by Sarina Bowen
Kyle and I bale oats until we can’t see the field anymore. He shuts off the tractor and climbs down to stand beside me, where I’m sweating in spite of the October chill. “That’s better than half of it,” he says. “Are we gonna bale the rest tomorrow? Or were you thinking of grazing it?”
I consider the question. “Safer to bale it, unless it rains before we can do it. It’s in really good shape right now, and if we get early snow you’ll be hating life.”
“Cool. We’ll bale it, then.”
This whole exchange bothers me, though. I’m not the one who should be figuring this stuff out. “Hey Kyle?”
“Yeah?”
“You need to know that I’m moving out at the end of the month.”
“What?” My brother gapes at me. Even in the dark I can tell that it never occurred to him that this was a thing I might do. “Where would you go?”
“I rented the house next door to Zara.”
“Why, bro? Here you’ve got free rent.”
“It was never free,” I remind him. “Twenty hours of farm work a week.”
“But—” Kyle gulps. “You still have to pitch in while dad is laid up. You can’t just bail on me.”
“Like I’d do that?” My voice actually cracks in surprise. “You’ll have me until all the harvest stuff is done. But you need to understand that Dad isn’t going to have a miraculous recovery. He’s had disc trouble for thirty years. I don’t think he’ll ever throw bales of hay around again.”
“Nobody said that,” Kyle insists. “He’s having all this surgery so that he can get better.”
“He’s having all this surgery so that he doesn’t get worse,” I argue. “The real blessing here is that you don’t seem to have inherited it. Keep your back strong just to be sure, okay?”
Kyle squints at me. “You too, right?”
“Right,” I say quickly. “But I’m not the one who needs to do farm work forevermore. This is your spread.”
“And yours,” he adds, still not getting the message.
“It was never mine.”
“Bullshit. That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. Just because you and Dad argue sometimes doesn’t mean he’s cutting you out of the will or some shit.”
I want to shake Kyle and scream, Pay attention!
Then again, it’s not my brother’s fault. He can’t see what I see, because he doesn’t have all the information. “I’m not Dad’s choice. It’s nice of you to pretend otherwise, but it isn’t helpful right now. This is your farm, and he needs you to step up and take over. Either you do that, or he’ll reinjure himself. You know it’s true.”
“Fuck.” Kyle shoves a bale of straw further onto the truck and then looks around, like he’s seeing our darkened farm for the first time. “I’m a good worker. But I’m shit at the business stuff. I’m no good at planning.”
At least he realizes this. “All you need is some focus. Channel your inner Griffin.” Our apple-farming cousin is a savvy businessman. “Hell—ask Griff to help you. You know he would.”
“But you won’t,” Kyle grumbles.
That’s right, and it gives me a pang of guilt. Except I know better than to help, because Kyle would just let me do everything. “I’m busy making other plans. New house, new classes in the spring.” I’m finally taking control of my life. And that means weaning Kyle off of my assistance.
“Just don’t move out,” Kyle says, as if this were a negotiation. “I’ll step up. I’ll plan everything. But you should really stay here.”
“It’s a done deal. Sorry.” Just saying those words is a big deal for me. I’m no longer caving to everyone’s expectations.
Kyle’s face creases in frustration. He kicks the last bale of straw over and then stalks off without me.
I suppose I could walk off without finishing the job, too. Just to prove a point. But I squat down and grab the last bale, heave it into the truck, and then drive it back to the barn.
Kieran
My mother has made dinner by the time I get back to the house. It’s lasagna, which is one of her better dishes. It’s edible, anyway.
We eat in the same tense silence I’ve always known. Usually it’s my dad who’s stewing in his resentments, but tonight Kyle is also adding to the stony vibe in the room.
For the first time, though, I know I’m here by choice. The keys to Zara’s rental house are burning a hole in my pocket. Soon I’ll be sitting in my own space, eating food of my own choosing. It won’t be good food—I don’t know how to cook, and I can’t afford to eat take-out every night—but it will be all mine.
