He Found Me

by Whitney Barbetti

  Dylan looked at me guiltily before finishing his coffee. He walked over to Rosa and wrapped an arm over her shoulder affectionately. “You’re right. I’ll cut him some slack.” He leaned down to accommodate her short stature and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “See you later.” Rosa’s head swung in his direction, but he quickly strode to where I was down the counter. I brought the slice of bacon to my lips, but he swiped it from me and popped it into his mouth, grinning at me while he chewed. I slugged his upper arm before he ran out of the kitchen, escaping Rosa’s wrath for the kiss and my anger at the bacon thievery.

  I reached for a cereal bowl from the cupboard behind me before Rosa said, “I left you extra French toast in the fridge.”

  She didn’t look at me when she said it, but I smiled nonetheless as I grabbed the Tupperware with my breakfast out of the fridge. I heated it in the microwave. Rosa was concentrated on the omelets she was making, so as soon as the microwave dinged, I popped both slices of the French toast onto a paper towel and put the Tupperware into the dishwasher.

  “Thanks Rosa!” I sang as I hopped out the kitchen and headed for my cabin to change into work clothes.

  After sticking the last flag next to the sprinkler, I turned to Farley.

  “After you’ve marked all the sprinklers, then you are ready to mow. Don’t make my mistake of nearly destroying an entire sprinkler system,” I laughed, trying to ease the embarrassment Farley already felt after Dylan wrestled the lawn mower for three hours, untangling the barbed wire.

  I climbed onto the mower while Farley stood by. “Today I’m going to teach you to how to mow the lawn behind the big house, as it slopes down to the pond.” I made sure it was in neutral and the parking break was set before starting the engine while Farley looked on, arms crossed over his rock festival tee. He looked like a rocker farm boy, with his cut off sleeves, ripped jeans and cowboy boots. He wore his Broncos baseball cap backwards over his unruly mop of black curls.

  I remembered when we first hired Farley, Clint had given him a hard time as he laid out Farley’s duties. Farley kept putting his hand over his eyebrows, shielding his eyes from the harsh sun while he listened to Clint. “You know, that ball cap you’re wearing is meant to help shade the sun from your face. We need you two-handed on this ranch.”

  “But then my neck will burn,” Farley had countered.

  “Boy, your hair is longer than Rosa’s, and I don’t ever hear her complaining of a burnt neck.”

  Farley had laughed it off, knowing he was the new kid and therefore needed to be broken in. And yet, he still wore his cap backwards and always forgot his sunglasses.

  I slid my hands around the steering wheel, enjoying the slight pulse from the engine that transferred to my palms. I really loved mowing, but after I took too many projects on, Rosa and Clint had insisted on hiring a local kid to help with some of the easier tasks on the ranch.

  I spoke over the engine, “you want to move up and down this slope, not sideways. The surface you’re mowing should be as level as possible, so mowing sideways won’t ensure an even cut – and it’s also dangerous.”

  Farley’s cheeks burned red. We were standing at the crest of the hill as it started to slope down, and the evidence of his last unsuccessful attempt at mowing was obvious in the large patches of tall grass next to chunks of dirt. He was embarrassed, but willing to listen and learn – that was important. Rosa was right, he would do well under a little guidance.

  “Slow down when you’re going down the hill and as you mow along the edge of the pond. Don’t get too close to the sandy edge – just use the edger or weed-whack the taller grass afterwards. And move the blade up to the fifth setting when you’re mowing around the pond. The ground is too uneven and if you use the lower settings,” I pointed to settings one through four, “you’ll end up with a bunch of dirt and no grass. And you’ll also end up with a very pissed off Rosa.”

  Farley nodded. “What about the rougher grass by the trees?” he asked, pointing to the area just between the pond and the trees that shaded it in the back.

  “Good question. Slow your speed and use the fifth or sixth blade setting. No one walks back there, but we want to keep it short so it doesn’t look unruly, messy. Also less likely to become a home for spiders that way.”

