Page 14 of Till The Cows Come Home
“Or I could just break in before he gets there,” I suggested, raising my eyebrows.
“Missing the point,” she grumbled, unamused by my deflecting.
“You should have seen the papers, Ruby. It took everything in me not to gather them up and haul them here.”
“You still can,” she added, and the wheels in my head turned as I tried to envision a way to do so that would benefit the both of us, but limit the vulnerability that always seemed to surface when we were around each other.
“Thanks for coming over so quickly,” I sighed, settling my head onto her lap.
“Sage, you ask for help biannually. I practically tripped over my feet running here.”
I began to regret my plan as my alarm blared at three Monday morning, uncertainty immediately surfacing as I realized it was time to commit the closest thing I’d ever get to crime. I had decided last night that there was no harm in stopping over. If I snuck in before Miles began chores, I could feed Blossom and visit with everyone, leaving before his eyes even opened for the day. When I was caught trespassing over the weekend he didn’t seem bothered, just amused, and the benefits of snuggling Blossom were enough to persuade me into assuming the liability.
It took some convincing to get my body to rise, the sound of my shuffling slippers echoing through the quietness as I moved across the wooden floors to where I’d laid out my overalls and hoodie. After a few offbalanced attempts to slip on my pants and an embarrassing moment of getting my head stuck in the hole of my sweatshirt, I was finally clothed and ready to prepare food for the waiting feline freeloaders, who were thrilled at the shift in schedule. Once I was sure I had everything set, I grabbed my work bag and turned off the lights, locking up my apartment behind me.
To my relief, upon my arrival, all the lights were off. After gingerly closing my car door, I crept to the barn, attempting to keep myself unannounced for as long as possible. But as soon as I rounded the corner inside, Blossom stuck her head through her stall, bellowing at me impatiently as if her breakfast was late.
“Shh Baby! You’re a horrible accomplice,” I hissed.
My hands scrambled to mix up her milk replacer, knowing it was the only thing that would silence the ruckus she was creating. Unfortunately for me, it took slightly longer than I would have liked as I reacquainted myself with where things were. But the mooing finally stopped as I offered her the bottle, her tail happily swishing as she devoured it.
I smiled at the calf in front of me, thankful for her company, but I couldn't help the pang of sorrow that settled in my chest. This time back was invaluable, but as much as I tried to deny it, a sliver of me was disappointed that I didn’t get to see the daily operations in motion. I missed the radio breaking the silence, and the small talk that lasted through the morning. Being alone here was better than nothing, but it sure wasn’t the same.
If I didn’t leave soon, I’d run into Miles, and as alluring as that sounded, I was still holding onto his harsh words, so I began my cleanup. A part of me considered sticking around, allowing myself to get caught again, but the thought of him not being so amused this time was enough to move my feet towards the door. On my way out, I grabbed a piece of paper from the desk, scribbling, “Blossom was fed at 3:25 a.m.,” before pinning it to the wood outside of her stall. I figured that would ensure Miles saw it, and when I made it out to my car, I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.
I could do this.
I hadn’t realized how big a hole losing the barn had left, but being surrounded by the peace it created dulled the ache in my chest, even if for just a few moments.
Unfortunately, my success created misplaced confidence, and my triumph was quickly deflated when I arrived the next morning. I wholeheartedly hoped that Miles would just ignoreme or, worst-case scenario, tell me to leave, but what I didn’t expect was kindness. The barn looked empty from the outside, but when I entered it didn’t possess the same stillness I’d experienced yesterday, as if the animals had already been alerted to start their day. I shuffled to the familiar stall and chuckled as Blossom’s head poked out again, waiting for me, but when I approached, I noticed a stool placed outside adorned with a steaming cup of coffee.
Alongside it was a note that read:
Thanks for taking care of Blossom. Coffee is hazelnut with cream. -M
The faint hum of the radio confirmed my suspicions, signaling that he was probably already in the parlor milking, and I carefully sipped out of the mug, groaning as the caffeine entered my system. The taste alone brought me back for seconds, despite the alarming fact that I was enjoying an unattended drink left out by a man I barely knew. The change in schedule had thrown off my morning and in order to make it to work on time after seeing Blossom, but also avoid Miles, I had to leave the house at around three, with or without my coffee. This morning was unfortunately without, which meant I’d probably drink from a puddle if the smell even faintly resembled coffee beans. I decided to enjoy it anyway, though, throwing caution to the wind until Blossom began her serenade, making it clear if she wasn’t fed in a timely manner, she’d escalate into a full-blown tantrum.
Before I knew it, it was already time to pack up to go to work, and as I wiped a stray dribble of milk from Blossom’s chin; I looked towards the parlor, toying with the idea of thanking Miles for the coffee. I started that way, but as I grew closer, the faint hums underneath the music squeezed myheart, a silent signal that if I continued, the complacent setup we currently had would be no more. The music faded as I walked away, relieving me of the temptation that accompanied the charm underneath, and as I waved goodbye to Blossom, I couldn’t quite place what provoked the pang of emotion that hit me every time I left.
When I arrived at the library, I immediately busied myself, re-racking books from the previous day, avoiding my inner turmoil by focusing on making the place as presentable as possible before we opened. Jane was scheduled to arrive about two hours after me and thankfully I had wrapped up most of the tidying before she showed up, more productive than ever now that I was fueled by the art of evasion.
“Mornin’,” she mumbled, shuffling to unload her things into her locker. I had taken a break to brew fresh coffee, and as she brushed by me, our shoulders joining temporarily in the tight staff office, she paused, wrinkling her nose.
“You smell like shit, baby.”
“Excuse me?” I questioned. Jane was blunt, but she wasn’t usually rude, which meant I had either really gotten on her bad side or she was right.
“Honey, you smell like you woke up in a literal barn.”
Panicked, I pinched my shirt up to my nose, taking a deep breath. Mortification instantly crashed through me like a hurricane. I did indeed smell like a barn. I’d changed my shoes but didn’t bother with my clothes, clearly forgetting how quickly the scent melds into you whether you're shoveling shit or not.
“Sorry Jane, I’ve been taking care of a calf up at my old place,” I mumbled.
She raised her eyebrow with a smirk, “I told you that boy wasn’t so bad.”
“I break in. I don’t even see him.”
“SAGE!” she boomed, and the cackle I was holding in erupted.
