“I’m going to shower and go to bed,” I tell Brent. “It’s been a long two days.”
“I think that’s a good idea. I’ll set your bags in your room.” He smiles at me warmly.
As I hold on to the old wooden banister, I turn around. “Brent?”
“Yeah, Piglet?”
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
His eyes are tender. “I’d do anything for you, Saige. You know that.”
“Thank you,” I say against the growing lump in my throat.
“Go clean up and sleep, kiddo.” Sleep sounds like heaven right now.
“Night, B.”
“Night, Piglet.”
I feel the bed dip and a soft hand brush the hair off my forehead as I try to force my eyes open. I can hear her giggle before I’m able to see her. “Mom,” I mumble, my voice hoarse.
“I got tired of waiting for you to get up,” she says in a hushed voice. “It’s almost noon, Saige.”
“I was tired.” I prop myself up on my elbows. Murphy is curled into a ball at the bottom of my bed. Oh, how I missed him.
“I don’t know how he got up here,” Mom says, gesturing toward Murphy. “He hasn’t been able to climb the steps in months.” Mom rubs my hair, tucking the messy waves behind my ear. “Brent filled me in on why you came home.”
Of course he did. Suddenly, my eyes sting with tears, and I can feel the lump in my throat. I nod, my chin beginning to quiver. Mom runs her finger over my lips, and I lie back on the pillow.
“I’d like to talk to you about it when you’re ready,” she says.
“What if I’m never ready?” I whisper.
She sighs softly. “Saige, you have to start living. My greatest joy came when you accepted that job and moved to Chicago. That was the first time I felt like you were going to be okay. I’ve moved on, Brent has moved on, and you need to move on. We’ll always love your dad, Saige, but it’s time for you to let go of the past.”
I exhale a long breath as I take in her words.
“Come downstairs and eat. I took the day off to spend it with you.”
I smile at her. Her hair is showing a few streaks of gray now, but her face is still as beautiful as I remember.
After a late breakfast, Brent puts me to work on the farm, just like he did when I lived here. Since I still won’t go in the horse barn, he brings the horses to me. I brush and saddle them in the small, secure pasture. Murphy sits in the grass along the fence line and watches as I talk to Lola and Mikey. Both are American quarter horses, and we’ve had them since they were foals.
Brent meets me as I finish, and we spend the afternoon riding the horses along the perimeter of the property and talking. We stop at the creek that runs through the south end of our land, allowing the horses to wade in the shallow water while I take in the setting sun. Brent has been quiet, and I can tell something is bothering him.
“Just say it,” I finally say, breaking the awkward silence.
He sighs and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You know I love having you home, Piglet. I’ve missed you, but . . .”
“But what?”
He lifts his baseball hat off his head, running his hands through his short hair before placing it back on his head. His tan face softens as he begins to speak. “There’s nothing for you here. You’re so smart and talented, and coming back here is just . . . it’s just not where you belong.”
I sigh. “I didn’t say I was staying forever.” But I just might.
“I know. It’s just that I don’t want you getting too comfortable here. You have a life in Chicago.”
I shake my head, feeling that same emotion churning my stomach. “I don’t. I quit my job, Brent. Even if I went back, I’d need to find something else.” The thought of working with Holt, seeing him every day, makes me ill.
He calls for the horses, and they step out of the creek and trot toward us. “I think you should talk to him, Saige.”
No way. “I think you’ve lost your damn mind,” I respond as I step back up onto Lola. He rolls his eyes at me before I take off, and we race the horses back to the barn.
I spend the next couple of days falling into a routine. I sleep late, help Brent on the farm, cook dinner, and spend my nights reading. Anything to keep my mind off Holt. Both Brent and my mom have been respectful and not spoken about him again, but I see the way they look at me. There’s more they want to say, but they’re holding back.
I sit on the old wooden porch swing, a giant blanket tossed over my legs, the moon casting a bright light on the field. Murphy hobbles out of the back door and lies down on the porch beneath the swing.
“Hey, old man,” I call to him. I reach down and run my fingers through his soft fur and rub behind his ear. He lets out a low groan before finally dropping his head to his paws, and we sit in the silence. For the first time in three days, my thoughts wander to Holt.
I close my eyes and fight the memories of his smile, his eyes, his touch. I swallow back my emotion and remind myself that everything I miss, everything I thought was true, honest love was nothing but a lie.