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The barnyard is dark but someone has left the light on at the indoor arena. The whole building shines a warm, yellow light, and I welcome it with gratitude. The night checks freak me out, time after another. The yard and the barn aisles are too dark, and I need to walk a good ten meters before reaching the light switch next to the tack room and office. In the darkness, I always get a creepy feeling of someone watching me.
“Oh my lord, you are such a wuss!” Rose laughs whenever I ask her if she ever felt the same way when checking the horses late at night. My fear of the dark has never faded over the years of growing up, and nowadays it’s even more difficult to bear. At least when you are a child, it’s okay to run away from the monsters, or stay and pee in your bed rather than leave for a bathroom in the middle of the night.
The hay bale breaks down into seven thick flakes when I cut its string with my pocketknife. The mares next to me nicker when they hear me preparing their night-time snack.
“Good evening!”
I jump and muffle my scream into my sleeve, turning around quick as lightning. I have no idea how the German lady has cross tied her horse down the aisle and walked to me without me hearing a sound. I haven’t realized there was someone still riding in the indoor arena.
“My goodness, didn’t mean to startle you, darling!”
“Tha-that’s okay. I just didn’t know you were here, ma’am. I must have been stuck in my head and missed the sound of your footsteps.”
“Oh, please, call me Grete. Ma’am makes me feel like I’m an old, crippled lady.”
“Will do. Would you like me to put your horse away for you, ma—Grete?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you could give me a hand. See, we are very close to getting some piaffe steps out of him. He understands what to do when I’m on the ground next to him. When I’m on him? Not so much.”
I fall in love with her German accent immediately, and I admire how easygoing and relaxed Grete is. She leans against one of the stall doors, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are soft yet sharp, and burst with wisdom. In a very odd way, she makes me feel like home.
“Would you sit on him for me? I promise it won’t take more than five minutes. Ten minutes tops.”
I look at the seventeen-hand stallion waiting patiently, tied on cross ties at the end of the barn aisle. His muscles are puffed up and his mouth is covered with white foam. Even after his workout, he doesn’t seem tired. He looks like he’s ready to go.
“I’m not much of a rider, ma—shit—Grete.” My face blushes, and I would give anything for a fraction of Rose’s or Bill’s confidence. Why am I such a nervous wreck?
“That’s okay, darling. You simply sit. He and I will do the rest,” Grete says and gently grabs my hand, leading me toward the tack room. I walk with her, hand in hand, and stand still, startled, when she places helmet after helmet on my head, patiently searching for the right size.
“Ah, this will do.”
I feel the velvet lining tight around my forehead. The second time she grabs my arm, it almost feels natural to walk down the aisle hand in hand with this cheerful lady. She hums a song I don’t recognize, and every now and then she sings out words that could be either English, German, or some other language I simply don’t know.
“Ready, darling?”
Her strength takes me by surprise when she pushes me with force up into the saddle. Suddenly I sit up high, my thighs wrapped around the humongous stallion. I feel the energy and power flow underneath me, and for a split second I think how easy it would be for this majestic animal to squeeze me between him and the aisle wall, crushing my bones and dropping me on the ground to take my last breath.
“Come on, you two. Fifteen minutes, tops,” Grete says cheerfully and leads the stallion into the indoor arena filled with warm and peaceful light.
“Good boy!” Grete’s voice is happy and cheerful, but I barely have the time to hear it. The feeling underneath me is so surreal, I am simply frozen in the saddle, staring right between the horse’s ears, concentrating to breathe deeply so I wouldn’t faint and fall. It’s like I’m sitting on an enormous beach ball, bouncing straight up and dropping back down again. My fingers grab the front of the saddle so tight they are slowly going numb. The movement creates the same feeling in my stomach as a roller coaster does. It squeezes my stomach, making me gasp for air and then everything returns back to normal. Until Grete starts making the clicking sound again.
“Good! That’s right, darling! Sit up straight and do nothing. He figured it out already!”
Grete keeps tapping the stallion’s hind end lightly with a dressage whip, and every time my stomach rides the roller coaster, she reaches for her pocket and gives the horse a sugar cube. I’m too lost in the moment and the feeling to know if our fifteen minutes is up, or if it has just begun. I’m nearly praying we would keep going, just a little longer.
“Very nice! That’s enough, you got it, Mister! Good for you!” Grete pats the horse’s neck and gives him what I think is the rest of the sugar she carries around in her pocket. “Why don’t you cool him down with a long rein? I need to run to the toilet, but I will be right back.”