“You boys get all the oat straw in?” Dad asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Not all of it,” Kyle says.
“Kieran could have started earlier,” says the old man.
“We were out of diesel,” I say.
“Could have gotten the diesel yourself.”
Kyle has the decency to cringe.
I shove another bite of lasagna into my mouth, and the noodles are tougher than they should be. I’m going to learn to cook for real, I decide. Everything is going to change. I look down at the cow-shaped salt and pepper shakers on the table. I made them for my mother in art class when I was fifteen. She loved them and filled them immediately, standing them in a place of honor in the center of the table.
My father had said they were silly and asked her to keep the old ones out. To this day, there are two competing sets on the table.
I’ve always accepted his disapproval quietly. I never really had a choice. But now I do, and it’s dawning on me that I could move to my new place right now. The only inconvenience would be commuting back to the farm for chores.
Sitting here at the silent dinner table, once again in the shadow of my father’s disapproval, I’m beginning to think my sanity should rate higher than convenience. I clear my throat. “Got some news to share.”
It’s rare that I start dinnertime conversations, so the scraping of plates pauses, and everyone stares at me.
“I’m moving out, into a place I rented. Tonight,” I hear myself add. And why not? I’ll still have to drive between Hardwick and Colebury, but this way I’d be commuting to do farm work instead of coffee-shop work.
For a second my parents just blink at me. Kyle scowls.
“Honey!” my mother gasps. “What brought this on?”
Just everything. “I’ve been saving up,” I say. “And this will make my Busy Bean commute a whole lot easier.”
Kyle shoves another bite of food in his mouth, glowering.
He won’t stay mad, I remind myself. And he doesn’t pay attention, so he doesn’t realize how unhappy I’ve been.
“Waste of money,” my father mutters.
“No, it isn’t,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to get my own place for a while, now. Zara’s tenant fell through on the place she rents out, and she made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”
“A house? You don’t have furniture,” my mother points out.
“That’s true,” I admit. “But everyone starts somewhere.”
“You can take your bedroom furniture,” Mom offers.
“Like hell,” my father says. “What if we have a guest?”
The rest of us stare. Nobody can even remember the last time we had a guest. My mother’s sister comes once a year and stays in a motel.
“Don’t worry about it. I have money,” I say. I don’t want my old twin bed anyway. I want to start fresh.
Kyle avoids my eyes.
I finish my dinner in a few quick bites. “I’d better get my clothes together. Thanks for dinner, Mom. Excuse me.”
“You can borrow my big suitcase,” she offers.
“Thanks.”
Fifteen minutes later I’m sliding that suitcase into the back of my truck. I have barely anything to move into a house. Clothes and toiletries. A box of my favorite books. Art supplies. My sleeping bag and camping mattress.
My mother comes outside carrying a very ugly lamp. I assume she�
�s dug it out of the cellar, because it’s only vaguely familiar.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t want you sitting in the dark.” She chews her lip.
“I’ll be fine. Hey, Mom? Could I take my desk? From my room?”
“That old thing? You go ahead. Kyle!” she shouts, and I spot my brother slinking off toward Dad’s truck.
“Kyle! Help Kieran with the desk.”
My brother is silent as he follows me one more time up the little staircase to our rooms. He waits while I remove a few things from the desktop, and then grasps one end of it. But then he lets go and stands tall again. “Why are you doing this?” he asks suddenly. “This is ridiculous.”
Of course he thinks so. Because he doesn’t pay attention.
“It’s not ridiculous. I’m moving out because I want to. It will be easier this way. You’ll see. More room.” Less tension.
“This is still your farm,” Kyle says. “It will always be your farm, even if I end up running it.”
That’s just about the most generous thing he’s ever said to me. “I appreciate that,” I say quietly. “But I have other interests, too. And it’s only Colebury, dude. I’m not moving to Europe.” Although sometimes I wish I could.
