Totaled (7 page)

I’d never seen a horse up close and I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next. Mick must have realized my apprehension. He slowly approached, bringing the huge horse over to me with him.

“This is Ginger. She’s my baby girl. I’ve had her for twelve years. She’s my favorite. The white mare over there with brown splotches all over her is Freckles. The black and white one is Elvis and the chocolate brown one is Gator. They’re all part of our family,” he said with love in his voice.

“They’re beautiful,” I replied, not able to think of anything else to say.

“You’ve never been around horses, huh?”

Embarrassed, I replied, “No, sir. I’ve never even seen one up close. Only on the TV and movies, really. They actually kind of scare me.”

Mick chuckled and reached his right arm around my upper back, urging me to walk alongside him towards the others. “This ought to be a hoot,” he said as we walked away from the house side by side.

I felt like it was my death march. My heart was thumping out of my chest. We stopped in front of a stable and Mick unlocked a padlock on the double doors enclosing the structure. He stepped into what looked almost like a closet and started rustling around, making a racket. At the sound of the noise he was making, all four horses trotted right over to me. With my body frozen and my facial expression surely fixed in one of pure terror, I stood as still as I could, sure I was about to be trampled. I was shocked by my intimidation and fear, but I had no control over these huge wild animals. I felt like I was about to die.

The horses all came to an abrupt halt just inches away from me. Ginger, the copper brown one that Mick introduced me to a few minutes prior, bent her head down and nudged her nose under my right hand, as if to say, “Pet me, you shmuck!” I had no idea what I was supposed to do. So I pet her. I stroked her nose and scratched behind her ears and on the top of her head, similar to how I would pet a dog, which was sadly the only basis I had for comparison. She blew breath out of her nostrils and seemed to like it, so I continued doing it until she abruptly raised her head up to stand at full attention, her ears pointing up, poised and alert. She looked straight ahead at Mick, who came out from behind the structure’s door carrying a large bag of something. He grunted, laboring to carry the bag and struggling to raise it over his head.

“You gonna just stand there or give me a hand?” he asked me.

I quickly took a hold of it and propped it over my left shoulder. He exhaled briskly and walked me over to a hollowed out half bucket that was nailed up to a fence ledge. He held out a pocket knife, urging me to take it from him.

“Slice that bag open and pour half of it in this feed trough and the other half in that one,” he instructed me, pointing over to another one about fifty feet away.

I did just as he instructed to the first one and walked over to the other trough with the half emptied bag of feed, two horses following me right at my heels, and poured it all in. They all started eating immediately and I smiled, exhaling a large breath of relief.

While the horses were all eating, Mick urged me to walk along with him away from the stable. We walked along the fence as he tried to reassure me that his “babies” were nothing to be afraid of. Large and intimidating to those unfamiliar with horses, sure, but gentle and kind with good hearts and loving natures. Just misunderstood. I felt like I could relate. Although I didn’t feel gentle or kind most of the time.

We reached a spot in the fence line about a hundred yards away from the stable where the wood had splintered and broken, leaving a large gap.

“I built all of this fence myself, and it’s held up pretty well for a good while,” Mick said, running his hand along a rail, “but there’s this spot and two others that I need to patch up. I was hoping you’d help. It’s so much easier with two people.”

“Of course,” I enthused. “I’d love to help you any way I can. Just tell me what to do.”

We rode up to a local hardware store together and I followed Mick around like a lost puppy. It was quite embarrassing, not to mention humbling, to be surrounded by do-it-yourself supplies and people who seemed to just know exactly how to do-it-yourself. I had never even entered a hardware store, much less knew what to do with all of these raw materials and tools. I felt emasculated and insecure. Here I was, this large, muscular man, and had never hammered anything other than a nail into the wall to hang a picture.

I lifted things as Mick pointed to them and crossed things off the list. He had boards sawed off to an exact measurement in the lumber department and I stacked it all up on the rolling flatbed. I offered to pay for it all at the register, insisting that I need to pay him back for giving me a place to stay. He declined, almost acting offended, and assured me that my company and manual labor was plenty thanks and a huge help to him.