  Farley peered down the hill at the pond, seemingly absorbing what I was telling him. “Don’t be afraid to shift down if you’re in a tricky spot, like going down the hill or around the fences. When you get more comfortable, you can increase your speed.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Farley mumbled. I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips. He pulled his hat off his head to run his fingers through the mess of curls. He had a pretty baby face, and I knew from the teasing I heard from the ranch hands that he was quite popular with the young ladies in town. But to me, he was a kid.

  I motioned for Farley to hop on the mower so I could hop off. “I’m confident you’ll get the hang of it – and honestly,” I said, bracing a hand on his shoulder so he looked me in the eye, “this is better than mucking horse shit.”

  He laughed and nodded. “Thanks, Andra.” He ran his palms over the steering wheel.

  “You’re welcome, Farley. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. And don’t forget to retrieve the sprinkler flags and store them in the garage when you’re done.” Farley nodded in acknowledgement, so I jumped off the mower as Farley shifted into gear and rode.

  I made my way back to the big house, turning around just as Farley was nearing the bottom of the hill, where it leveled off a bit to the pond. He was driving at a snail’s pace, but the zigzags were minimal this time.

  I bounded into the kitchen where the afternoon and evening cook, Oscar, was prepping dinner for the ranch staff. After the other guests departed that morning, we currently only had one tenant – Julian – and he was away for the evening, so we’d all be dining together, family-style.

  I snatched an apple from the fruit bowl in front of Oscar, not missing his grunt of disapproval. I pulled up a bar stool opposite him and crunched into the apple.

  Oscar’s eyes flicked up at me, in annoyance. Oscar, aptly nicknamed Oscar the Grouch, was in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and deeply tanned skin. His eyes were an almost unnatural blue, startling when he looked your way, beneath his fuzzy, black caterpillar eyebrows.

  “You’re going to ruin dinner,” he grumbled, slicing the fat away from the chicken breasts he was carving.

  I crossed one leg over the other, and grinned at him, even though he was doing his best to avoid looking at me. “Nah. I’m ruining my lunch.”

  Oscar slid a few chicken filets to a bowl with what I knew to be buttermilk before scoffing. “You always ruin your lunch. I should know, because Rosa always packs it up for you and personally delivers it to your fridge.”

  I scrunched up my lips. “Rosa loves me. She spoils me.”

  “HA!” he exclaimed, pointing his stubby finger at me. “Rosa? Who do you think cooks the food?”

  I held back a laugh at his indignation. I was biting my lip while I shook with laughter. Oscar glared at me. “Okay, Oscar. YOU spoil me. I guess that means you love me too, eh?”

  He shook his head, seemingly annoyed, but I knew he had a soft spot for me. Oscar had been widowed two years earlier and his daughters were across the country, building their own families. They rarely visited, which I knew was partly why he was such a grump some times.

  A few months after his wife died, I’d caught Oscar heading out to go fishing. After he’d declined to invite me along, I had followed him in my Jeep and spent that Sunday at his favorite fishing spot. I don’t think we had exchanged more than a dozen words. In fact, the only thing he’d said to me was kind of insulting. “Here, use this. You’re not going to catch anything with that crap.” He’d shared his lures and bait with me and we drank beer and soaked up some sun.

  Oscar turned to the farmers sink in the island and nailed me with his eyes while washing his han
ds. “Go. Eat. You have food in your fridge and I have potatoes to prepare.”

  I raised my hands in surrender, still holding the apple and backed out of the kitchen, headed to the cabin for a quick lunch.

  When I unlocked my door and let myself in, I noticed a light blinking on my cell phone on the counter. I never took my cell phone with me while I worked, preferring to not have the distraction it created. Ignoring it for a moment, I opened the fridge and grabbed the wrapped sandwich and baby carrots Rosa had left for me. I filled a glass of water and slid into a bar seat at the island, taking a bite of my sandwich before unlocking my phone to view my notifications.