“Yeah, but you’re leaving me alone with this shit.”
Now it’s my turn to gape. I take in Kyle’s pissed-off face, his dark brown Shipley eyes that we don’t happen to share. “I’m not ditching you. Jesus. But I’m not planning on becoming a full-time farmer, Kyle, and I never will. I have other things to do, so I’m going to go do them.”
Even though my brother is a dunderhead, and I’m sometimes angry at him, I experience a familiar moment of compassion towards him. He looks absolutely bereft. Don’t go, his eyes say.
Men don’t voice these things aloud, though. So Kyle gives a bewildered shrug.
“I’ll come out Monday for chores,” I say. “And if you decide to bale the rest of the straw, let me know and I’ll arrange it so we can do that together.”
“All right.” His voice is thick. He finally lifts his end of the desk and waits for me to do the same.
We maneuver the wooden desk down the stairs and outside while Mom holds the door. We lift it into the truck’s bed, and I shut the tailgate with a satisfying clunk.
“That’s it, I guess,” he says as the dog trots up.
Rex sits down and whines at my feet, licking his chops, and looking nervous. It’s a little unusual for me to load up the truck and drive away at night. He can tell that something different is happening.
“You’re coming with me, boy?”
He beats his tail against the gravel drive.
“Okay, man. Let’s get your dish and your leash. You can try out city living.”
Rex is a free-range mutt. We think he may be a pit bull and Labrador mix. He grew up running around our fifty-acre farm, but Rexie has slept in my room every night for ten years, since the neighbor gave him to me as a puppy. My rental house has a yard, and I’d been hoping it would be enough space for an aging farm dog. Colebury isn’t exactly a city, and he might even love it there. If he doesn’t, I’ll make the difficult decision to bring him back out here to stay with Kyle.
Kyle and I walk back to the house once again. My mother is fretfully swiping a sponge on the table, and my dad is seated in the same chair that was killing him earlier. I lean down to pick up Rex’s water bowl and food dish.
“What are you doing?” my father asks.
“Rex will need these,” I say quietly.
“You can’t take Rex,” my father growls. “He’s our dog.”
I freeze on the way to the sink, where I’d meant to empty out the water bowl. “He’s mine. He always has been.”
“I’ve fed that dog for ten years,” my father storms.
“Dad,” Kyle says, shock in his voice. “Rexie loves Kieran.”
“Don’t take the dog,” my father rants. “He keeps the raccoons away from the chickens. And he chases off the deer. He’s part of the family. We can’t do without him. Please.”
I’m just standing here holding two dog dishes, not sure what to do. He has a point about the predators. But there’s so much more to this story. He’s willing to fight for a ten-year-old mutt who farts loudly during dinner. He’ll even say please.
He didn’t beg for me to stick around, though. No tears for me.
With my heart in my throat, I set the bowls back down on the floor. “Fine,” I say under my breath. “I see how it is.”
My mother twists the sponge, looking between me and my father, wondering if he’ll relent.
But nope.
I shove my hands in my pockets and stride right out of there.
Kyle follows me again, the screen door banging behind him. “Kieran,” he says, hurrying to catch up. “He didn’t mean it like it sounded.”
I don’t even bother to argue. Rex is waiting patiently by my truck for me, and his tail thumps as I approach. “You’re going to have to hold him.”
Kyle curses under his breath. “Maybe we can find another farm dog for dad.”
“Maybe.” I kneel down in front of Rexie. “Stay here, man. I’ll see you for chores on Monday.” I stroke him between the ears, and his tail thumps faster. “Be a good boy.” When I stand and open my truck’s door, he tries to follow me.
Kyle lunges forward and hooks two fingers in his collar. “Come on, Rex. Let him go.”
I climb into the truck and start it, banging the door shut. Kyle holds the dog back, and they both look at me with sad eyes while I drive away.
I drive toward Colebury feeling torn up inside. I’m ready to live my own life, but I guess I wasn’t totally ready to hear what everyone else thinks of it.