Before I can say anything, Grete lets go of the reins and disappears out the open doorway. The stallion walks around peacefully, and his long stride stretches my hips, making me feel like I’m skiing. I’m so mesmerized by the power underneath me that I forget to be afraid. The steam coming off the horse makes my cheeks warm and a bit sweaty. Slowly, I place the reins in my left hand and reach for my companion’s withers. My fingers scratch him carefully and it makes him snort softly. I wish Grete would never come back.
“Let me help you down, darling. I’ll throw a cooler blanket on him.”
Grete has returned, and as quickly as she pushed me up onto the horse, she has now carefully helped me down. I stand on the soft rubber and sand, trying to remember how to walk on my own two feet.
“This is probably what ecstasy feels like,” I whisper.
Grete’s loud laughter makes the horses at the aisle lift their heads and stop munching their hay for a few seconds. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but my stunned brain apparently has no idea if I’m thinking or talking.
“It’s a lovely feeling, isn’t it?”
Grete’s eyes linger on the black stallion, and for a second she seems just as mesmerized by his beauty as I am. They start walking toward the wash stall, and I force my feet to move, get back to my night check, opening hay bales and tossing flakes into the stalls. I only have the horses outside to feed. I load the four-wheeler with five bales of fresh Timothy hay.
The office light is still on when I park the four-wheeler next to the barn door. Grete softly hums and sings in the tack room. I slowly march in and knock on the open door.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” My voice sounds fairly normal again and I hope she doesn’t make jokes about my face, still blushed and red after the ecstasy tripping.
“Thank you, darling. You go to bed now. I’ll put our stud away after he has dried out a bit more. It’s chilly outside and I had to hose him down.”
Grete writes a long note, using Dorothy’s golden pen. I realize this is my chance to learn what the carving on the secret pen says.
“This will sound very weird and it’s none of my business,” I say before I have time to mute my tired brain. The golden pen freezes on the paper and Grete looks up from the letter. Her face has a genuinely interested expression on it. “Can you tell me what that carving says?”
Surprisingly enough, Grete doesn’t look at me like I’m the town crazy or someone who has suddenly lost their mind. She raises her eyebrows and zooms the pen outwards for a second to see it better.
“To my best friend and partner in crime. Love you,” she carefully pronounces the words, temporarily losing her German accent, sounding more like Dorothy or the rest of the natives around the barn. Grete smiles at the pen and shrugs her shoulders once. She places the pen back on her letter and keeps writing.
I turn on my heels and hope that I would have the guts to ask her if she knew who had given the pen to Dorothy. I have only taken a half step when I hear Grete’s peaceful but powerful voice behind me.
“She hasn’t always been like this, you know.” Grete keeps writing and does not look up. I turn, walk to her and sit on the office desk. Her starting a conversation is a clear enough invitation for my curious mind.
“They were very much in love, she and Bruce. I was stunned when she told me she was pregnant only a few months after the two started dating. She didn’t tell anyone else about the baby, just Bill and me. She had to, because of the horses. My rides doubled in one day and I’m not sure if I was happier about the new baby, or getting to ride her stallions.”
Grete keeps on writing and smiling. She seems to talk more to herself than to her newfound friend sitting next to her on the old mahogany desk. I have a weird feeling of doing something forbidden, like I’m stealing Dorothy’s hidden possessions.
“Bruce was drop-dead gorgeous, tall and dark, and he would flirt his way through any situation. I’m sure most women were unable to say no to his charms.”
Grete finally stops writing and leans back, placing her hands behind her head. She remains relaxed and smiling. I realize she must have become very close to Dorothy over the years.
“Everyone was surprised when she started dating again, but when we finally met her companion, it all made a bit more sense. He was simply too charming to resist.”
“How about Bill’s father? He wasn’t around?”
“Oh, that is a whole other can of worms, darling. He was around for a while, until he got involved in drug smuggling. He’s now doing time in a Mexican prison.”
Grete’s words make me snort in disbelief. I always seem to laugh at the most inappropriate times. My insensitive and rude outburst doesn’t seem to bother Grete.
“Oh, darling, I’m not making this up. This is a true story. But this story is about Bruce and why your lady is the way she is. I’m only telling you this, hoping you may be a bit more forgiving. Rose is the only full-time employee who hasn’t left her after a few months of living here.”
I hadn’t told anyone about Dorothy accusing me of sleeping with her son. Rose never talking about her made me think she’s probably holding a few secrets of her own. It also feels disrespectful telling her about Dorothy’s accusation, though I have no idea why.
