by Tia Siren
The air was cold on that quiet winter morning. The residue of dawn’s kiss still lingered in the air when I rose from my bed. I thought more on Lincoln’s transformation as I made my way to my bathroom. I didn’t know whether I should have been in mourning for the loss of such a sweet soul or if I should have been angry for him leaving me behind. Regardless, I couldn’t stomach another encounter with him like the one in the kitchen. Having him so close to me, feeling his skin on mine and listening to the sweet words sounding from his perfect lips, had made me sick to my stomach. There wasn’t a single ounce of myself that wanted to be that close to him again.
It was barely past five in the morning when I finished brushing my teeth and getting dressed for the day. I tied my long hair into a messy bun and made my way to the kitchen. Almost at once, I heard Jack and Gin’s footsteps trotting down the hallway for their breakfast. As I walked, I passed the room where Lincoln was staying, and I heard him talking to someone. I figured he was on the phone with a business partner of his, but his voice did remind me that I needed to make him breakfast due to his status as a tenant in my home and the amount of money he was paying to stay there.
The urge to ignore our contract filled me, but I decided to be a gracious host. That didn’t mean I had to sit down and eat breakfast with him, though. I quickly scrambled some eggs and cooked enough sausage to feed me, Lincoln, and my two dogs. Once all of that was done, I scarfed down my food and walked out to start the day. The farm was quiet in the morning, save for a few chickens clucking around and the sound of the dogs trotting beside me. I quickly got to work, feeding the chickens and then going to feed the horses for the morning. As I walked, I noticed that the grass needed cutting. Usually my father handled that, but he was long gone and I had to take care of the land. So, once everything was handled with the animals, I walked to my father’s garage.
The intensity of emotion that hit me as I slid open the old and creaky door to his garage was overwhelming. I hadn’t stepped foot in the garage in years. It had always been my pa’s happy place. It was where he had worked on his old 1969 Pontiac Firebird. My eyes landed on the ugly green devil as soon as the sun shined in, and it felt almost like my pa was right there in that garage with me. I walked over to the car and ran my fingertips over the cold metal. The car hadn’t been touched since my mom had died. My pa had given up on almost everything after she’d passed away. That car, aside from me, was the last symbol of his will to live. Once he’d given up, there had been nothing left to live for and he had allowed the Grim Reaper to take him.
Tears welled up in my eyes. The last person to touch the car was my pa, and I touched as much of its surface as I could. It was nothing at first. It started with my fingertips gliding across the surface and admiring the details I had once considered stupid. I had never understood why my pa was so obsessed with something so ugly. Then, as I remembered all the time I had spent alongside him as a teenager working on the car, and learning how to drive for the first time with it, my gentle caresses became desperate petting. The tears clouded my eyes and blurred my vision. I saw nothing but memories that I would never get to relive and a future that was empty. Slowly and carefully, I climbed into the backseat of the Pontiac. I lay back against the leather seats and silently cried to myself.
The car still smelled very much like my father. It was odd how one could forget something so important, but I was surrounded by my father’s scent once more and I allowed myself to break down. I had cried hundreds of tears for my parents, and I had thought I was all cried out. Yet there I was crying like a newborn baby who had just been spanked by the doctor. I hugged myself and curled into the fetal position. So many people had been visiting me to keep an eye on me, to make sure I was okay all alone in my parents’ home, and I had tried so hard to stay strong because they all expected me to break down and cry. I hadn’t cried in front of anyone aside from my father on the day my mother had died. No one else deserved to see my tears. I didn’t even consider my own self worthy of the luxury. Still, the time alone with the last thing my father had truly touched was enough to make me feel all of the emotions.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed as I cried in that dark, dank garage. Once my eyes could cry no more, I sat up and got myself together. I was sure my eyes were puffy, red, and agitated, but I figured the new and “improved” Lincoln wasn’t going to spend any time outside in the barn if he even stayed on the property during the day. I got out of the car, allowing my hands to linger on it a few seconds longer than one would consider necessary, and then I looked around for the lawn mower. Like most of the items in my pa’ garage, the lawn mower was old. It was a sitting lawn mower, but it was nearly two decades old and had lived a very tough life with my family. I made a note to buy a new one whenever I had the financial means as I rode it out with limited pride.
To my surprise, Lincoln was walking out of the stables as I rode past. I was taken off guard because I hadn’t expected to see him, so I looked away quickly and focused on the task at hand. As I rode, I thought about why Lincoln was even back in Wyoming in the first place. He may have just returned to get his mother off his back, but he didn’t have to stay. There was no way he was there just for me, because he’d had no qualms about leaving me before. I knew I wasn’t that important to him. He had probably moved on to some city girl as soon as he’d reached New York.
As I thought that, a hot rage filled my chest. For a moment, I saw nothing but red. The cries of the aged lawn mower filled the air and drowned out the rest of the world, so I couldn’t hear anything but my thoughts, and my thoughts were far from pretty. I thought back to how perfect life had once been with him by my side. My ignorant, teenage mind had thought we were going to take on the whole world and be together forever. I had spent my time in class doodling the names of our children and planning what our wedding was going to be like. If only I knew then what I had learned the hard way. Love existed, but you could never find it in a wild boy who had yet to figure out the world. Love needed to be stable, unconditional, and eternal to mean something. The love Lincoln had given me had meant absolutely nothing. Every empty promise and every sweet little lie had meant jack shit. The only thing I had to remember was how easily he had broken my heart.