It’s only seven thirty, and I realize that some of the big box stores outside of Montpelier will still be open. As soon as I get to a hilltop—where the cell service is better—I pull over and take out my phone. I find a mattress store that closes at eight, and I call them.
“Look, if you tell me what you’re looking for, and you’re willing to plunk down your credit card number, my guys can load a couple of choices onto the truck and drive ’em to your house tonight. You’ll choose a mattress on the truck, and they’ll carry the winner inside. What size? And what’s your budget?”
“King-sized,” I say immediately. What’s the point of moving out of your tiny childhood bedroom with a cramped twin bed if you can’t have something better?
Maybe all my choices will prove ridiculous. But at least they’re mine.
He gives me a brief education on mattress pricing, because I know nothing. And we settle on a couple of lower-range choices. “You need sheets?” he asks me.
“I need everything.”
He laughs, but it’s true.
After we hang up, I lead-foot it to Colebury to pick up a few things at CVS. I need toilet paper, soap, shampoo, paper towels. Dish soap. Laundry soap.
I’ve spent eight hundred dollars in the last hour, and it’s terrifying. I’d better post a listing for a roommate immediately.
Driving out of the CVS, I still have a half hour until the mattress company is due to show up. So I roll slowly toward central Colebury, where the commercial strip gives way to my new neighborhood on the village green.
It’s quiet now, because it’s a weeknight, and the temperature is plunging. As I roll past the yarn shop, there’s a familiar car that’s visible only for a moment as the road bends.
A blue Volkswagen Beetle. And if I’m not mistaken, there was a light’s soft glow inside it again.
I finish the route home, feeling unsettled. Roderick wouldn’t be sleeping in his car, right? He said he was staying with his parents.
It’s not really my problem either way. It’s got nothing to do with me.
The Colebury diner comes into view, its too-bright lights cheerful in the dark, and beyond it, the town green. It’s one-way around the green, so I follow the streets alongside it until I get to my house.
/> Mine. What a crazy concept.
I pull into my empty driveway and park as close to the garage door as possible. Then I hope out of my truck, feeling like a kid on Christmas. The backdoor opens onto the driveway, and I unlock it in a hurry.
It’s quiet inside, and cold, too. Zara has the thermostat turned low. The place is perfectly empty, and I walk through every echoing room with a smile on my face. There’s a downstairs bedroom next to a bathroom with a big tub in it. That’s the room I’ll rent out.
Upstairs there’re two more bedrooms. One will be my room, and the other will be my studio. I’ll find someone to help me carry the desk upstairs, and I’ll put it near a window.
Then I’ll paint again for the first time in years.
As promised, the delivery guys drive up to the house at eight thirty. I’m waiting on the porch, watching snowflakes fall—something that was not in the forecast.
“Are you Kieran?” the driver asks, hopping out. “Let’s do this.”
Although I feel ridiculous lying down on a plastic-covered mattress on the back of a truck, I shop carefully. Ten minutes later I’ve chosen the firmest of the three mattresses he brought.
It takes all three of us to struggle the thing upstairs and into the back bedroom of the dark house.
“Better turn the heat up, dude.” The driver chuckles as we flop the mattress onto the bare floor. “It’s gonna snow tonight.”
My first thought is that I hope the rest of the oats don’t get too wet.
My second thought is that my desk is getting snowed on in the back of the truck. I’ll have to pull into the garage to keep it dry until I can get someone to help me carry it inside.
“Thanks for your help, guys.” I tip them fifty bucks.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” they say on their way out.
And then I’m completely alone in my own pad, with my brand new king-sized mattress. It takes me a while to put the new mattress pad and sheets on it. But eventually I’m lying there under my sleeping-bag-as-duvet, enjoying the silence.
Although I know it will be difficult to fall asleep. I wish Rexie was here. I wonder whose room he’s chosen to sleep in tonight. Kyle’s probably. That traitor.