“We were off to a horse show, heading two states down south that spring. It was the first time Bruce was forced to take some time off and cancel one of his business trips to Europe. He didn’t want to stay home with the child but was somehow convinced to do so.”
Grete’s voice becomes slightly sad and it’s clear what she’s about to tell me is not the easiest life story to carry with you. Bill’s father’s destiny was enough to break down a person, but there was more?
“All the horses and their tack were loaded in the trailer and we were ready to hit the road. Bill was driving, and your boss and I were going through our dressage tests in the back seat. However, driving off the barnyard we heard a loud bang and the ‘check engine’ light went on. When Bill opened the hood, we saw smoke coming out of the engine and that was the end of our travels.”
I am still shocked to learn about Bill’s dad being in prison and I’m starting to feel like I’m watching an episode of The Young and the Restless instead of hearing a true story of my employer’s life.
“We told her to go home to her baby. Bill and I would stay at the barn, put the horses back to their stalls, and book a rental truck for the next day.”
Grete isn’t smiling anymore, and she looks like she is hypnotized by her memories.
“When she drove in, the house wasn’t completely ablaze, but there were flames coming out of the open kitchen window. She had run inside and saw a glimpse of a passed-out Bruce lying buck naked next to a nude young lady, a whisky bottle, and two glasses.”
I hold my breath and nearly ask Grete not to end the story. I’m horrified of what she’s about to say next.
“The baby was in the loft, in her cradle. The doctor told us later on that the cause of death was smoke inhalation. Bruce and his mistress were released after three days in the hospital.”
Rose is still awake when I get to our apartment, stunned and still partly holding my breath. It’s clear that Rose already knows what I just learned about Dorothy and her past. They probably know each other’s stories, and out of mutual respect remain silent about it. I doubt that either of their stories are a secret, but I understand why they aren’t dying to talk about them. My struggles with depression, anxiety and blackouts suddenly seem meaningless. How can anyone laugh and enjoy the sunshine after losing their own baby, their flesh and blood?
“The night-check ghosts finally got you, huh?” Rose sounds amused when I walk in and fall into my bed.
“Something like that,” I say and instantly fall asleep, dreaming about burning houses, piaffing stallions and clinking whisky glasses.
“I’m telling you, you end up loving the troubled child the most.”
Matt’s voice is so pleasant I forget to listen to his words and simply concentrate on the soothing, calm sound at the other end of the phone line. Rose has shoved me her phone so quickly, I had no time for objections and before I know it, Matt has told me stories about his dogs and their shenanigans for a good forty-five minutes.
“... and I was late for a meeting, not able to find a single pair of shoes in the house. I finally told the butt-hurt Riley dog to show me where he had hidden them. Ears flat, he led me next to the pool and I found a mountain of sneakers, dress shoes, and flip flops, all stacked up behind the rosebushes.”
I laugh and remember the goofy dog grinning on his profile picture on Facebook.
“Is that the dog you have as your profile picture?”
“Why yes, it is, same a-hole. He’s the trouble child, but I think I secretly love him the most. We’ve been together for seven years now. You get used to people and want them in your life, even if they are little shits and steal your shoes.”
A warm wave goes through me when I hear Matt refer to his dog as “people.” I’ve always done that with the animals around me.
“Do they all get along? Where do they sleep?” I imagine five humongous pit bulls stuffed into one king-sized bed with Matt, and the image makes me chuckle.
“They do and they don’t. Sometimes the boys fight and I need to keep them separated. One of my younger dogs, Gavin, started to pick fights with the others too often. As much as I loved him, I had to let my ex take him with her to Poland. It’s simply nicer for everyone to live in a fight-free household.”
At the mention of Matt’s ex, a stinging, cold feeling travels through my body. It makes my gut turn upside down, and then crawl up my throat, making me swallow loudly. How can I be jealous of someone I’ve only spoken with for forty-five minutes of my life? He keeps talking and politely ignores me trying to cough off the nasty lump in my throat.
“He’s doing great, Gavin, being the only child. They have a small backyard with lots of grass to ruin out there. I’ve never been over, but I hope to visit him one day. Have you been to Warsaw?”
“Me? No, I haven’t. We traveled to Spain or Greece mostly when I was growing up.”
“Who is we? Your parents?”
“Yes. Me and my mom and dad.” My voice cracks a little bit when I say dad, and somehow I can tell Matt caught it instantly. His leaving the topic alone makes me like him even more.
