Chapter Twenty-Four

Turns out, hospitals don’t let kids visit the ICU no matter how long you wait or how many times you ask.

Sometime long after sundown, as Scotty lies curled up asleep on a waiting room chair, the doctor tells Mom the procedure went well—something about a blockage and an angio-­balloon thing. He says Grandpa has a will to survive and a strong heart.

But we know that already.

Mom asks Asher to take us home. When we get there, Hutsi is waiting for us. She enfolds us in her warm, wrinkled arms and tucks Scotty into bed. I watch the moon rise past my window, thinking I’ll keep watching till the sun takes its place. But when I open my eyes again, dawn has come and gone.

I can’t remember the last time I woke up so late.

My hand aches, numb and prickly from being held tight against my chest all night, and I uncurl the fingers one by one, revealing the wishstone pressed to my palm. If whispered wishes could be spun like threads, they’d weave a web to hold us together. Grandpa, Scotty, me, Mom, Milkshake, T-Rex, all of it.

My farm. My world.

A dirt bike buzzes past the house, and I press my hands against the window as Mateo rides away down our lane.

Why was he here?

I change clothes, pull my boots on, and walk downstairs.

“Good morning, Paige.” Hutsi looks up from her Sudoku puzzle and waves her pencil. “There’s eggs on the stove, if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks. Did Mom call?”

“She did. She says she’ll stop in later this morning. Your grandfather is resting now. And Kimana called too—says she’ll be home tonight.”

I nod. Best get chores done before Mom comes home. Wouldn’t want to miss her. I pile eggs on my plate and wolf them down, partly because Hutsi is an amazing cook and partly because I’ve got a big day ahead with Grandpa gone.

“Thanks for breakfast. I’ll be back after chores.” I reach for the door.

“Young Mateo already did them,” says Hutsi.

“What?”

“He stopped in before you came down and said he’d done all the morning chores. Animals are fed and watered, pipes moved. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But—” I hang onto the doorknob, not sure what to do.

“Why don’t you go on upstairs and lie down, or read a book? Rest while you can.”

That seems sensible enough, but walking upstairs in the daytime without lifting a finger for chores is as foreign to me as pointy heels and frilly scarves.

Instead of turning right at the top of the stairs, I turn left to check on Scotty.

With curtains half drawn, the room is cozy and safe, filled with pinpricks of light slipping across his ceiling from a galaxy night-light that flickers on his bedside table. Snoring softly, he is curled on his side, small under the enormous patchwork quilt.

I watch him sleep. The rise and fall of the blankets, the flicker of his eyes beneath his closed lids. His mind is so very busy. It never rests during the day, and it seems his dreams are just as busy. He feels more, sees more, senses more than most people. Sometimes, the more excited he is, the less he shows it. And at times like that, the tiniest of smiles lights up my whole world. At other times, all that emotion runs bubbling out of his mouth in words and facts and chatter, flooding out like the headgate inside his brain has burst wide open.

He didn’t deserve to be yelled at.

He deserves to be protected and loved.

I brush the hair from his eyes and tuck the blanket close around him.

“Daddy?” he mumbles.

I ignore the sting and smooth his hair back. “Just me, Scotty. It’s Paige.”

His lids flutter open, his sleepy eyes focusing on me.

“I’m sorry for yelling. Really. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

His gaze fixes on me for one heartbeat, then two, then . . . “Did you know peahens have four to eight eggs in a clutch?”

“Nope.” I smooth the covers over his shoulder.

“Did you know peafowl like Royal are almost four feet long with tail feathers?”

I squeeze his shoulder. “Yeah, I knew that one.”

He looks at the window, covered with stickers of planets and stars, and takes a deep breath. “Is . . . Is . . .” The rocking starts real slow. “Where’s Grandpa?”

“Hutsi says he’s resting.”

His palms slide over his ears, his gaze fixed on the window. “Resting in heaven with Daddy?”

“Oh, Scotty. No.” I gently pull his hands down and lean over so he can see me. Really see me. “Grandpa is resting—sleeping in the hospital. He’s okay.”

He chews his lip, the tautness in his body relaxing bit by bit. “How do you know?”

“Hutsi told me. She says Mom will be here later, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Okay. Okay.” He nods. “Did you know the peacock symbolizes eternal life?”

“Nope.”

Now that he’s talking again, he’s got days of facts to catch up on. “Also, they represent rebirth for Easter.”

“I did not know that.” I shake my head. “Is it because they live so long?”

“No, it’s ’cause they thought the feathers never faded away. And did you know the eyes on a peacock’s feathers were supposed to mean that God is watching?”

“Watching us from inside those eyes?” That sounds a little creepy.

“No, just . . . watching over us all.” He yawns.

“Go back to sleep, smart boy.” I kiss his forehead and tuck the covers closer. “You can teach me more things when you wake up.”