We packed it all into the back of his pickup truck and headed back to his house. After unloading it all and hauling it into the backyard, Joan called us in for lunch. She had prepared ham and cheese sandwiches, two for each of us; she even cut them in half diagonally, as if we were children. It was endearing and sweet and reminded me of the little touches that my own mother used to add. She had sliced up fresh fruit and baked fries in the oven that she cut from fresh sweet potatoes and seasoned with sugar and cinnamon instead of salt. It was amazing. She was amazing. I scarfed down every morsel and drained my lemonade until the ice cubes hit my teeth.

Fixing the fence line with Mick was laborious but relaxing at the same time. We just talked the whole time and I truly felt, in that moment, that I had found a friend in him. He taught me with patience and kindness, showing me how exactly to hold the tools and at what angle to hammer the nails in to make the barricade as strong as possible. I couldn’t help but wonder how different my life would be now if I had grown up in a household like this. I knew that my mother had done the best she could to provide me with a stable and loving home, but it was difficult to distract my mind from envying a different sort of upbringing. If only I had experienced a father like Mick.

He talked to me about his horses a lot. He truly loved and cherished those animals like they were almost his children. When I asked him about his children, his demeanor shifted.

“Our daughter, Camille, lives in California with her husband. They got married a few years ago and moved out there. He works for some sort of computer company. They don’t have any kids yet. And our son…we had a son, too. Russell. He was killed in Afghanistan last January,” he stated simply, a hint of emotion in his voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I apologized, mortified that I’d brought up such a painful subject.

“I know, ‘course you didn’t. It’s okay. You couldn’t have known. He was a good man, caught up in this damn war, in the wrong place at the wrong time. You remind me a lot of him, actually,” he commented with a smile that reached his eyes. “He’s been dead for fifteen months and was gone overseas for three or four months before that. A year and a half since I saw him last, but it still don’t get any easier to talk about.”

I felt his sorrow as I sat on the steps of the deck, listening to him. I grieved his loss right along with him and knew to my core exactly how he felt. It hurts, losing someone you love. He spoke of his son like he was on a pedestal, truly proud of the man he was becoming before the horrors of war stole him from this world. He was only nineteen years old, with his whole life ahead of him. He joined the military to get his college paid for. Not wanting to burden his parents with paying for his education, he enlisted with goals of becoming an equine veterinarian one day. He was just as into horses as Mick seemed to be. Gator was Russell’s, he had raised the chocolate brown horse from birth.

Mick had tears brimming his eyes that he successfully kept there as he stared over at Gator and told me the story of when his son had woken him up in the middle of the night to help him deliver him in the stables.

“Russ had stayed up all night with Freckles, helpin’ her through her labor. He gave her water, walked her to ease the pain of the contractions, stroked and brushed her hair to comfort her through the birthing process, and he was only a freshman in high school, fourteen years old at the time. When I got out to the stable, I could see that Freckles was in distress. I told Russ to glove up and told him that I would coach him through deliverin’ the calf. Russ was scared, but did exactly as I told him. With his entire arm covered in a thick latex glove, he reached into Freckles alongside the calf to help rotate his body as he eased him out of the birth canal. Freckles bucked her legs from the pain but Russ didn’t move. He took the kicks and absorbed the pain, knowing he couldn’t let go of his grip on the calf. Once the back legs and the bulk of the calf’s body was out, he stroked Freckles over her belly and spoke in soft, soothing words, encouraging her to breathe and push her baby out. Russ felt her bear down with her next contraction and he eased Gator’s head out and gently lowered him to the ground. Freckles turned her head and rotated her body to start licking the sack away from her calf’s face so he could breathe. Russ helped peel away the membranes of the sac and petted Freckles’ head as she worked to clean her infant off. It was just about the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen, short of watching my own two being born.”

