* * *
My mom takes charge of the cremation arrangements, refusing to let Kelly handle anything, which is for the best. The day after her mother’s death, Kelly is fit to do nothing. She sits on the couch, face pink and swollen with a far-off stare, as we bring her coffee and tea and small amounts of food, all of which sit on the coffee table and turn cold.
When Tyler shows up to take care of the horses, I relay the news and he sits with her for a couple of hours while I muck the stalls, giving me a better way to release my anxious energy. After a tearful, sleepless night, it’s a wonder I have energy at all.
While I’m out there, Sam hears the news and appears in front of Midnight’s stall with a regretful expression. Though I’m covered in dust and hay, grief and desperation, he opens his arms to me and when he folds me in close to him, the embrace is unlike anything I’ve ever felt from him before. It’s not about lust or expectations. There are no walls. It’s pure selflessness and comfort.
On Tuesday, Mom takes Kelly to the crematorium to sign the final paperwork, and we decide to do a personal memorial service the following day, when the ashes will be returned to us. There’s no one to fly in, no one in town who even knew Shannon. The only people who will attend are under my parents’ roof.
As the reality of her death sinks in, that’s what weighs on me the most. The times I spoke with Shannon, she was one of the wittiest and kindest women I ever met, and other than Kelly, me, and her family members who disowned her, no one else in the world will ever know that.
Kelly spends each night in my bed, still too overcome with grief to face returning to her own home. I drive over on Wednesday morning to pick out something black for Kelly to wear. Midmorning, the six of us gather on the patio, Kelly holding the unceremonious plastic bag of ashes she and my mother picked up from the funeral home.
I picture how we must look from overhead and imagine we resemble a murder of crows as we take off from the porch, through the vines, and up to the top of the hill. The path is longer and more arduous on foot, but today, that seems right. It’s how we pay our respects for the hard road Shannon walked and the difficult journey Kelly has ahead of her.
We reach the top of the hill, where Kelly and I have shared so many heart-to-hearts, and look out on the property. When Kelly asked Dad if she could lay Shannon to rest here, where she would finally be able to see the world for the first time in twenty-plus years, he told her he’d be honored. Now, as we stand here, looking out at the great expanse, all of us seem to be seeing it in a different light, a mixture of sadness, fear, and uncertainty written on all our faces.
I’ve never lost anyone close to me before, and I discover there’s something about death that forces you to think about how you’re living your own life. When my own time comes, I wonder, will I feel like I’ve lived it to the fullest?
“Do you want to say something, sweetie?” my mom asks Kelly, running her hand over Kelly’s limp hair. “You don’t have to.”
Kelly nods. “I want to,” she says. Her skin is pale but she holds her chin high.
Mom gives her some space and we all wait in respectful silence for her final words for her mother.
Kelly clears her throat.
“Being my mother’s daughter was a blessing and curse,” Kelly begins in a soft voice. “After her parents and her sisters cut her out of their lives, she was so heartbroken that she couldn’t bear to open her heart again. Not to anyone...except me. No one really knew her and I was left to take care of her on my own.”
Kelly shifts uncomfortably and it ripples over the rest of us, looking down or away, but hearing every word.
“I grew up faster than anyone I know,” Kelly says, “and had more responsibilities as a six-year-old than many people do as adults. I’ve felt the weight of holding someone’s life in your hands. I’ve made so many sacrifices to take care of her because I didn’t trust anyone to do it the way I would. And I loved her even as I watched her bury herself a little at a time.”
I step closer to Kelly and lace my fingers through hers. Her voice begins to quaver as she continues.
“No one knew her like I did. No one saw how funny she was. Most days she would make me laugh until I cried, especially on the days when she knew I needed it most. I’ve never known anyone else who loved as deeply as she did. Which may have been the problem, but for her and me, it was what kept us going. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was ours.”
Kelly takes a shaky breath, but she lifts her chin higher, showing her never-ending strength.
“My mom may have taught me the hard way,” she says, “but nevertheless, she did teach me how to be independent and how to take care of myself. At the end of the day, isn’t that a parent’s most important job?”
My parents nod knowingly. Dad reaches out to run a hand across her back and at this gesture, Kelly starts to dissolve.
“I will carry her with me,” Kelly says, “every step of the way, for the rest of my life, and I hope that through me, she will get to see everything she couldn’t see through her own eyes.”
We all nod, praying for Kelly’s wish to come true. I put my arm around her and she buries her face in my shoulder.
When Kelly doesn’t move to speak again, Dad says a final prayer. Then each of us takes a turn reaching our hands into the bag of ashes and holding them out to the breeze. Even Sam takes a turn, Kelly nodding her approval. He watches me as he does, and though he doesn’t know Kelly well, I know he’s doing it for me. The ashes dance along the wind like dandelions, over the vines, through the trees, and back to the earth, where Shannon returns home. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Afterward, we reconvene on the patio to offer Kelly more condolences. Mom more or less demands that Kelly return for every meal for the foreseeable future, even offering the guest house to her once Sam leaves, which Sam concedes immediately, promising to have his things packed within ten minutes.