He yawns again. “There’s a lot to learn.”

“You’re right.” Standing, I step toward the door.

“Do you think I’ll ever learn everything?”

My hand on the doorknob, I look back one more time. “Probably not. But I think you’ll try.”

I try not to let Scotty’s words bother me as I go back to my room, but they do. If God really is watching over us, then where is He? It sure didn’t feel like anyone was watching over us in September. And what about now? Why do bad things happen at all? What about Grandpa? And Royal? Heck, we can’t even find him, and he’s the one with the fancy feathers in the first place, so who’s watching out for him?

I sit on my bed like Hutsi said, but my foot twitches inside my boot, and I’m as restless as a weather vane in a windstorm. I scan the puzzles on my bedroom walls. Dad did every one with me, and always teased that I was the fastest in the West at finding the next piece and putting it in place. I wish that was true. In my real life, I can’t keep any of the pieces where they belong.

I thought I knew what my life was supposed to look like. It had a dad and a mom, and Scotty, and our friends. And when pieces fell out of that picture, I tried to figure out how to put them together in a different way. Tried to make it all work without the Dad piece, with the Mom piece being broken. Now the Grandpa piece is missing too, and it just doesn’t work. There aren’t enough pieces left to make me whole.

Once upon a time, puzzles and robots kept me happy for hours, but the only place I feel normal anymore is when I’m outside, keeping my promise.

I pace the room, a fox in a trap, and every minute, the air grows thinner, and the walls press in. If I stay inside, I’ll suffocate.

With Grandpa in the hospital, I should be doing more, not less. I gotta work enough for both of us—for all of us.

Worn and rounded with age, the wood stairs creak under my boots, and Hutsi hears me coming long before I step into the living room. “How’s our Scotty?”

“Tired, but good. I’m gonna walk around till Mom gets home.” I wait till she nods, then step outside.

True to his word, Mateo did all the chores, and I feel strangely useless as I stand with my elbows on a fence rail, watching Milkshake and her calf play in the sun. Usually, we only name the mommas because the calves go to sale—I think that’s so it hurts less when we have to say goodbye. But this year, I’ll be lucky to keep anyone at all, so what does it matter? Named or not, it’s gonna hurt.

After playing with the other calves and drinking his fill of milk, our little curly-haired prince lies down in a clump of alfalfa and falls fast asleep. So that’s what I name him: Prince.

“Heyo!” A distant cry pulls me right off the fence, and I turn my head, listening.

Was it Royal? With all the roosters, cows, and everything else, there’s no quiet to hear one soft voice. But that makes no sense. Royal’s so loud when he cries, he’d have to be awful far away for his call to be so soft that I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from. “Come on, Royal. Do it again.”

Instead, Mom calls from the house. “Paige!”

“Coming!” I get to the porch just as Hutsi drives off.

“Hey, honey.” Mom gives me a one-armed squeeze while Scotty tromps down the stairs with his backpack.

She rubs my back. “Grandpa’s awake. Sore and very tired, but awake.”

I wrap both arms around her and squeeze, ’cause sometimes words aren’t big enough to say what I feel. When Grandpa comes home, I’ll put him in his favorite chair, help him put his boots up, and tell him all about the stuff we get done every day. He won’t have to lift a finger till he’s all better.

“We’re having a sleepover!” Scotty hoists his backpack up for me to see. “Hutsi’s gonna feed us.”

“Wait, what?”

Mom nudges me toward the stairs. “Get what you need to spend a few nights with Hutsi.”

“But what about the animals? What about the watering?” How can she think I can leave? Sure, Mateo did chores today, but he’s got his own herds to look after.

“Javier said he’ll take it on this week.”

“Mr. Rivas and Mateo are doing it all?” That’s like letting someone cut your meat for you when you’ve got a perfectly good set of hands and a sharp knife.

“Asher has offered to help too. He says it will give him experience.”

“When did that happen?” I thought Mom had been at the hospital, not off visiting with the whole town.

“He was worried about your grandpa and texted me this morning. He probably saved your grandpa’s life, calling 911 as fast as he did. I had no idea, and by the time I got home, the ambulance was already on the way.” Mom walks down the hall. “I’m grabbing a few things, and then we’ll go. Pack a bag, and I’ll run you over.”

“To the hospital?”

“No. I’ll go back after I drop you off.” Her phone chimes, and she stops to read a text, but I don’t move.

If we don’t get to see Grandpa, I can wait for him here as well as anywhere. There’s no reason for me to go.

Mom glances up at me, a small smile on her lips. “Looks like I got the job.”

“What?”

“Helping Hands Home Health liked my interview. They say I can start as soon as I’m available. I’ll need a few days because of Grandpa, obviously, but—”

“Available? Mom! I don’t want you to get another job. You’re already gone most of the time.”