But I couldn’t figure out if that was really why I was so upset in the first place. Sure, he had left me, but I’d been able to move on. I’d had a few boyfriends after him and had even slept with different people. He may have been my first, but he wasn’t my only. He had left me and changed into a shitty version of himself. He walked around like he owned the world and anyone who wasn’t on his level could either lick his shoes or kiss his ass. It was like he expected me to respect the man he had become when he had no respect for himself. He was right, he had come from nothing, but that didn’t mean he had earned the right to treat his family and the place he’d come from like it was all beneath him. His head was so far up his ass, I was certain he could barely hear the world outside his own. He had been lost before, but that was nothing compared to where he had ended up.
The cherry on top was the fact that he thought he could swoop in like some savior or knight in shining armor and end all my misery. It was tragic that a grown man thought I was a damsel in distress and his money, newfound status, and pathetic excuse of a personality would sweep my off my feet and save the day. Who did he think he was? He was the total opposite of the man I needed. I needed money, yes, but I didn’t need his money. I would have rather gotten two jobs, scrubbed toilets with toothbrushes, and dug ditches over accepting his handouts. I wasn’t a basket case, and I was not going to accept pity with open arms. Harper Callahan had never been the girl to take handouts, and I wasn’t going to start that shit with Lincoln showing up.
I got lost in my thoughts, and I was so busy fuming that I didn’t realize I was sweating. I realized that hours had passed and the sun was glaring down at me. My neck felt hot and my hair felt sticky against my skin. I stopped mowing the lawn for a moment and took a break. After tu
rning off the mower, I sat down in some of the freshly mown grass to savor the sun and cool off. I unhooked my overalls and tied the front of my shirt so that my midriff was showing. I felt good with the heat on my once-concealed body. I slipped off my shoes and wiggled my toes in the grass. In the distance, I heard my dogs barking and the echo of deep laughter. Butterflies began dancing in my stomach. It had been so long since I’d heard that laugh. It was like hearing a ghost whisper in my ears. Parts of me tingled that I hadn’t felt in a long while.
I peeked one eye open and glanced toward my house. A small silhouette in the distance threw something, my dogs racing one another to catch it. I found it amazing how loyal dogs were. Their loyalty made me think about the loyalty of people. Lincoln had left and been gone for ten years. I’d missed him dearly, his mother had missed him, and even his father had missed him. He had left for ten years without looking back, and everyone else was welcoming him back with open arms and no hesitation. How could it have been so easy for everyone else? His mother had barely been able to talk to me for a while because she had thought I had stolen her son away from her, and then she’d felt guilty for blaming me when she had realized I was in the same boat as her. Lincoln had left and caused rifts in relationships. My parents blamed his, his mother blamed me, I blamed his father, and the circle just went around. The air was so awkward and tense that his parents hadn’t even shown up to either of my parents’ funerals to show support.
“I don’t understand,” I muttered to myself.
I spent a little more time relaxing before I finished up mowing the lawn. When I walked into my house after packing up the lawn mower in the garage, the clock read 4:52. I had to move quick to take my shower and have dinner ready by six. I walked to my room, undressing along the way. I was so exhausted that I didn’t even think about the other person in my house. He had been on my mind all day, and when it finally mattered I was so exhausted and out of it that I didn’t consider his presence. I slipped off my overalls, tugged off my top, and even unhooked my bra as I made my way down the hall and littered the floor with articles of clothing. I entered my room and walked straight to my shower, hopping in and sighing out contently when the hot water hit my skin. I smelled like animals, sweat, and grass. I wanted to wash all the grit and grime away so I could sleep well and comfortably that night.
Outside the bathroom door, I heard the dogs running around. I was surprised they had any energy left in them. They were fairly old dogs, and they had burnt out a lot of energy while playing with Lincoln earlier that day. I was amused by their antics and couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I stepped out of the shower. I wrapped a towel tightly around myself and walked out into my room. Gin was lying down on my bed, but Jack was nowhere to be found. I figured he was running out the rest of his energy. I closed my door to keep out spying eyes and got dressed in an old T-shirt my dad had worn. My father was a larger man, so the shirt ended mid-thigh and hid my body. I felt so safe and cozy in it.
I walked out of my room and to the kitchen to start dinner. I figured pasta would be fine, because it was easy and I could make enough for Lincoln and I tonight with leftovers to be had for lunch the next day. As I walked, I whistled loudly. I ignored the clothes on the floor because I figured I would just get them later. I walked past Lincoln’s room but didn’t hear anything. It wasn’t until I walked into the kitchen that I realized why. Lincoln was sitting at the dining room table reading a newspaper with Jack at his feet.
“I saw your clothes all over the floor,” he said teasingly as I made my way to the cabinets to get everything ready.