“Spain would be a cool place to visit. I’ve always wanted to know if it’s anything like Mexico. I used to go there for vacations with Olivia. Whenever we were able to find a sitter to watch all the monster dogs.”
Matt laughs and there’s no sign of bitterness in his voice. I feel the nasty lump return to my throat, but I shake my head and tell my ridiculous brain to stop. I haven’t even seen a picture of this man. He sounds tall. And slender. I try to think if I’ve ever met any stockbrokers in my life, but I can’t think of any. At least in the movies all the Wall Street people wear black suits, shiny shoes, and glasses that make their faces look angry. Matt doesn’t sound anything like that.
“And where do they sleep?” I ask, hoping it isn’t too obvious I keep changing the topic away from his ex.
“Oh, now that’s a complicated and perplex system. But I guess I can try to explain it to you. How much time you got?”
The phone calls quickly become a nightly habit. About an hour before night check time, Matt calls Rose’s phone and chit chats with her for a few minutes. Then he asks Rose to hand the phone to me.
“Hey, love, it’s Matt. Let me do your night check today. I left something at the barn I need to go and get anyway,” Rose says, staring at the front door, and for a second I imagine her nodding to someone through the tinted glass window. It immediately makes me think of ghosts and I change my mind about refusing her offer.
“Thanks, Rose. I’ll feed them tomorrow and the next night.”
She smiles and throws me her phone. I reach to grab it but it lands on my pillow, a few inches away from my hovering hands.
“Matt? You there?”
“I’m here. How’s it going today?”
“All is well. Busy day at the barn, but we got everything sorted, mostly because Rose is a fucking wonder woman.”
My joke makes him laugh and I can tell he’s familiar with Rose and what she can do.
“Does anyone ever argue with her? I mean I would be afraid to fight her and I’m a pretty strong dude.”
I once again try to imagine what Matt looks like, but the only image my brain comes up with is a goofy dog, grinning, upside down on a couch. We’ve never talked about actually meeting each other, and the more we talk, the less I want to meet Matt. In the most bizarre way, he has become my closest friend, and every night I end up telling him more and more about myself, my life, and even about the stuff I haven’t told Rose. If I were to lose this connection and support, it would be like losing an arm or a leg. I’m horrified that meeting him face to face would ruin the connection we have created. Tonight we talk about Dorothy, and I fail to catch myself before I describe to Matt the incident of her accusing me of sleeping with Bill.
“Oh wow, that sucks. And I get that you don’t want to tell Rose. Shitty situation, really.”
His response instantly fills me with endorphins. It feels like thousands of ants run through my veins, fiercely hugging my blood cells and spraying ecstasy all over my gut. Not only did Matt not ask me if I had done it—actually slept with Bill—he also understands why I haven’t told anyone about being falsely accused of it. We talk about Dorothy, Bill and their tragic past until an hour later when the front door opens and I see a smiling Rose walk in. She never comments about our phone conversations or asks for her phone back. It makes me adore her almost as much as I have started to adore Matt, my new partner in crime.
The roads look naked after months of snow and rain. Rose’s truck tires make a loud sound on the dry, cracked pavement. Springtime is here and I still haven’t made a game plan to extend my visa into permanent residency. Every night Matt and I talk on the phone, we end up telling each other our life stories, instead of going through the process of me staying in America.
“Tonight I’ll ask him,” I mumble and know already it would most likely not happen. I’m terrified of hearing what he has to say. Thinking about going back home makes my gut turn upside down, and I feel the familiar suffocating sensation around my throat and chest. I have run away from my depression, loss and mistakes, and I know they will be forever waiting for my return. I’m not ready to go back to it all. My life here isn’t perfect, and I still suffer from occasional nightmares and feelings of guilt, pain and deep sorrow. But the numbness is gone. My brain is too full of new people, their life stories, and the daily education I receive at the barn, to remember how it feels to be abandoned and alone. My body is too tired after the long days at the barn to feel panic or aching for someone’s touch. I drown myself in physical work and other people’s misery. And I don’t want to stop.
I don’t need to get groceries today because Rose is going shopping tonight. I drive to the store anyway and plan to get a new pair of jeans, and a cup of frozen yogurt with too many gummy worms piled on top. The parking lot at the store is half empty and this time I’m not welcomed by suicidal kids or loud American families. I remember Rose telling me it is spring break. People have left their houses to enjoy a skiing resort or some other getaway as far away from the city as possible.
At the right side of the store building, I see a familiar figure leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Destiny waves at me enthusiastically, and I quickly walk over to her. She has two cans of soda and a pack of Marlboro lights placed next to her by the staff door steps.
