“Then we just have to sit here with her tomorrow. And maybe again tomorrow night.”
“But this is so boring,” Milo whined.
But Aiden was pretty sure that “boring” was a euphemism for “scary.”
“Why is it any more boring than going to bed in your room? Just go to sleep. I’ll wake you if something happens.”
A silence. Neither spoke nor moved. Then Milo put his head down on his arms and closed his eyes. A moment later the boy’s eyes shot open.
“What if she steps on me in my sleep?”
“She can’t step on you. You’re not down on the ground.”
“Oh. Right.” He closed his eyes again. A moment later they shot open again. “Will you protect me if she tries to nibble on me or something?”
“She won’t,” Aiden said. “But yes. I’ll protect you.”
Milo closed his eyes and left them closed.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Aiden fell briefly asleep. But he didn’t know he was asleep. Because in his sleep, in his half-dreaming state, he was sitting with his back up against the stall partition, watching Misty. It was exactly the same scene he would have been viewing if his eyes had been open.
With one dramatic addition.
Harris Delacorte sat with his back against the far wall, on the other side of the mare, staring into Aiden’s eyes. Aiden felt his heart changing. Swelling. Growing bigger. It hurt, but not in a way he minded. He would not have squeezed it down to normal size again even if he thought he could.
“I think you need to do it,” the dreamed Harris Delacorte said.
“I don’t know if I can,” Aiden replied.
“I think you have to.”
“Why?” Aiden asked, thinking he sounded a little whiny. Like his younger self. Or even like Milo.
“Because of the worst that could happen either way. If you do it, you might be throwing away the life of a foal. If you don’t, you might be throwing away the life of a boy. Pick the boy. Bet on the boy.”
Aiden wanted to say more. He meant to say more. Ask more questions. But it was already too late. Harris Delacorte was gone.
“Dad?” Aiden called.
“Aiden?” The voice was sharp and high. It was not his father.
Aiden’s eyes flew open. He looked over to see Milo half propped up on his cot, staring at him.
“Oh,” Aiden said. “Milo.”
“Are you okay? You sounded like you were talking to somebody.”
“It’s fine,” Aiden said. “I just had a dream. Go back to sleep.”
But before Milo could even put his head back down, Misty sank to her knees, groaned deeply, and dropped over onto her side. Aiden felt the sickening ache of a big contraction.
“I take it back,” Aiden said. “Don’t go back to sleep. It’s starting. It’s going to happen right now.”
Aiden thought Milo was in the straw right behind him. But after many stressful—and painful—minutes watching Misty moan and heave, he turned to say something to the boy. Milo was not there.
Aiden raised the lantern and looked around.
Milo was on the cot, his back pressed into a corner of the stall, hugging his one good leg up to his chest.
“You don’t want to see this?”
“I can see it from here,” Milo said. But he didn’t sound convincing.
Nothing more seemed to want to be said, so Aiden set the lantern down in the straw again and turned his attention back to Misty. He could see the front hooves of the foal emerge, covered in the loose white amniotic sac.
He was opening his mouth to tell Milo to come closer to see, when Milo surprised him with voluntary words.
“Does it hurt you, too?” the boy asked.
Aiden raised the lantern again to look at the boy’s face. Milo squinted and turned away.
“Excuse me?”
“Does it hurt you, too?”
“Does what hurt me, too? I don’t know what you mean.”
He might have known what the boy meant. But he wasn’t about to proceed without being sure.
“When she has a baby. It hurts her. I get that. But I’m looking at you. And it looks like it hurts you, too.”
“Yeah,” Aiden said. “It does.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. Just something I’m cursed with. Or blessed, on a few very rare occasions. More often it’s a curse. Milo, you have to see this.”
“What?” Milo asked, craning his neck.
“No, you can’t see it from there. You have to come closer.”
For a minute, nothing happened. Nothing was said. Then Aiden heard the light scrape of the boy’s cutoff jeans moving across the taut canvas of the camping cot. Milo eased to his knees and crawled to where Aiden sat near the back of the prone mare. Milo leaned in close to look. Then he skittered backward until he could propel himself—with his one good leg—back onto the cot. He squeezed into the corner of the stall again.
“What was that?” Milo asked, his voice thick with dread.
“That was the two front hooves of the foal.”
“Didn’t look like hooves.”
“It is, though.”
“Looked like a bag. A white bag.”
“That’s the amniotic sac.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Milo said. “But okay.”
“If you really come in close and let me shine the lantern on it for you, you can see the shape of the hooves right through the sac.”
“No thanks. Thanks anyway. I can see from here.”
Aiden knew he couldn’t. But before he could say more, Misty gave a huge grunt. She pulled in air with a strange sound, then let it out in something like a loud, strained sigh. And with it came most of the foal. Aiden gently took hold of the front legs and guided it out. He didn’t need to pull. He just made sure the foal was supported, and that it landed gently. Not that foals weren’t dropping into the straw—or even the cold, hard ground—unsupported, all over the world. But at Aiden’s ranch this little guy would get a gentle introduction to the world.
