittered to the card Dash Kent had left the day before and his offer of help if she had any questions. But it seemed ridiculous to call a vet and ask if it was normal for cows to be lying down. Opting for the next best thing, or what she thought might be the next best thing, she flipped open the laptop she’d set up earlier, logged into the wireless account using the credentials Brad had included in his directions, and began to research.
But several sites later, Matty wasn’t reassured. All the articles she found said that it was normal for cows to lie down, but they also said that lying down could be a sign of illness. Cursing her half brother to hell and back while simultaneously preparing her excuses to him should one of his cows die, she dug out Dash’s card and placed the call.
“Dr. Kent,” he answered.
“Hi, um, Dash,” she hesitated, wondering if he would remember her. “It’s Matty Brooks, Brad Brooks’s sister. We met yesterday.”
“Of course. Is everything all right?”
She paused and in that brief moment of silence the dogs erupted with barks, startling the crap out of her.
“Matty?” Dash asked. “Is everything okay?” he repeated.
She shook her head at herself, “Yes, everything is fine. Well, at least I think it is.” The dogs were pawing at the door so she shoved them aside and opened it. They all went barreling out, leaving a sudden quiet.
“Matty?”
“Sorry, I got distracted for a moment. I think someone is coming up the drive, but that’s not why I called.”
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
She walked out onto the patio and watched as a sleek, black Porsche
made its way up Brad’s driveway. She had no idea who might be visiting, but she pulled her attention back to Dash even as she kept a wary eye on the car.
“Yes, sorry, someone is pulling up the drive and the dogs went a little crazy. But the reason I’m calling is because the cows are lying down. All of them. And before you think I’m totally useless or crazy, I did look it up online. The problem is that everything I looked at said it was both normal and could be a sign of illness. So I’m calling you.”
A moment went by before he answered—a moment in which she was certain he was calculating her intelligence.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” he said. “In the kind of heat we’re having, it’s not unusual for them to take a break, kind of like we do. Just keep an eye on them. If they seem really uncomfortable, give me a call back and I can swing by.”
“Uncomfortable how?”
“Biting their stomachs, coughing, rolling, that sort of thing. Or if they haven’t gotten up in the next few hours, definitely give me a call.”
“Hmm, okay,” she said. She heard him and she even understood. But the Porsche had parked and a man was unfolding himself from the driver’s side door. He was much taller than the majority of Asian men she knew, but he had the same lean figure shared by many Chinese. His features were angular and it was clear from his impeccable suit and the form underneath it that he took care of himself.
This, she thought, must be the expert Brad promised her.
“Mr. Zheng?” she asked as he walked toward her.
“Call me Chen, please. You must be Matty Brooks, Brad’s sister,” he said, extending his hand.
“Matty?” Dash’s voice cut into her mind. She’d forgotten she was on the phone. She held up a finger asking Chen to wait a moment. He nodded and turned his attention to the field behind the house.
“I’m sorry, Dash. I got distracted. Again,” she said, returning to the phone. “A friend of Brad’s just showed up. Thank you for taking my call and I’ll let you know if the cows seem to be having more trouble.”
“Matty, are you sure it’s a friend of Brad’s?”
“What? Yes, I’m sure.” It was an odd question and it brought her up short.
“Okay, as long as you’re sure,” his voice held a tone she couldn’t quite place.
“I am. Thank you, again. Hopefully, I won’t have to call again, but I appreciate your help, really, I do. I’m sorry to call and run, but I do need to go.”
He mumbled something as she hung up. It didn’t sound like an indictment of her intelligence but it was just gruff enough that she was pretty sure she was glad she didn’t hear it.
“Everything all right?” Chen asked.
“Everything is fine. I trust Brad told you what I’m looking for?”
“An expert in modern Chinese political history to help set the backdrop for your next New York Times bestseller? Yes, he might have mentioned it. And I’m happy to oblige.”
She smiled. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. Now, can I get you a drink while I interrogate you, Chen?”
CHAPTER 3
DASH PULLED INTO BRAD’S DRIVE wishing he could say he didn’t know what he was doing or why he felt the need to stop by. But much to his disgruntlement, he knew exactly why. Matty had called and he’d heard her voice. And then he had heard a man pull up. Jealousy didn’t quite define what he felt, but it was definitely a close kin.
The woman in question was standing in the garden with a tall, dark-haired man and they were watching Dash as he pulled his truck to a stop. Neither walked to greet him and they were each holding a glass of wine. His day hadn’t been all that great, a horse had colicked and nearly died and he’d spent a good chunk of his afternoon putting a dog’s hip back together after it had been hit by a car. And at this point, it didn’t look like the day was going to get any better.
“Matty,” he said, walking toward her.
“Dash,” she responded. “What are you doing here?” she added.
He tilted his head toward the pasture. “Thought I would stop by and see the cows.”