“I’ll clean it up and toss it in the laundry,” I muttered.
“You’re still as messy as ever.”
I knew he was just trying to make conversation and get along, but I couldn’t find it in myself to relax around him. Instead of acknowledging him, I simply continued cooking. There was a heavy sigh behind me, and I knew he had given up for the moment. The kitchen was silent aside from the food and the turning of the newspaper pages. Thirty minutes passed before the food was done. Out of habit, I made an extra plate of food for my father. When I realized my mistake, I felt a pang of sadness. Instead of focusing on it, I walked over and placed the plate in front of Lincoln. He looked up from behind his newspaper curiously, and then he looked surprised.
“This is mine?” he asked, his eyes looking up into mine.
I nodded and sat across from him with my own food. “We’re the only two people here, aren’t we?”
“Well thank you,” he said. I was taken off guard by his gratitude. I hadn’t expected him to say anything of the sort. In fact, I had expected him to compare my presentation to that of the finest chefs the world had to offer. Of course, that was just me being cynical and judgemental, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he started name-dropping a few chefs and restaurants that he had eaten at just for the sake of showing off how far he had gotten compared to the rest of the people he grew up with.
We ate in silence. Based on how he ate, it was obvious Lincoln was used to eating out all the time rather than having a home-cooked meal. He was sitting up tall and holding himself back, but the way he ate and the expression on his face were enough to show me that my food was up to par. I didn’t know why, but a sense of pride filled me. He was a picky man, and I figured I was just happy he had nothing to complain about or irritate me with.
“Thank you again for dinner, Harper. It was very delicious,” he said once his plate was clean.
“You’re welcome. It’s part of your boarding here, so it’s no problem,” I told him. It was only a half lie. I didn’t feel the need to explain to him that I was used to making my pa’s plates. I stood and gathered everything. As I made my way to the sink to do the dishes, Lincoln began talking again.
“You know, since you’re cooking and all, I can buy the groceries so it takes a load off,” he said. I couldn’t tell whether he was being genuinely generous or trying to get on my good side after our heated discussion the previous day.
“You don’t have to do that, Lincoln,” I told him. “I am more than willing to buy groceries. It’s only two people. It’s not like I’m feeding an army.”
“You’re cooking, cleaning, and doing my laundry. The least I could do is buy groceries while I’m staying here. Besides, feeding me is just like feeding an army,” he said.
“You’re already paying more than enough while leasing the land,” I said. I didn’t want to take handouts, and I couldn’t let him keep throwing money at me, because I felt like he was hoping it would make me easier on him.
“Jesus, Harper. You are just as stubborn as you ever were. Let me pay for the groceries. It will cover both of us and the dogs. You don’t have to argue or fight it. Just say thank you and keep moving,”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times. I was sure I looked like a gaping fish, but I didn’t know how to react. His voice had been stern and bold. I had only heard him talk like that to other people when we were younger. He had never talked to me like that, and a fire ignited in my core. Thoughts of jumping him then and there filled me, but I resisted and looked away from him. I finished cleaning the dishes and sighed.
“Fine, Lincoln. You can buy groceries if that will make you happy,” I said. I made sure to keep my eyes away from him and looked out the window. “I’ll keep a notepad on the counter so we can write what we need on that. All right?”
“That sounds good,” he said.
I practically could hear the smile in his voice. He had won, for that moment, but I wasn’t going to keep giving in. The extra help with groceries would ease another burden. With the bills paid and groceries being bought, I was going to be able to focus on fixing up the family business. I didn’t really have to worry about money, and the little money I did get from my father could go to fixing little things here and there. The horses needed a better stable, I could invest in more animals, and I would be able to update the gates and fences. It was smart to take Lincoln’s offer, but I
didn’t want it to get to his head that I was accepting his help.
The next few days went by in a blur. I found myself in a routine that revolved around staying as far away from Lincoln as my property and time would allow. I woke up early in the morning to make breakfast and tend to the farm. Lincoln didn’t leave his room until much later, and I never really saw him walk around outside unless he was talking on the phone or writing down information as he inspected the farm. There were times I was filled with rage when I saw him walking around as if he owned the place and no one could question him. Other times, I felt the bitter kiss of nostalgia in the air when I realized we could have had a family running around the farm already if he hadn’t left me. That nostalgia soon turned from bitter to sour.
I continued with the routine I had established, and I managed to find comfort in it. When I was in the house, Lincoln wasn’t. When Lincoln was walking about and doing whatever he did during the night, I was comfortably in my own room. I stayed as far away from him as possible, but things changed during dinner. We ate right across from one another. Some nights I scarfed down my food and left as quickly as possible, but other nights he trapped me with conversation. Those nights were painfully awkward and extremely uncomfortable. I found my mind battling against my heart. The urge to reach across and touch his hand filled me, but I held myself back. It got even worse when he took up the responsibility of washing dishes once dinner was done.
I felt like we were like a married couple. The only thing we were missing was the affection, the status, the ring, and the happiness. We could have had something special and real, but he’d fucked it all up. The sad part was, Lincoln didn’t even realize what he was missing out on, the future we could have had.