“Hey, girl! Come join me! You want a Sprite or Dr. Pepper?” she asks cheerfully. I point at the Sprite can and silently wonder what kind of a drink Dr. Pepper is. Destiny hands over the can and her cigarette package with a lighter stuffed between the cigs. The early spring sun feels warm and welcoming on my skin, and I strip off my thin hoodie, toss it on the stairs, and carefully place my buttocks down on it. The birds chirp a song that remind me of a burglar alarm or mock song kids used to sing in the preschool’s yard.
“How you been, my special friend?”
Destiny’s joyful eyes drill into mine, and I feel like I’m meeting with a friend I’ve known for years and years. She makes me feel excited and happy for my future and also for the present moment, for reasons I really can’t explain to myself. And I don’t need to. Lately I’ve learned to enjoy the moment, to live in the now. Right now I’m smoking a cigarette and drinking soda with a woman I barely know, and I can’t imagine anywhere I would rather be.
“I’m great. Everything is good. I made a new friend.”
“Oh yeah? A special friend?” Destiny’s high-pitched voice would be annoying coming from anyone else. She turns her curvy body toward me, and her big golden earrings twinkle when the sunbeams hit them. She is gorgeous, oozing with strength and wisdom I can only dream of having myself.
“Not sure yet. We’ve never actually met. Matt and I talk on the phone every night.”
“What y’all talk about then?”
“Everything, really. Dogs, life, work, dreams.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. He sounds like a keeper. Does your roommate know about him? The one with the raven tattoo?”
Destiny knows Rose by name and we’ve talked about her before. They say “hello” whenever Rose comes to the store and shops, but they’ve never had a real conversation.
“Rose? Yes, she knows. They are old friends, actually.”
Destiny smiles and makes a happy mmm sound. The cigarette stump is still in her hand. She has nipped the burning part off and is now playing with the foam and paper filter in her hand. I inhale my Marlboro and feel how the nicotine caresses my body, making me even more relaxed than I was before. It’s too bad smoking is so terrible for your health. It can make good times and moments even better, and stressful times a bit easier to bear.
“Matt was supposed to help me with my visa. I’ve decided to stay here.”
Destiny’s hand freezes just as she lights up a new cigarette. She holds her breath and then takes the Marlboro away from her full lips without lighting it up.
“How do you mean, girl? Stay? For good?”
“Yes. I don’t want to go back. This is my home now. With Rose and the horses.”
“How does your landlord feel about this decision?”
Destiny mentioning Dorothy makes my cheeks flush, and I wonder if I should tell her about the false claim of Dorothy’s—me sleeping with her son.
“I haven’t told her. She doesn’t like me much. But she does need the help around the farm.”
Destiny sighs deeply and finally lights up her cigarette. I’m starting to wonder if she came to work on her day off, just like Bill and Rose sometimes do. Those two love the barn and the horses so much, it seems taking care of the place is the only thing important in their life. Being underpaid and overworked doesn’t bother them, and most of their days off, the two still show up at the barn, fixing grain buckets, grooming horses and playing with the fillies.
Destiny and I have been smoking and chatting on the stairs for a good while now. I check the time on her wrist watch.
“I’m on my lunch break, girl. Don’t you worry about me,” Destiny says, reading my mind. “Listen, there’s something you need to know about your lady. Nothing ever stays a secret in this cursed town, so I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. Or maybe your friends didn’t want to worry you.”
The last of the Sprite bubbles tickle my throat as I finish my beverage. I start eyeing Destiny’s soda can, which is still sitting by the backdoor steps, untouched and unopened. Smoking always makes me thirsty.
“Some time ago, a girl called Jane worked at the farm that you now call your home. This was after your landlord and employer had moved into the farm full time. She was selling her house in the city, after it nearly burned to ashes.”
I’m wondering if the town knew about Bruce having an affair with a younger woman. The fire would be public information, of course. I decide to keep my mouth shut and happily welcome another cigarette Destiny hands over.
“Jane would come shopping here every now and then, always with your lady’s son.”
“Bill and Jane came here together?” I ask.
“Yes. They weren’t an item, I don’t think. But good friends. Jane was gorgeous, with curly blonde hair and long-ass legs. Beautiful white girl. Could have been a model.”
I imagine Jane to look like a Barbie, and the image of her walking in with Bill the Ken doll makes me chuckle a little bit. Destiny raises one eyebrow when I giggle out loud, but continues her story.