Kelly waves it all off. “Thank you,” she says. “But it’s time for me to go home. I have a lot of things to figure out.”
“I’ll go with you,” I tell her.
“I’ll be okay,” Kelly assures us. “I’m going to have to be alone sometime. Might as well get it over with.”
“So... I’ll call you, then?” I ask, unsteadied by this quick goodbye. My boss was all too accommodating about me staying for the services, even sending flowers. But I have responsibilities back in New York that I have to return to.
“Sure,” Kelly says and squeezes my hand in parting.
“I’ll take you home,” Mom says. “And Rich and I will bring your car back from the hospital tomorrow.”
We each give Kelly a hug in turn, and to my surprise, she even accepts one from Sam. When Mom and Kelly drive away, we all stand in silence, wondering how to return to normal life after a blow like this.
* * *
After Kelly leaves, I stick to the coping mechanism I know best: getting away as fast as possible. With Midnight, it’s easier than in New York—to disappear, to be alone with my thoughts. The silence helps. It’s becoming comfortable again. In the city, people are inescapable. There isn’t an uninhabited square yard within a hundred miles of my apartment. But here, just on the other side of the stables, I can escape into a world where no one else exists, and so I do.
But no matter how fast Midnight runs or how far we go, it doesn’t quite work the way it used to. I feel heavy in a way I’ve never felt before, in a way that not even Midnight or a strong breeze in my hair can revive. I’m not entirely sure what I’m upset about or who I’m upset for. There are no words to these feelings, just a numbness that fills me and weighs me down. And every time I think about getting back on a plane, I feel sick to my stomach.
I try to remind myself of why I need to be in New York. My vacation time is up, I have a promotion to accept, rent to pay. But in comparison to my reasons for staying, all of those things f
eel so meaningless, so inconsequential. I left Kelly when she needed me once before and I’ve never forgiven myself for that. I can’t leave her this time. She needs someone. She needs me.
As soon as I get back to the stables, I pull out my cell phone and call Denise. I’m supposed to be at the office tomorrow morning, and spending the weekend catching up, so I suspect that she won’t be happy with me, but when I tell her the situation, she’s unexpectedly sympathetic.
“Mallory, contrary to popular belief, I am human,” she says.
I laugh in spite of myself, and in spite of this awful situation.
“I really appreciate this,” I tell her.
She tells me she has an account lined up for me and so I offer to work long-distance for another week and she agrees. She barks something at one of my coworkers and my email beeps with the client information before we’ve even hung up.
“See you soon,” I say, but the line is already dead. I sigh and shove my phone back into my pocket.
A sound in the breezeway startles me. When I stick my head out of Midnight’s stall, Sam is standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking at me from under his brows.
“So,” he says, “you’re staying a little longer?”
“It looks that way,” I say, resting my body and my head against the stall door frame.
The electric buzz that usually jumps between us is gone. Things have become too real around here, all charm gone. That’s why it surprises me when Sam walks over to me, cups his hand around the back of my head and kisses me.
At first, I’m too conflicted to respond. Yes, we kissed on Saturday, but emotions were high and I was leaving. This kiss is different. It’s a question I don’t have an answer for.
But I allow myself to kiss him back. I allow myself this reprieve from the grief.
“I thought I was never going to get a chance with you,” he says.
I shake my head.
“Sam, I...” I wait for the rest of that sentence to come, but it doesn’t. Once again, I don’t know what I want. Sam is the manifestation of every young girl’s fantasy, and probably most grown women’s, too. He’s everything I’ve dreamed about since the moment I first laid eyes on him.
But I need to focus on Kelly. She’s who I came here for, and that’s more true now than when I first got here.
“I know why you’re staying,” he’s quick to say, “and I don’t want to distract you from that. But if you find yourself with a free hour, I’d love to just...talk to you.” He leans in again and brushes his lips against mine, making it clear that more than talking would be welcome. And I can’t help it—the spark returns.
When he pulls away, there’s a hint of a triumphant smile there, though he tries to be a gentleman and hide it.
“You’re not very good at not being distracting,” I say.
He laughs.
“You know where to find me,” he says and bows before turning and walking out of the stables.
After I watch him go, I grab the rake and wheelbarrow to muck Midnight’s stall. Tyler keeps it so clean there’s hardly any work to do, so I decide to clear out the old bedding and lay fresh shavings. I fill the wheelbarrow once, twice. The steady rhythm of shoveling and being so close to Midnight calms me, centers me. Sweat forms between my shoulder blades, on my upper lip, and I finally find that sense of peace I’ve been looking for all week.
“If only they would pay someone to do that,” Tyler says behind me. I smile, not stopping my work.
“I like to do it,” I say.
Tyler ambles into the stall and puts his hands on my shoulders. Next to my ear, he says, “You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met, Mallory Victoria.”
I laugh as he takes the shovel from me. I let him have it and sit cross-legged on the wooden bench in the corner of the stall. I watch him work, watch the way Midnight lovingly nibbles his shoulder. His sturdiness and steadiness is reassuring.
