Page 59 of Into The Light
She nods. "I think so."
I look at the dog. "Stay with Noelle."
He gives a single short bark in response and leans his weight against her thigh. "Good boy."
His tail thumps.
I go through the house, onto the deck, and across the yard toward the big red metal structure. There is a large, rolling, overhead door for admitting tractors or boats or whatever and a smaller person-sized door; the former is closed, the latter open. I enter—buzzing fluorescent lights cut the gloom within, illuminating a green and yellow riding lawn mower, a larger red tractor with some sort of mowing implement hooked to the back, an old, dusty, battered red Ford pickup with the hood open, random detritus piled in the bed; piles of reclaimed wood, stacks of cedar shakes, rolling tool chests, coils of hose lay scattered here and there…wherever I look, there’s more stuff. There’s another large rolling door in the back wall, also closed; along the left wall near the back are a pair of stalls, presumably for the horses, built out of two-by-fours and black powder-coated steel.
Hay bales are stacked against the wall next to the stalls in serried ranks, reaching fifteen overhead, along the wall, and dropping down to the height of a single bale. Nicholas isrestacking bales, throwing them up toward the back wall to make room near the front, condensing the footprint.
I watch him for a minute and then move up to help. Each bale of ripe, pungent green hay is bound with parallel bands of dull red twine. Nicholas grabs a strand in each hand, heaves the bale up to his hips, ducks to get under it, and tosses it up to the next rank.
The bales must be heavier than they look—Nicholas is lean and strong, despite being at least sixty.
"Got it," I say.
I grab a bale in both hands and heave—I estimate it weighs at least fifty pounds, if not closer to sixty. Easy. I toss the bale up to the next rank and then grab a bale in each hand, tossing them simultaneously into place.
Nicholas snorts, watching. "Alright then."
Two by two, I move the stacks upward and back toward the wall until the lowest stack is chest height.
Nicholas pats my back. "That's good. Appreciate it." He laughs, shaking his head. "Woulda taken me all afternoon to do what you did in ten minutes."
I shrug. "All good." I dab at my upper lip with my sleeve and then use the hem of my shirt to dab at my forehead. "About what I said, Mr. Harper."
"Nick, please." He crosses to the rear door and presses a button—the door rolls upward, emitting a sliver of sunlight that expands into a huge, blinding square.
A few feet away, the boys are brushing the horses as they nibble at the grass, the saddles, blankets, and bridles nearby.
He watches the boys groom the animals and then turns to look at me. "You care about my daughter."
"I do."
He nods. "She'll give till she doesn't have anything left to give. She's got the most nurturing spirit of anyone I've everknown. Instinctively takes care of people. Wants to please everyone."
“I’ve seen that."
"We all sort of let her take on that role, I guess. Got used to it." He looks at me again. “The situation with Brennan did a number on her."
"I think she's okay."
He bends and plucks a bent nail from the ground, twisting the rusty tip between his finger and thumb. "You're not who I would have picked for her."
"Of course not." I know I shouldn't say what comes to mind next, but I do anyway. "Brennan was. Look how that turned out. Maybe let her decide."
He snorts, nods. "Wise words." A glance at me. "Her sisters won't be easy to win over."
"Not tryin' to win anyone or anything, sir. She's my friend."
"In my experience, son, there's no such thing as a purely platonic relationship between a heterosexual man and woman. I know she's friends with Thomas and Colin, and I know that's different."
"Up to her to tell you what she and I are or aren't, sir."
He snorts again, smirking at me with a shake of his head. "You're no one's fool, are you?"
"Hope not, sir."