“One night, Jane woke up to a feeling she wasn’t alone in her apartment. She had no roommates, and Bill lived on the other side of the log house, with his mother. Jane looked up and was staring at the barrel of a shotgun. Your lady held it to the side of her skull.”
The smoke suddenly seems to suffocate me and I cough like someone who’s never smoked a cigarette before. Dorothy shot someone?
“Bill had woken up to Jane screaming, and he was able to talk his mother out of killing their employee. Jane moved out of the farm the very next day, and quickly pressed charges. Your lady met with a psychiatrist who diagnosed her to have a severe bipolar disorder. The charges were dropped and replaced with intense psychotherapy.”
Was that where Dorothy always goes once or twice a week? I had always wondered why she returned from her tack store visits without any new halters, hoof picks, or rain sheets for the horses. She must still be in therapy and on medication. Maybe that’s why her eyes seem so foggy all the time?
“She may seem normal, but it’s Bill who triggers her sickness and the paranoia. Her son is the only thing she has left, and she protects him with all she has. You need to be careful, girl. Sick people are not ones to play around with. It only takes one time of her forgetting the meds, and you can wake up to a shotgun pointed at your temple.”
Did Rose know about this? She must know. The whole town knows about Dorothy’s mental illness and her tragic past of burning houses, cheating husbands, obsession with her only son, and no one ever hurting him again.
The hay flake freezes in my hand when I hear a faint thump on the hay loft. I’m still a bit spooked after hearing horror stories of my landlord and shotguns earlier today. It also doesn’t help that last night Matt and I had come up with different types of horror stories of the ghost that haunted our barn’s hay loft. Basically, we had come up with two possible scenarios. One, the ghost is the spirit of the old owner who was brutally murdered at the barn. His murderer was never caught and he is left behind, wandering around the facility, until he gets his revenge. At this point, his ghost has been stuck here for so many years, he isn’t really interested in catching the right murderer or not, as long as he can call it even. And, two, the graveyard nearby is haunted and at night check time the ghosts come to look for victims. They hunt for human minds, and a simple touch from them is enough for you to lose your mind and become brain dead.
As much as I want to prove my theory right, and Matt’s wrong, I’m not ready to welcome either of the stories as reality. The stall door creaks a bit when I slide it open and toss in two flakes of hay. The mare inside the stall nickers at me softly. That’s the only plus side to night checks; you become the barn hero in a split second once you cut open the first hay bale string.
Thump! My heart starts racing, and I automatically look up to the hay loft and listen. I hear a faint sound, like someone is moving and dragging something up in the loft. I want to run but my feet are heavy as lead. The light is on but it’s not bright enough to light up the whole barn. I also need to walk all the way to the office door to turn the light off before I can leave for the night.
I listen carefully, but the horses munching their hay is the only sound I hear. My footsteps are a bit shaky but I decide to walk, instead of run, to the light switch like a normal person would. The light goes off and at the same time something falls and lands on me. Something warm and hairy sticks to the back of my neck. My scream makes the horses whinny in stress. Wildly jumping around, I’m able to shake off whatever is attacking me. The light seems to take forever to come back on. Finally, it’s bright enough for me to see a lump lying still on the barn floor. Sneaking closer, I see a small animal, dead on the barn floor. I look up to the dim hay loft and see a big gray cat peeking down, looking at me accusingly, like I have stolen his dinner.
“Son of a bitch,” I mumble and burst into laughter. It’s impossible to stop laughing, and the more I stare at the dead rat on the floor, the more hysterical my laughter becomes. I can’t wait to tell Matt about our mind-stealing ghost with four paws and a death stare.
I jog down the barnyard and see Rose’s truck parked on the side yard. She had errands to run tonight and I asked her to bring me two bags of blueberry bagels from Hannaford’s. My belly makes a grumbling sound when I think of my luxurious dinner; toasted blueberry bagels and Philadelphia cream cheese with herbs. Matt must have called about three times at this point. Our ghost friend has made my night check almost half an hour longer than usual.
“Rose, I finally confronted our barn ghost! He’s much cuter than we thought!”
I’m still laughing hysterically and I break my own rule by walking into our kitchen with my muck boots on. Rose sits on the couch, eating a bowl of ramen noodles. I look around for my bagels but can’t see them or any other groceries on the counter.
“Shit! I forgot your bagels! I’m so sorry! Tomorrow, I promise,” Rose says and slightly blushes when she realizes she has forgotten about her promise to get groceries.
“Oh, don’t worry about it! Tomorrow, and I’ll come with you. It’s not your job to run errands for me. Did you get everything done?”