“I know it seems that way, with my school and everything, but I need to look to our future. We need the stability.”

“But you already have a job. Right here. On the farm with us. We’re supposed to stick together.”

“Paige, I know change isn’t easy. It’s hard on all of us, but we can’t keep going like we have been. We need this.” She slips her phone into her pocket and walks to her room, me following behind.

“But we don’t have to sell the farm. I’m doing all the chores. I can cook and clean up. I don’t ask you for anything except seeds and starts, and if you don’t wanna help with that, I can figure it out on my own.” I stop in the doorway to Mom and Dad’s room and try hard to ignore the empty nail on the wall, where Dad’s hat is supposed to be. “Dad said it was my job to look after the farm. I gotta be here to do that.”

“I need to know you’re safe, or I can’t focus on your grandpa. The farm will be fine with the Rivas family looking after things for a few days. It’s okay to ask for help.”

A few days? No way. “I can’t just leave. I need to stay here. I gotta work.” What would Dad think of me just walking off the job? He’s counting on me. “I can’t stop.”

She puts some clothes in a bag on the bed. “Paige, you’ll have to stop. We all do. We can’t keep the farm. You know that.”

I flinch. “Why do you keep saying that? I know how to do everything. I drive the truck and tractors. I move pipe, straw, and hay. I can do it on my own.”

She stuffs socks into her bag, her voice soft, resigned. “You can work till your arms fall off, and it won’t change anything. There are bills we can’t pay and a foreclosure notice. Bill collectors call every day. It’s just a matter of time before we have to leave the farm.”

“No, Momma. Stop saying that.” If I was Scotty, my hands would be over my ears. “We gotta save Daddy’s farm. We have to.”

She breathes in real sharp and looks at me. “We can’t.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’m only saying the truth. Pretending something’s different doesn’t make it so. Yes, we planned on living here forever. It was our dream together—your dad’s and mine. But Grandpa’s heart can’t take the load. Yes, I know you work, but you can’t do it alone. You can’t change a tractor tire, or hook up a three-point like the plow, or drive the semi up to Tetonia for seed potatoes, or load wheat into the grain drill with the crane . . .”

Can’t she see that I’m trying? I’m trying so dang hard. And the jobs she’s talking about—I know how to do them. If I was bigger I could do all of them. My nerves prickle like I’m teetering on the edge of a badger hole, but she doesn’t stop, and every word pushes me farther in.

“You can’t pick up an eight-inch mainline. Half the time you can’t get the mainline apart. You have to call—well, of course, you don’t call—but you go get Grandpa because it’s impossible for you to do it on your own. And now Grandpa can’t help anymore because the work will kill him.”

“I won’t ask him for help anymore. I’ll figure it out. I promise.” I hate the way my voice cracks, the way my breathing is too fast. I turn for the hallway, but Mom grabs my arm and touches my face with her other hand.

“It’s okay to ask for help—that’s not the point. What’s it going to take to get it through your head?” Her words dig in like spurs. “No matter how much you want it to be different, you can’t run the farm on your own. Your dad wouldn’t want that.”

I look past her to where Dad’s hat should be and close my eyes, but the empty nail is still there, clear as day on the back of my eyelids. Sharp. Piercing. Accusing. I can’t breathe, and I try to yank out of her hands. “You don’t understand. I promised. I told him I’d take care of the farm, and I have to. I said I’d watch over things.”

“You are twelve years old. No one expects you to run the farm on your own, least of all your dad.”

“He does!” The walls tremble, and I need to be outside, need to work, need to keep my promise. “I said ‘no’ one time. Once! And it got him killed! He died because I said no.”

“Paige, honey—” She drops to her knee in front of me, holding my arms, but I’m twisting and pulling. I need to go outside. “What happened isn’t your fault.”

“It is!” My voice rises, and I can’t stop yelling. “It is! It’s my fault! If I had been there, I coulda seen the truck. Coulda warned him. He’d still be here. He’s gone because of me!”

“No, baby. No.” She pulls me tight against her and wraps her arms around me, but I push and fight. “Shh, Paige. This is not your fault. None of it’s your fault.”

I feel her warm breath against my hair, her freckled cheek pressed to my forehead.

“If you had been there, I would have lost you both. Thank God you weren’t. No one expects you to do this on your own.”

I want to say she doesn’t understand, that my promise is all I’ve got, but my throat won’t work, and an animal cry wails from my lips instead. I shudder, and it’s not just the walls closing in, but the weight of the whole farm settling hard on my shoulders, pressing me down and down. It crushes me. Strength drains from me faster than a sieve, and my knees buckle, and then it’s Mom holding me, keeping me upright.

In the darkness of my mind, I hear her whisper, “None of us can do this alone.”