Aiden tore away the sac.
The foal underneath lay on the straw with its neck curved around in an arc, muzzle touching its own flank. Like an oil painting of a newborn foal, Aiden thought, but he wasn’t sure where that idea came from.
It was a filly. Aiden could see that. She was coal black. On her forehead she bore a white marking that looked exactly like a crescent moon.
Aiden leaned back and smacked into Milo. The boy had been leaning over his shoulder, and Aiden hadn’t realized. He had been too caught up in the birth.
“He’s born,” Milo said. He leaned farther over Aiden’s shoulder until his face was only a foot away from the baby’s face. “You’re born,” he said, directly to the foal.
“She’s a she. It’s a little filly.”
“I don’t know what a filly is.”
“A colt is a boy, and a filly is a girl.”
Milo leaned in again to address the foal directly. Aiden could feel the warmth of the boy’s belly press against his shoulder.
“You’re a girl,” Milo said.
Then the boy backed up. As if realizing he had stepped into less familiar territory. His crutches had been left out in the barn aisle, and Milo struggled for balance, bracing himself by grabbing Aiden’s shoulder. He hopped back to the cot and sat on the very edge of it, staring at the foal.
“What are you going to name your filly?” Aiden asked.
The words seemed to bang around inside Aiden, as if he were empty and hollow. They scraped and abraded everything they touched. Such dangerous words.
“What?”
“Your filly. Right here.”
He indicated the newborn, who had her nose down in the straw, investigating its feel and smell.
“My filly?”
“Yes.”
“How is she mine?”
“I’m giving her to you. So as of right now, she’s yours.”
No words, no movement. For several secon
ds. Then Milo pushed with his hands and his good leg and propelled himself back into the corner of the stall again.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” the boy said, his voice so small that it barely reached Aiden. “You think I hurt animals. Even though I haven’t hurt one for a really long time.”
“I think you can have this one without hurting her. I’m trusting you to take care of her.”
“I don’t know how to take care of her.”
“I can teach you. I can show you everything you need to know. The only thing I can’t help you with is . . . you have to have the right heart for it.”
Milo had his head turned half away now, as if talking to the barn wall.
“What kind of heart is right?”
“Just . . . the kind that wants her to be okay. You just have to want to take good care of her.”
Aiden waited for Milo to respond. While he waited, he searched for Milo’s emotion. It dawned on him in that moment that the fear he had been feeling from Milo had morphed into . . . nothing. He could feel nothing.
In time Milo rose from the cot and moved closer to Aiden and the foal, dropping to his knees again for balance. He leaned in toward the new baby, and she stretched her neck out toward the boy, and they regarded each other close up for a second or two.
“I don’t know what I want to name her,” Milo said. “I can’t think of a name.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can think about it for as long as you like.”
“I want to go back to bed. Carry me into the house now, Aiden.”
“You don’t want to stay here with your new foal?”
“No. I’m tired. I want to go back to bed.”
“Okay,” Aiden said, tamping the disappointment down, keeping it from his voice as best he could. “Hop on, then, and we’ll go back.”
He was just coming out of Milo’s room when he ran into Gwen. Quite literally.
“Oh, hey,” he said, steadying her on her feet again. “Sorry.”
“What happened? Did Misty have her foal?”
“She did. A beautiful black filly with a white marking like a crescent moon.”
“Ooh,” Gwen said. “I want to see! Let me run put my shoes on.”
While he was waiting, Aiden mulled over the fact that she hadn’t asked yet. Hadn’t broached the obvious question.
They walked out to the barn together in the dark, and Aiden took her hand.
“Did Milo get to see it?”
“More or less. He was pretty much in the corner, as far away from the whole birthing thing as he could get. But he did see the foal when I first tore the sac away. And then he got a little closer and really looked at her. So I think he got the whole birth experience. At least, as much as he was willing to get it.”
They stepped into the barn, where the battery-powered lantern still glowed in the new baby’s stall. Misty was on her feet now, licking the filly all over.
They leaned on the stall door together, their shoulders tightly pressed to each other.
“She’s amazing,” Gwen said. “Oh my gosh, I’ve never seen anything that beautiful in all my life, Aiden. Look at those legs! She’s all legs!”
Misty raised her head briefly and regarded the two humans. As if to say, “Yes. She is pretty amazing, isn’t she?”
“Good job, girl,” Aiden said to his mare.
Misty dropped her head and resumed licking.
“So . . . ,” Gwen began, and Aiden thought he knew what she would be asking. But she surprised him. “I know you didn’t give her to Milo, and that’s okay. I get it. I really do. You’re responsible for her. You need to keep her safe.”
“I did do it,” he said. “Actually.”
“You gave her to Milo?”
“I did.”
“Oh.” A pause, during which Aiden could hear her breathing. As if every breath were a gasp or a sigh. “Am I the only one that finds that . . . terrifying?”
“You’re not,” he said.
“What was his reaction?”
“Not what I expected, I’ll tell you that much. He looked at her really close up for a minute, and then he said he was tired and he wanted to go back to bed. And that was it.”