I look at her and try to stop my eyes from staring at her cell phone laying on the kitchen table. Matt must be wondering why I haven’t called him back.
“Sort of. I mean, yes, I got it done. We’ll go tomorrow. I’m out of ramen and frozen veggies.”
Rose stares at the TV, but her usual show is not on. She’s watching the cooking channel, but I feel like her mind is occupied and has traveled somewhere else. I open my mouth to ask her if she knew of Dorothy keeping any guns in the house, but I quickly change my mind. Matt will know what to do. He can advise me on what to say. He knows the whole story.
“Cool beans! Hey, can I call Matt back? Do you mind? I promise I’ll get that new phone service one of these days!” I say and hope that I don’t sound too pushy. It’s true, I should have gone to the local AT&T store and got myself a local phone number months ago. Rose doesn’t mind me using her phone, but she won’t take my money to pay for the used minutes either, and I haven’t been able to locate the phone bill so I could secretly pay for it without her noticing. Neither of us get paid a lot of money for our barn duties.
“You know I don’t mind, love. But Matt hasn’t called tonight.”
Rose picks up the phone, checks the empty screen and waves it in my direction.
“Oh! Huh.”
I’m stunned. It’s the first night Matt hasn’t called me, and he didn’t mention any work trips or other occasions coming up when we spoke last night. Not that he was obligated to tell me about his whereabouts. But we talked so much we automatically shared our daily plans and happenings all the time. I try to swallow down the familiar nasty feeling climbing up my throat. Maybe his ex was back in town.
The careful knock on our door startles me and my throat makes a weird squeaking sound. It’s enough to get Rose going. She giggles and places her soup bowl on the floor.
“Let me get that. I’m dying to meet this cute ghost friend of ours!” She laughs and walks to the door.
“Hey... um... sorry, but I think you have my phone.” Bill says carefully and peeks over Rose’s shoulder to see if I’m there. Rose stands by the door and stares at Bill who is now dodging my curious gaze.
“Hey, Bill! You want a beer? I was just about to tell Rose about the barn ghost and his evil attack during night check tonight! You want Rolling Rock or PBR?”
I keep chatting and go fetch the beer, anxiously waiting for my audience to sit and settle on the old green couch. As I walk away, I hear Bill talk to Rose in a muffled voice.
“So, why has Matt called you five times in one hour?”
They finally walk into the kitchen and I hand them both a can of beer. Dorothy is home, but she must be sound asleep because her side of the house was pitch dark already when I ran down the hill after my night check incident. Bill visiting us makes me nervous. Destiny’s story has left an uneasy feeling in my stomach and it seems to be impossible to shake it off.
Bill looks at Rose’s phone on the kitchen table, picks it up and shoves it into his pocket. I look at him and my face must look like one big question mark.
“We have the same phone, Rose and I. We must have mixed them up today... at some point.”
Rose smiles a little and hands me her phone that Bill has brought back to her. The screen is blinking for an incoming call.
“It’s Matt. Sorry, that’s why he couldn’t reach you. Bill had my phone all along,” Rose says and looks apologetic. I look at the handsome guy sitting on our crappy couch. After Rose has handed me the incoming call instead of answering it herself, he exhales sounding like a leaking balloon. He grins happily and crosses one leg over his opposite knee. Bill’s boyish charm startles me every time, and I finally understand why he can’t be relaxed and happy all the time. The stress of his mother’s mental illness must be a hard burden to bear. Rose peeks at him and sits down on the other end of the couch. She carefully glances in my direction and smiles a little. I turn around and press the green phone icon.
“Hey, Matt. Sorry, Rose mixed phones with Bill and I missed all your calls,” I say too quickly and my thick accent takes over, making me sound like I’ve had too many Rolling Rocks for one night.
“Oh, she did? That’s all right. I was just worried the zombies got to you both. What would your lady do if the monsters ate both of her hardworking employees?”
Matt laughs at his own joke and tries to sound carefree, but I hear the relief in his voice. I open my mouth to tell him I have news about Dorothy, but he interrupts me before I have a chance to find the right words.
“Rose had Bill’s phone, huh? Well, fucking finally!” Matt keeps laughing and I’m completely lost and irritated.
“Why would they change phones?” I ask and curse, my voice full of annoyance. Matt’s hysterical laughter makes me even angrier and I’m just about to hang up on him when my gaze freezes on the kitchen doorway. The TV is on, and I see an old lady chopping celery and carrots, talking too fast and being way too excited about the heavenly casserole she’s about to prepare. On the TV’s reflection I see Rose and Bill. Rose lies on Bill’s lap and he buries his face in her hair and then slowly kisses her forehead.