  I didn’t have any social media presence. The risk wasn’t worth it. Besides, apart from Six, everyone in my life lived within a couple miles from the ranch. I had never maintained an online profile anywhere, and I enjoyed the freedom I had. Not that I wasn’t curious from time to time, especially about old classmates. But I enjoyed my anonymity.

  I had one text and voicemail. I checked the voicemail first. I didn’t recognize the number, but there was only one person it could be.

  “Hi. Listen, I need you to call me as soon as you get this. I’m not kidding. I will call Rosa if you don’t call me right back.”

  Six’s voice sounded troubled and I was immediately aware of the pit in my stomach. Six very rarely called me, and always from a disposable phone with the same area code, so I’d know that it was safe to answer. He was absolutely the epitome of over-protective, and always erred on the side of caution, especially when it came to my safety.

  The bite of sandwich had turned leaden in my mouth, and swallowing it past the lump in my throat was more than simply difficult. I took a steady breath and called Six back.

  “Can you get out of Colorado for a couple days?” Six never bothered with pleasantries. I know it was partly to keep our conversations short, but mostly because he was a blunt man.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “There’s been suspicious activity. I scoped it myself and just got back, but I need your help. I know you never wanted to go back, but it’s necessary.”

  Six was very level-headed, not easily swayed by emotions or anything else, but I still heard the under-current of concern. I knew he was referring to the Monster. The hand holding my cell phone grew slick with sweat.

  “When do we go?”

  “Wednesday night. We’ll return Friday morning. I already called Rosa.”

  I swallowed, trying to push the bile down. “What are we going to be doing?”

  His answer came almost hesitantly. “Breaking and entering.”

  My heart picked up pace, slamming against my ribcage like an animal fearfully trying to escape.

  When I didn’t reply, Six spoke again. “Nothing bad will happen to you. I swear on my life.”

  I nodded, eyes squeezed shut, before realizing he couldn’t see me. “I know. Okay,” I whispered.

  “I’ll be in Colorado Wednesday afternoon. We’ll travel together. It will be fine. But this must be done.”

  I was glad I was sitting down, because my legs were trembling. Fear washed over my body like a wave, but didn’t recede. With the phone still to my ear, I heard Rosa come in my cabin.

  “I’ll see you Wednesday,” I said in a small voice.

  I heard the click of Six disconnecting the call and put the phone on the counter unsteadily as Rosa came up behind and wrapped her arms around me.

  Rosa was warm and smelled of sugar and strawberries. She was not an affectionate woman by nature, but she knew she was all I had, the only person who could provide me the comfort I so desperately needed.

  After I had calmed down, I insisted on getting back to work, anything to keep my mind off of the Monster. Rosa had protested, as she usually did, but I brushed it aside, intent on keeping busy. The best way for me to push aside the emotional turmoil I was feeling was to focus my attention elsewhere.

  After snagging some beet greens from the kitchen, I grabbed the five-gallon bucket that held my cleaning supplies for the chicken coop and headed down behind the house to the hen house.

  Rosa had purchased a beautiful custom hen house and then built a large fenced yard around the coop. She had twenty hens, but her hen house was large enough that it could accommodate another ten or so. Twenty turned out to be a perfect amount as far as egg production went, with around 10 dozen eggs a week. But twenty hens also made a huge mess.

  If Rosa was anything, she was motherly, not just to humans, but to animals as well. She insisted on cleaning the stables as often as possible, though I usually took that task. The hen house was cleaned every Sunday, and that was another task I asked Rosa to pass down. She did, albeit reluctantly. The ranch was flourishing on its own, which required Rosa to dedicate her time in other places.

  I wasn’t much for socialization, at least with other people, so cleaning the stables and the hen house and gardening were chores I enjoyed the most. I didn’t prefer to cater to our guests’ needs or work alongside the ranch hands. The ranch hands liked to talk and I didn’t have much to contribute to their conversation. I was a terrible liar, mostly because it made me feel terrible to look someone in the eye and tell them something untrue. So I adopted being somewhat of a loner, apart from Rosa and Dylan.