“Hmm,” Gwen said. “Maybe it’s just a lot to process.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe he isn’t going to take to having a horse, and you’ll end up with her back again. And you can’t tell me that wouldn’t be a relief.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“But however it turns out, Aiden . . . whether he wants her or he doesn’t, I really think it’s going to be a great thing for him that you put this trust in him. I really have to thank you for that. It’s stuff like this that makes me fall in love with you all over again, every day.”
For a moment, Aiden thought they would be allowed to fall into that feeling of love. And just be together. But Gwen had one more thing to say.
“I just hope to God he lives up to your trust.”
“Yeah,” Aiden said, his eyes on the delicate, leggy new life. “You and me both.”
In the morning, Aiden knocked on Milo’s bedroom door.
“Don’t come in, Mom!” the boy yelled out.
“It’s not your mom. It’s Aiden.”
“Oh. Aiden. You can come in.”
Aiden opened the door.
Milo was on the bedroom floor, sitting on the drop cloth left over from his coffee table project, arranging tile pieces on the wooden tray they had bought together at an antique store. Not adhering them down. Just arranging them into a design that could later be affixed. When it was good enough.
“What?” Milo asked.
“I thought you might want to come out and see your filly. She’s standing up now.”
“Can’t. I have to work on my project.”
“Oh. Well, when you can take a break, you should come see.”
“Okay,” Milo said. “When I can take a break.”
But the morning disappeared, and Milo never stuck his head out of his room. Never indicated that he was able to take a break.
Aiden watched Hannah tap her pen for a moment before speaking. As if the rhythm of the sounds could help her put her thoughts into perfect order.
“I wouldn’t make assumptions about his level of caring,” she said. “I know he’s showing it in a very different way than you did when you were seven. Bear in mind you were on the inside of that experience. So you felt your excitement, but it’s hard to know how much someone on the outside of you would have seen.”
“Except . . .”
But then Aiden didn’t go on.
“Except what?”
“Except I’ve been feeling what’s going on inside Milo for a while now. But all I’m getting these days is radio silence.”
“He may very well be overwhelmed by the whole thing. And he might be responding to that overwhelm by shutting down.”
“I thought of that. Yeah.”
“I have no idea what he’ll do in the long run, Aiden. But it was an amazing gesture. I’m sure, whether he wants the horse or not, it’s going to make a huge difference that you put that kind of trust in him. It can’t fail to impress him.”
“That’s what Gwen said. Then she let on that she was scared he might not live up to that trust.”
“Even if he doesn’t, I can’t see how it could fail to help him, just knowing that you would make the gesture.”
“With all due respect,” Aiden said, feeling his stomach tip sickeningly, “please don’t even say that. I don’t even want to think what could happen if he doesn’t live up to my trust.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Teeth
It was about three days later, possibly four, when Aiden walked into the barn and heard a gentle, breathy laugh coming from Misty’s stall.
He walked over and leaned on the top of the stall door. Looked in on the scene. It wasn’t Milo. Elizabeth had let herself in to see the filly. Aiden took a moment to nurse his disappointment before he s
poke.
Meanwhile Elizabeth had not yet looked up and seen him there.
She was holding her fingers out to the filly, who was sucking on them as if she could nurse from them. Elizabeth giggled again.
“I know that seems fun,” Aiden said.
The girl jumped. The foal spooked away and ran back to her mother. Elizabeth put one hand to her heart, then sighed out a breath of air.
“Oh. Aiden. You scared me.”
“Sorry. I know that’s kind of funny, how she’ll suck on your fingers. But it’s only fun now because she doesn’t have her teeth in yet. They come in really fast. So be careful.”
“Okay,” she said, seeming a little embarrassed. “I’ll watch out. She’s just so adorable, though. I can’t stay away from her. She’s so cute!”
“Has Milo come down to see her yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Right,” Aiden said. “That’s what I figured. I guess Milo can stay away from her. I’ll go see what he’s up to.”
Aiden found Milo in his room, sitting on the floor next to—and staring at—what appeared to be a finished mosaic breakfast tray. When the boy looked up and saw Aiden standing over him, he made no effort to cover his work.
“Is it done?” Aiden asked.
“I think so.”
“Aren’t you the one who would know?”
“Well. Yeah. I put the varnish on it and all. But I’m just looking at it now and trying to think if it’s good enough.”
“Mind if I come take a look?”
“Yeah. Okay. But don’t touch it. The varnish’s still wet.”
Aiden walked a few steps across Milo’s bedroom and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the boy. He leaned over and looked closely at the mosaic tray. Milo had created an intricate tree, much like the trees that grew around and over Aiden’s house and barn. The boy had had access to a number of shades of brown and green, and had varied the shades to create an effect of light hitting the leaves, and the bark on one side of the trunk. Aiden found it remarkable for a boy his age, assuming he had done it on purpose. The more Aiden stared, the less he could imagine how such an effect could have been created by accident.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“You’re just saying that.”
The Wake Up Page 27
