Page 76 of Everything We Give

IAN

I pace the lobby, waiting for Reese. She didn’t reply to my text last night or voice mail this morning. Hopefully she’ll make an appearance.

I glance at my watch. It’s after eight. We’re getting a later start than planned, but I’m not complaining, too much. Aimee and I stayed awake late into the night because ...

I missed her. Simple as that.

I missed my wife and that connection we have. So I took the time to show her just how much I missed her.

Carrying a brown paper bag, Aimee meets me in the lobby. “Any luck with Reese’s Pieces?”

I snort a laugh and shake my head. “Whatcha got in there?” Pulling at the lip of Aimee’s bag, I look inside.

“Paulo made us lunch.”

“Who’s Paulo?”

“The chef. I got the pulpo recipe from him. He’s making us some tonight.”

My stomach goes for a spin. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course I am.” She nudges my shoulder. “Let’s go find some horses.”

We make our way to the rental and settle into the car. As I sync my phone with the car’s Bluetooth, a message pings from Reese. I glance at the notification. It’s short and not sweet. She has other plans today.

In an effort to not think the article is a lost cause, I launch my Nathaniel Rateliff station on Pandora. “It’s just you and me today.” I kiss Aimee’s cheek and reverse out of the parking lot.

“Sounds like a perfect day to me.”

We drive to Sabucedo and hike the same trail Reese and I took yesterday. The hillside is muddy, but the weather is perfect. Wisps of clouds blotch the expanse of blue like the brown-and-white piebald coat of a horse. I don’t point out the deceased foal when we pass the tree that sheltered Reese and me in yesterday’s rainstorm. Instead, we pass the time talking about my last trip to Spain, my weeks traveling through the country, and the long weekend in Sabucedo and at the Rapa. We’ve been hiking for almost ninety minutes when we crest the hill and Aimee gasps.

“Look!”

Below us lies the rustic village of Sabucedo with its beige stucco walls and red tile roofs. On the hillside, about a hundred yards down from where we stand, is a small herd. I quickly count twenty-eight heads, a stallion, his mares, and several foals.

Slipping off my pack, I pull out my Nikon and the 70-300 mm lens. It’s light and compact with a sharp autofocus. Perfect for moving around with as the animals graze and wander. It’s also the ideal lens to capture them in action should they decide to gallop away. I also unpack my stand and the camera’s remote so I can capture some stills of the countryside.

“They’re right there,” Aimee exclaims. “So beautiful.”

I glance from the herd to my wife. “Thisis what I came to see.” I grin, grateful we found them. Reese should be seeing this.

Turning on the camera, I check the battery and add a backup battery and chip to one of the gazillion pockets lining my pant legs. Maybe we can catch up with Reese this evening and show her the pictures.

“I count about thirty of them,” Aimee says. “Is this all?”

“It’s only one herd. Over two thousand were recorded roaming the hills throughout northern Spain back in the 1970s. There are just under five hundred today.”

“That’s tragic. What happened to them?”

“Poachers, predators, poor economic conditions.” I zip up my pack. “The villagers do manage overpopulation because there’s a lot of competition for grazing land with farmers. But right now, all they want is what’s left of the population to thrive.”

Aimee shields her eyes from the sun’s glare. “They look different from regular horses.”

“They’ve adapted to their environment.” I take in the herd, their hardy frames and shaggy chestnut coats. Through my lens, I see that some of the mares have longer, thicker hair around their muzzles, telling me they’re older than the others. I point at a thick hedge. “See those gorse bushes over there? They love to eat them. The hair on their faces protects them from the bushes and their thick coats insulate them from the weather. We’re less than fifty kilometers from the coast. It gets cold and misty up here.”

“Are we a safe distance from them?”

I do a visual estimate and guess we’re about fifty meters from the herd.

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