“That’s nice of you,” she smiled. “This is Dr. Chen Zheng,” she said, gesturing to the man at her side. “Chen, this is Dr. Dash Kent.”
“I should be going,” Zheng said after Dash shook his hand. “I didn’t realize how late it was and I have a dinner appointment up in Albany.”
Dash watched as Matty’s eyes darted between him and Zheng; she was obviously trying to get a read on the situation. After a moment, she turned to Zheng and held out her hand to take his wineglass.
“Thank you so much for coming out today, Chen. Talking with you has helped me more than you can imagine.”
Zheng smiled back and Dash looked away. “You’re very welcome. I’ll be up here for the next two weeks preparing for the next semester. You have my contact information; please call at any time. And these,” he said, holding up his empty glass and taking hers, “I can drop off myself. You can stay out here and check out the cows.”
Dash said nothing as the two said good-bye and stayed silent until Zheng had climbed into his Porsche and started down the driveway.
“You didn’t need to stop by, you know,” Matty said. It was a hell of a way to start the conversation. Nice and inviting.
“I was in the area.” He could feel her eyes on him, but he stayed focused on the field where the six cows grazed peacefully.
“I think they’re fine,” she said. “They were lying down by the trees over there.” She pointed to a line of big maples along the fence. “But when that quick summer storm came in, they all got up and moved under the trees out of the rain. Once it stopped, they started grazing and have been ever since.” She paused then added, “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Better to be safe than sorry,” Dash answered. “How are you getting along with the rest of the animals?”
“The dogs are great, the cats are cats, and I still don’t get having rabbits as pets, but I haven’t done anything dumb yet that might result in their demise—and the chickens, well, I have to admit, I kind of like them,” she said with a smile.
“The chickens?”
“I know,” she shrugged. “Seems like I should like the rabbits because they are pretty cute, right? But the chickens all seem to have personalities and they had fresh eggs waiting for me this morning. Can’t complain about that.”
“That is one of the benefits.”
“Although, like you said,” she continued, “if they keep giving me five eggs a day, I’m going to have so many I’m not sure I’ll be able to do anything with them. Don’t get me wrong, I can use them in baking, and I love them as a meal, but thirty-five eggs a week is a lot to go through, especially if I don’t have people around to share the baking with.”
“There’s a pancake breakfast in a few weeks. I’m sure they could use them if you have extras,” Dash suggested as they began to move through the garden. The storm Matty had mentioned had left the air feeling a little bit cooler and the smells of the garden were fresher, less dense, than they would be in high humidity.
“A pancake breakfast?” she asked.
“To support the volunteer fire department.”
She stopped and smiled. “That’s sweet.”
“That’s condescending,” he responded.
Matty laughed. “I know, you’re right. Even as I said it, it sounded that way. But I promise you that’s not the way I meant it. I mean, it really is nice. I’m used to black-tie fundraisers where all people care about is either getting their picture in the paper, getting something they want from someone else, or, better yet, meeting people who want something from them.” They stopped at the vegetable part of Brad’s garden. Dash could smell the tomatoes and fresh herbs, which prompted his stomach to remind him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“I think it’s nice that everyone comes together to support something that really does benefit the community,” she continued. “And I don’t assume everyone likes each other, but m
y guess is people probably come to catch up with friends and neighbors, too. I think it sounds fun.”
‘Fun’ isn’t exactly what Dash would call it, but that was mostly because his mother, who was one of the head organizers of the breakfast and had been for years, usually had him manning the griddle for four hours—inevitably after a night spent out on emergency calls. But it was nice, and he said so.
“This garden is amazing,” she said, changing the subject. “I think I’m going to make something Italian tonight with these tomatoes and the basil over there,” she pointed to her left as she bent over to check a couple of the bright red fruits. “I don’t know if you have any plans, but you’re welcome to join me.”
He heard the words. They even registered. But his mind was on one track at that particular moment, focused as he was on Matty’s well-rounded behind, which was being presented to him as she hunted for ripe tomatoes.
“Dash?” she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder.
“No.” His voice was abrupt and he knew, though she didn’t, that the force of his refusal had more to do with his family tradition than dinner.
Her eyebrows went up. “Uh, okay.”
He took a deep breath and very conscientiously pulled his mind back to the conversation. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s been a long day and I still have two more calls to make.”
She straightened and faced him, looking unsure about whether or not to believe his excuse. Her hair was down and looked thick lying across her shoulders and down her back. He wondered what she would do if he just slipped a hand behind the nape her neck, pulled her toward him, and kissed her.
“Dash?” A look glinted in her eye and he knew in that moment that if he did kiss her, she wouldn’t object in the slightest.
“I need to go,” he said, stepping back.
“Okay,” she said after a moment.
“I mean, I really,” he took another few steps back. “I really need to go. Please don’t hesitate to call again if you have any questions about the animals. I really don’t mind at all.”
These Sorrows We See Page 3