Page 133 of How You See Me
Hayes
The rest of the ride gives me time to recharge from my roadside disaster, but I’m still not ready for real food. I opted out when Josie got hungry, and we stopped at a restaurant to order her a salad to go. Whether she picked it to be kind or wanted to eat light, I’m grateful either way. If she’d ordered something with spice, I might’ve jumped out the window.
Simply envisioning the last meal I ate and what happened afterward makes me queasy. The spicy tacos tasted decent on the way down. Not so much on the way back up.
We reach the Grand Canyon in time for the last horseback tour. Before setting off behind our guide, Josie and I take pictures with our horses. I send a shot of us together to Mom, but she doesn’t respond.
She keeps telling me not to worry and to have fun, so I’m trying not to dwell on her silence. But it’s tough being pulled in two directions—between there and here, fear and joy. I want to be home, but I also don’t want to miss what might be my last adventure with Josie.
The sun blazes high above as we sway in rhythm with the horses, winding along a dusty trail. The canyon, a sea of rust, amber, and orangish cliffs, juts toward the sky, jagged and fierce, like the teeth of some ancient, slumbering beast.
Josie rides ahead, her hair spilling out from beneath the wide-brimmed hat she bought at the welcome center. She’s a natural in the saddle, perfectly balanced and unbothered. When we were introduced to our horses, she didn’t show one ounce of trepidation, and it hit me. I may never fully understand this girl. And frankly, I don’t want to. Every day with her is like opening your favorite gift and realizing it’s even better than your wish.
Every so often, she twists in her seat to check on me, her sparkling eyes and buzzing energy showcasing how much she loves this activity and me.
“You okay? You look like you’re one bump away from hitting the dirt,” she teases.
“I’m conserving energy.” I shift uncomfortably in the saddle, knowing she’s right. My thighs are already protesting, and we’ve only been riding for twenty minutes. I can run five miles in full combat gear without breaking a sweat, but put me on a stocky, chestnut gelding named Pancake and I’m ready to tap out.
Josie laughs, a bright, carefree sound that bounces off the canyon walls, loosening those pesky strings around my rib cage. The same ones that always tighten when I think about Ava or my future.
She reins in her horse and waits for me to catch up. “The horse can sense your tension, you know? You’re probably making poor Pancake nervous.”
On cue, Pancake flicks an ear and snorts. It sounds suspiciously judgmental. I console him with a pat on his neck. “Sorry, buddy. I’m doing my best here.”
Josie reaches out and brushes my arm, and even through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, her touch sends a current zipping through me. Between that and the horse’s irritated impatience, relaxing may not be in the cards for me.
“You’ve got this,” she encourages. “We’re in one of the most beautiful places on earth, and you’re riding a horse named after the yummy breakfast you make me. Tell me that’s not fate.”
With a laugh, I try to sit a little looser in the saddle. "It certainly is."
Soon, we round a bend, and the canyon opens into a sweeping expanse of cliffs and mesas with the Colorado River gleaming like a ribbon of liquid silver.
Josie circles and rides up beside me, eyes locked on the scenery. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I say, watching her instead—the quiet awe on her face. The way the sunlight kisses her cheekbones,adding a touch of rose to her skin. The way she bites her bottom lip as she adjusts the camera settings.
“I can’t wait for your painting of this,” I say, already knowing it will take my breath away as she does.
She points the camera at me, the shutter clicking away.
“I rather paint you. Look left, cowboy.” She gestures without moving the camera.
Because we’re doing a “cowboy-like thing” today, she asked me to wear the hat. She said it makes me irresistible. With that kind of reasoning, I couldn't deny her. Not when this hat drives her wild with desire and rewards us both.
We sit for a while, taking pictures of the view and each other before urging the horses forward again. I send another photo to Mom. Still no response. Still trying not to read into it.
In the quiet, my thoughts switch to Ava like they always do. To how grateful I am that she pushed me to take this trip. This is the most at peace I’ve felt in months. Other than hearing Josie say she loves me, I’ve never been happier than I am right now.
I’m taking it all in—my surroundings, my gratitude, my girl—when all hell breaks loose. As we come to a scraggly patch of low bushes, a jackrabbit bursts out of the underbrush, shooting past us like a furry rocket. Josie’s horse rears up, letting out a startled cry, and for one terrifying second, it looks like she might get thrown.
“Whoa! Easy, girl!” Josie clings to the saddle horn, knuckles white, but somehow, she stays put. Her horseprances nervously, then steadies under her reassuring touch.
I ride up beside her, my pulse hammering. “That was crazy.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, still patting the horse’s neck. “Yeah. Someone didn’t appreciate the kamikaze rabbit.”
The culprit stops a few yards away, twitching its nose like we’re the problem.