Just hearing the story made me feel like I was there watching the show in real life. Seeing how proud Mick was of his son in that moment, as he reminisced, was powerful. I had never seen that look on my father’s face before, never felt that anything I did made him proud or happy. I never felt the love that Mick was so obviously still holding onto for his son. It was unnerving and made me sad. I was sad for Mick to have lost his son and best friend and have his horse to look at daily to remind him of the pain. I was sad for sweet Joan to be without her son and so far away from her only other child. I was sad for the loss of my mother and sad for the emptiness I felt for never having a father like Mick.

Chapter Seven

BREE

Standing outside of my house at four o’clock in the morning was both eerie and relaxing. It was still dark, quiet and peaceful, just the gentle sound of leaves rustling around as the branches swayed around in the breeze. It felt refreshingly cool today, crisp and sharp. I had on spandex capri workout pants, a thin long-sleeved t-shirt, and my jogging sneakers. I had thrown on a cap since Sue had so rudely interrupted my beauty sleep. Trying to prove a point to her did not allow for time to wet my unruly hair into submission.

I heard her car coming down the road before I saw it. Smiling deviously, I thought to myself,
it’s on.
This is going to be a blast!

Sue pulled up into the driveway and turned her ignition off. I jumped into the passenger side of her vehicle before she could get out.

“Not so fast, you’re driving!” I cried.

She looked at me like I had three heads.

I just smiled. “You asked for this, Curly Sue. Now move.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll tell you where to turn. Just drive,” I ordered her.

We drove in complete silence, except for me telling her to turn right or left and to slow down when appropriate. Finally, about fifteen minutes later, we had arrived at our destination. She stopped the car and looked over in my direction with a puzzled expression. The only thing in front of us was a line of trees and some thick brush.

“Let’s go,” I said cheerfully, getting out of the car and slamming the door.

She followed behind me with a constant mumble of disgruntled slurs. Some to the tune of “This is insane,” followed by, “My bestie is a complete psychopath,” and then, “Last time I text her to apologize,” and on and on. I tried to keep a straight face and focus on reaching the edge of the trees where the familiar hidden opening was.

“I hope you stretched. This first bit of the run has a bit of a rough terrain,” I said bluntly as I took off jogging. “You better keep up, Sue. You owe me.”

She said nothing, but I heard her behind me. Every minute or two, I glanced back out of the corner of my eye to check that she was still close behind me. She actually was keeping up nicely. We jogged in rhythm with each other up and down hills and along a tight path of heavy woods. We leapt over palmetto bushes and carefully maneuvered over roots sticking up out of the ground. We even stepped into a muddy stream that was unavoidable. And through it all, she was silent. I was breathing heavily and grunting from time to time. When we almost reached the clearing that was my goal, I slowed my pace and started walking. She caught up with me and raised both of her hands over her, resting them on top of her head as she struggled to catch her breath. I continued to walk until the thick trees turned into a clearing of sand dunes and sea oats. We climbed over the dunes carefully, trying not to disturb the plants, and were greeted by the most beautiful soft glow of pink creeping over the horizon of the ocean.

“Oh my God, Bree. You tried to kill me just to watch the sunrise on the beach?”

I shushed her right away. “Hush. Just watch and listen.”

So she did. We sat on the sandy hill and we were just there, specks in this huge world of beauty. So small. So insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The pink-tinted sky turned darker pink, and then reddish and orangey, until the very top crest of the sun started to peek out over the horizon. It was breathtaking. Absolutely the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen. I reached over and grabbed Sue’s hand and we sat together hand in hand, watching in awe. In that very moment, I forgave her for being a nasty, selfish bitch and she forgave me for being an uptight, judgmental, close-minded stick in the mud. The sunrise started a new day with beauty and serene peacefulness that we obviously both needed.

“I’m sorry, Bree.”

“Me too.”

“How long have you known about this place? How often do you come here?”

“I don’t know, once or twice a week for a few years now. I sort of found it by accident and I love that I can come out here and be all alone with my thoughts. Just me, the ocean, and God.”