Page 57 of Till The Cows Come Home
My phone rang as I continued to procrastinate, and I fished for it, thankful for a reason to stay in my truck a little while longer. When I looked, though, the unruly curls and toothy smile flashing on my screen caused my stomach to flip, and I blacked out during the short conversation that followed.
She sounded so sad.
I tossed my phone across the truck, my frustration intensifying as I watched it clunk against the passenger door before slipping out of sight onto the floor. I’d convinced myself that I could change Sage Baker, was adamant on the matter actually, wholeheartedly believing I’d be capable despite the flashing warnings I’d received. Yet here I sat with the audacity to be surprised when she remained herself. It’s not that I expected her to walk away unscathed. I surely hadn’t. I’d just hoped in the end we’d be walking away together.
Sage told me that she was struggling. She told me that she didn’t know what she was doing, but I continued to shove the farm down her throat in hopes that exposure was enough to fix the fractured relationship she had with her oldhome. I brought her to the market behind a sign that said Baker Farm, knowing that the community would flock to her, but all it did was add another source of pressure. Sage had the reins when it came to us, but I’d been nudging her hands, affecting the direction we went all along.
The clarity didn’t excuse the way the early morning went, but it did warrant some necessary self reflecting. I loved Sage in a way that served me. Sure, she loved being at the farm, but I didn’t try to help her heal. I thought new memories could just tuck away the old, but Sage needed to acknowledge the past to move forward. Since the loss of my parents I’d been alone, and until Sage I thought I was content with that, preferring the companionship of the herd. But the one thing her absence made me realize is that I wanted both. I just needed to figure out how.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sage
After the haze of tears cleared, I closed my eyes, attempting to resurrect the farm's structure in my brain, but my memories were already muddled. I couldn’t recall the pitch of the roof quite right and although I knew the exterior had been red, different hues floated around in my mind, my brain already unable to cling to the correct shade.
I knew my parents had tons of photos and my desperation to see the farm for what it once was instead of what we’d let it become propelled me inside. When I walked back through the doors, my parents rose from the couch, swarming me with worry.
“Where did you go, sweetie?” my mother fussed.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” I murmured.
“Oh sweetheart, you look like hell. Why don’t you go lay down?”
I knew she was right. I could feel the fatigue, and before I made my way in, I’d flipped down the visor, peering into bloodshot eyes. The old Sage would have waited, allowing the redness to fade, but I couldn’t muster the effort. There was no point in hiding my feelings when they were painted on myface, regardless. I nodded though, trudging past them until I reached the guest bed and as soon as I reached it, I climbed in, pulling the covers over my head.
When I woke up, I could see the sun just beginning to peek through the windows and even though I’d gotten almost sixteen hours of sleep, I still felt exhausted. I cracked open the door, tiptoeing towards the kitchen, but when I arrived, my father was already seated at the table.
“Mornin’,” I mumbled.
My plan was to grab coffee and run, which was soon foiled when my father spoke.
“Gale, put the kettle on for us, would you?”
Surprise widened my mother’s eyes at my father’s demand, but she nodded in agreement. It wasn’t often that my father handled the emotions in the house and if he was stepping in, that meant that I was about to get tough love. Normally he let my mother speak for him, not because he didn’t care, but because he and my mother’s values perfectly paralleled each other. He trusted her to lead, interfering only when I was being particularly hard-headed, and it always began with a cup of tea. He ushered me over to the dining room table, pulling out my chair as he gestured for me to sit.
“I’m still really tired, dad,” I said, hoping the despair settling in the darkness under my eyes was enough to postpone the conversation.
“Sit down, Sage.”
His stern tone triggered the childhood obedience in me and I sat knowing he wasn’t leaving another option.
“What’re you doing?” he sighed, a sliver of disappointment lacing his tone.
“Grieving.”
“And everyone else?” he questioned.
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t be so naive as to think that you’re the only one who lost something, can you?”
My heart ached at his comment, and I opted to take my time before responding, hoping that whatever I finally conjured didn’t disappoint him further. And as I looked into the eyes of the man I’d idolized my entire life, the ache in my chest intensified. His features came into focus, hair ruffled with a purple hue under his eyes that matched my own, and I suddenly became acutely aware of everyone else.
The Baker in Baker Farm had suffered the most tragic loss of them all.
One of my biggest downfalls was feeling my own feelings so deeply that I became oblivious to others’ and it was clear this was another situation in which I foolishly allowed myself to be blinded from not only Miles’ feelings but also my father’s.
He lost the farm when he sold it three years ago, but it still stood. The herd he handpicked still existed and if he showed up to the market, he could still reap the benefit of a lifetime of labors.