“I’ll need to call you back, Matt,” I say and walk back toward the kitchen. I hesitate at the doorway. Should I knock? I see them still lying there, watching the cooking channel without really seeing a thing. I walk in and stand before them, my eyes wide and waiting. Rose looks at me and sighs deeply.
“Like you didn’t know, love.”
“Honestly? I had no fucking idea, Rose.”
Bill laughs nervously and sits up on our old stinky couch.
“My mother doesn’t know. Because of certain incidents from our past, I know for a fact that she wouldn’t approve of me dating Rose. And I guess that’s the rule anyway. No dating her employees.”
Bill’s voice is sincere and calm. How can he not be afraid of his mother? For Rose?
“Grete told me, Bill. About Bruce and the fire. I’m really sorry about your sibling,” I say.
Rose quickly peeks at Bill and sits up straight on the couch. She crosses her arms around her long legs and leans away from her secret boyfriend to better see his face.
“It’s not a secret, really. My mother told Rose when she was hired. She knew Rose would understand because of her... her... well, she knew Rose would understand.”
Bill peeks at Rose and it seems he’s asking for her permission to keep talking. Rose nods slightly and turns to look at me.
“How much did Grete tell you? About Bruce and that night?”
“She told me that Doroth... um... your mother had come home and the house was in flames. She ran inside and saw Bruce with a young woman, passed out on the floor.”
I have a tough time looking either of them in the eye, and I wonder if I should mention the shotgun story or not. Bill nods and sighs deeply.
“Did she tell you that the young woman was my girlfriend?”
The stairs feel warmer than usual, and the three of us are all wrapped under the sheepskin blankets. We have cracked open the second pack of cigarettes, and no one has said a word for the longest time. My head spins with all the information about Dorothy, her ex having an affair with Bill’s girlfriend, and Rose’s life being in danger. I sit between Rose and Bill, battling to decide what to say next.
“Is it true that a girl named Jane used to work here?”
My words make Rose and Bill sigh deeply and look at each other.
“So you do know about the shotgun incident,” Rose says and stares at the cigarette in her hand.
“Aren’t you afraid? For your safety? What if she finds out about the two of you?” I say and swallow the part of Dorothy accusing me of Rose’s whereabouts.
“My mother has been on medication for years. She goes to psychotherapy twice a week and she works full time as a business owner. She is fine, stable. The only thing I worry about is her forgetting the meds, or starting to drink. That’s when trouble kicks in,” Bill says calmly. His mentioning drinking gets Rose and me to peek at each other, both of our ears hearing the whisky glass clink when ice cubes meet its bottom. Dorothy has definitely been drinking lately.
“What happens when she drinks, Bill?” I ask, trying to sound as neutral as possible.
“The alcohol would reduce the effectiveness of her meds. She might as well not take them at all.”
Rose sees my thought process and starts talking over me before I can reveal to Bill his mother’s nightly secret.
“You know, there are worse things in life than taking a risk, even if that risk is a dangerous one,” she says, staring me down.
“Even if you end up dead?” I say a bit too angrily, not dodging her stare.
“Yes. Worse than being dead is not living at all. Running away from things that scare you, time after time. I’m tired of running,” Rose says, and her voice cracking makes Bill jump a little and I feel awkward sitting between them. I can feel him wanting to hold Rose in his arms to console her.
“We’ll figure it out, Rose and I. We just need more time. Neither of us wants to leave the farm, and the horses wouldn’t make it without us. It’s nearly impossible to find two full-time employees who wouldn’t mind working basically for food and housing,” Bill says.
They have thought about it, leaving the farm. It must be serious. I can’t even imagine them not spending their days in the barn, caring for the horses and keeping everything running. Dorothy only comes in to ride, and the other workers help with stall cleaning. Everything else from grain orders to booking a veterinarian and farrier is on Rose and Bill. They do most of the chores and also take care of the business. I’ve helped Rose send out emails to find more students for Grete when the budget looked too tight for that month, and we needed to make a few extra dollars. Upkeep on the horses is not cheap, and sometimes we have a month or two without any income. It’s nerve-racking to me, but Rose always seems to figure it out. She loves the place like it’s her own.
I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want Bill to leave. Where would I go without them? In just one day, our simple everyday lives have cracked into a million little pieces, and our clear future plans have changed into three big question marks.
