Page 103 of Touch the Sky
I whirl around at the sound of the front door opening.Mamansteps out onto the porch.
“Ça va?” she asks. “I heard you get home, but then I didn’t see you go down to the barn.”
I give my shoulders a little shake to pull me out of my thoughts.
“I was just, uh, looking,” I say, sweeping my hand out towards the yard, “at all this.”
She steps to the edge of the porch and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s wearing a sauce-stained apron with frilly edges.
Instead of asking what I’m talking about, she nods and joins me in looking out at the pastures.
“Sometimes I look at it, and I remember the day we bought it.”
I freeze, not even breathing as I process her words.
Bywe, she means her and my dad.
We don’t talk about my dad.
“We were so excited,” she continues. “We had so many dreams for everything. I didn’t know how we’d make even half of them come true, but he…he made it feel like we could.”
She shivers. I want to tell her to go back inside or at least put on a coat, but there’s a lump in my throat, and all I can do is stand there.
“And we did, you know.” She nods, staring out at something even I can’t see. “We built this place. We made it happen. We wanted to make something we could give to you.”
Her voice cracks, and it feels like something deep in my chest does too.
“Maman, don’t worry. We don’t have to talk about?—”
She holds her hand up and shakes her head, her eyes shining. She takes a shuddering breath, but when she speaks again, her voice is clear.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like it did, Jacinthe. You weren’t supposed to have to do so much so young. It was supposed to be your choice.”
I have no idea where this is coming from. She’s said sorry before. She’s said sorry a thousand times, but this feels different,like we’re talking about way more than doing chores and leading trail rides.
“It was my choice,” I tell her, reaching for her arm. “Itismy choice. This is my home.”
I squeeze her hand. She gives me a sad smile and shakes her head.
“I look at that little Shel, and I think, my God, you were only a few years older than her when you went through so much.”
Maybe that’s what she sees in the fields tonight: an angsty thirteen year-old with a bad haircut, lugging hay bales around all by herself and bringing the horses in every night after homework.
Maybe that’s what she saw every night during those months her heart was too broken to even get out of bed most days, when her brain refused to get better no matter how hard she tried.
I squeeze her hand again, twining our fingers together and feeling the coarse calluses of her palm rub against mine.
No matter what, we’re still farm girls. We have the same rough edges and the same dirt under our nails.
“Webothwent through so much,” I tell her.
She takes a deep breath before squeezing me back.
“Having them around…” She nods towards the back of the house. “It’s made me think about a lot.”
I can see the splash of golden light from Tess’s kitchen window spilling onto the lawn.
“Me too.”