  So I chose to socialize with Rosa’s “girls,” keeping them healthy and happy every Sunday late afternoon. I let myself into the chicken run and after distracting the hens with the beet greens, I shuffled into the hen house and spent the next hour cleaning it out before spraying everything with a spray to keep the hens healthy and free of lice.

  I left the chicken coop closed up, windows open for ventilation, and let myself out of the chicken run while the hen house dried out.

  I sat in the grass just outside of the fenced area while the chickens clucked around the fence, likely wanting more greens. “Sorry ladies, I’m all out.”

  Now that I was sitting still, my mind went back to my earlier conversation with Six. I hadn’t been back to Michigan since Six drove me to Colorado. I’d only seen the Monster in photos published in online news journals. I’d made a life for myself, a life I chose to live. Six didn’t bring me to Colorado with the intentions that I’d stick around Rosa’s ranch. But the longer I stayed, the more I couldn’t imagine spending my life doing anything else. Going back to Michigan was dousing ice cold water on my happiness. It was life getting comfortable, cozy, before it reared its ugly head and suffocated you with reality.

  But if Six said it was important, then I knew it was. And that’s what scared me the most.

  I wasn’t sure how long I was spaced out before a shadow fell over me, startling me to my feet as I turned around in defense.

  “Hey,” Dylan said, palms up in defense. “It’s just me.”

  I laughed, not humorously, and put a hand over my racing heart. “Sorry.”

  Dylan eyed me curiously and held a water bottle out towards me. “Here. I’m sure you are in need of this.” He motioned to the hen house with the water bottle. “I was in there this morning and it stunk.”

  I nodded and licked my dry lips before grabbing the water bottle. “Thanks,” I said, not meeting his eyes, before chugging the water.

  I felt him touch my arm. “Are you okay?”

  I looked sideways at him, swallowing the last of the water. “Yep fine.” Then I grabbed his hand and turned to him, remembering I had plans Wednesday. “My brother called this afternoon and I need to leave town for a couple days.”

  “Okay…” Dylan said, a note of suspicion in his voice. “When do you leave? And is everything alright?”

  “Wednesday. I have to cancel Waffle Wednesday this week. I’m sorry.” I squeezed his hand.

  “That’s fine. There’s always next week. But this is kind of short notice, are your folks okay?”

  I faced away from him to hide my wince and let go of his hand. I absolutely hated lying, especially to friends. “Yeah, they’re fine. It’s just been a long time since my brother and I saw them,
so we’re going to go out that way for a couple days. This was the only time their schedules could line up.”

  “Hmm,” Dylan murmured. “They should come out here sometime. We’d love to meet them.”

  I didn’t know who Dylan was referring to when he said “we” because he was the only person who would want to meet my fictional parents. Another lie would have to slip from my lips. “They hate to travel,” I replied. I turned back to Dylan and handed back the water bottle. “I need to finish the hen house.”

  Dylan nodded, his eyes searching my face. I knew he was concerned, so I tried to play it off with a smile and squeezed his shoulder affectionately before I headed back to the hen house to finish cleaning.

  That night I dreamt of the moment I found my mother’s body.

  My life was a series of befores and afters: before my mother’s death and after my mother’s death. Before I left the Monster and after I left the Monster.

  The first thing I remembered about my mother’s death was the minutes after. I’d always dreamt of it this way; remembering the after. It was during the after that I remembered the before.

  A paramedic was in front of me, his mouth moving, his warm fingers pressed against my wrist. My head felt heavy as I turned to him, my tongue thick as I tried to form words. “What?” I managed. I was lying flat on my back on the floor.

  “Can you tell me your name?” he asked, slowly.

  I tried sitting up before he hushed me and coaxed me into lying down again. “Just tell me your name honey.”

  It felt like I was on a ride, stuck in one spot while the room spun around me over and over. My hand felt like it weighed 100lbs as I lifted it up to my forehead. Every motion required my complete concentration, and my brain felt like it was bobbing in my skull. I couldn’t focus on anything. Even the paramedic’s features distorted, looking like a watercolor painting.