“Do you remember the weekend we spent in this stall?” I ask him. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, recalling it.
“Of course,” he says, and even though my eyes are closed, I can hear his grin. We can laugh about it now, but at the time, it was anything but funny.
I’d had Midnight for a year when she suddenly started limping. At first I didn’t think anything of it, assuming it would get better in a couple of days, the way sprained ankles and bruises always do. But on the third day, I noticed a startling knot of swelling on the frog of her foot.
Dad called the vet immediately but by the time he got there, Midnight was splayed out in her stall, showing signs of fever and dehydration.
When Tyler showed up for work that morning, he held my sobbing body in his arms as the vet drained the infection, fed Midnight antibiotics, and kept her on an IV for a few hours to get her fluid levels within the healthy range. After that, though, there was nothing else to do but wait. The vet left with promises to come back the next day, but Midnight was far from healed.
I couldn’t leave her. My dad tried to physically take me back to the house to sleep that night but I refused. So instead, he brought the bench down from the porch for me to sleep on, and Tyler promised to stay with me, a prospect that would make most fathers’ hackles go up if it was anyone but Tyler.
The bench has been here ever since, my anchor whenever I need grounding.
I raise my head and open my eyes.
“You brought over your air mattress for me to sleep on and you curled up on this stiff old bench,” I say, smacking the wood.
Tyler shrugs. “I’m old-fashioned like that. Where I come from, the lady sleeps on the floor.”
“And as Midnight got better, we played cards here until our eyes crossed.”
“Wasn’t much else to do,” he clarifies.
“That’s one of my favorite memories of this place,” I say wistfully.
Tyler stops working and looks at me for a long time, a pensive smile on his face.
“Mine, too,” he says.
We share another wordless exchange, and then he returns to shoveling.
“You ought to consider coming back, you know? Permanently,” he clarifies.
I’m surprised to hear this from him, of all people. Tyler has always been the one who didn’t have opinions on what I should do with my life, or if he did, he kept them to himself.
“Really?” I ask.
He shrugs but I can see that he’s serious. “It just seems to me that a girl who actually likes shoveling horse shit couldn’t possibly be happy in a big city.”
I throw my head back and laugh.
Tyler rests the shovel against the side of the stall and comes to sit next to me on the bench. I scoot over to make room for him. My folded knee rests on his jeans. I lay my head on his shoulder.
“It’s not only that,” he says.
“What is it?”
“Your parents miss you, Mal. A lot. They would never say it to you, because they want you to be happy and they think you’re happy in New York. But I know they’re lonely. Things can get kind of monotonous out here on the outskirts of a small town when you don’t have family to give it meaning.”
“But...all kids move out,” I say.
“Sure. But it’s one thing to move across town. It’s a whole other thing to move across the country. And you’ve seen them a handful of times in ten years.”
“Have you been back to visit your mom?” I ask.
“That’s different and you know it.”
I nod. I do feel bad about visiting so infrequently. And I want to look at my future and say it will be different, but who’s to say I won’t get so caught up in one client after another, that too soon another ten years will have passed?
“It wasn’t on purpose,” I say, though I know it’s a lame excuse.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” he
says, placing his hand on my knee. “Life happens. No one blames you. And I wouldn’t have said anything at all if I thought you were going back to a life that was important to you. But if you’re not happy there, and they’re not happy without you around, I think it’s worth considering.”
It’s funny, the way Tyler can get through to me in a way no one else can. Coming from Kelly or my parents, or even Sam, the suggestion would have felt loaded with expectations. But from Tyler, it’s simply a kindness because it comes from a deeper understanding of what really makes me happy. He knows how much my family means to me. And his motives are completely unselfish—he won’t even be here.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe you’re right.”
He pats my knee stiffly. “I hope I didn’t overstep,” he says.
“Ever the Southern gentleman,” I say with a smirk.
“I’m not even from the South.”
“Just your cowboy charm, then.”
“Don’t you dare buy me that hat.”
I burst into laughter.
SIXTEEN
THEN
Sam and I were alone in the barn, with the blueprints from the contractors laid out on the floor in front of us. I sat cross-legged in the dirt while Sam squatted, allowing the dust to coat only the toes of his shoes. His long sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and I could see the hint of sweat pressing through the back of his shirt. He rubbed his index finger across his bottom lip, thinking, like he had been for the last fifteen minutes, as if the high temperatures were getting to his brain.
“You’re going to have to get used to the California heat at some point,” I teased. But even I was under its spell today, my mind lethargic, my skin itching for a cool breeze that could only be achieved in June atop Midnight’s saddle.
Sam shook his head, coming out of his daze. “What?” he asked.
I laughed at his relentless commitment to his work. In the month of having him at the vineyard, I’d hardly seen him drop his professional focus. Even when he and Dad were drinking into all hours of the night, the conversation usually stuck close to career ambitions and philosophies about life, which for them, centered around their work.
Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard Page 17
