1
Hadley
Sweat rolls down my neck and down my back as I lug a full bucket of grains toward the chicken coop. I am dirty and exhausted, but even so, I feel accomplished. I smile at the way my chickens rush over, knowing it is time for their meal. Wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my gloved hand, I try not to let the guilt of being happy eat at me.
I breathe in deeply, slowly exhaling before I close my eyes and tilt my face up to the sky. There is something about the fresh air and the autumn that feels rejuvenating. Cleansing.
I feed the girls, and as I shake my gloves off and drop them into the now empty bucket, I rest my sweaty hands at my hips. I take an extra moment to watch the chickens cluck at one another, catching my breath before making my way back toward the barn. Owning a ranch is a lot of work. It feels like all I do is work. From sunup to past sundown.
But it is work that makes me feel useful.
The animals appreciate me watching after them, and the garden I started has flourished. My eyes roam wide, taking in the beautiful new place I now call home. Even after these couple of months, I can’t believe I live here. A little slice of heaven on earth where I can just be.
And I would give it up in an instant to have my mom back.
The settlement money from the car accident we were in that took her away from me is what I used to purchase this place. The moment I saw the listing online, I knew this was exactly the kind of place she would have loved to live in. She would have loved me to spend time in a place like the Hickory Homestead.
I shake my head as I walk toward the barn, trying to not let the guilt about being happy overwhelm me. My hand raises to touch the right side of my face, taking in the angry puckered scar. One of many.
“But I’m still here,” I remind myself.
Even though at times, especially right after the accident, I wonder to myself why. Why was I spared and not my mom? She had worked her fingers to the bones to raise me, sometimes juggling three jobs at a time. Being a single mom wasn’t easy, but she made it look like a choreographed dance.
Always dance, honey. I can almost hear her voice in my head and see her smiling at me. Blinking away tears, I breathe in the fresh air and let it slowly relax me as I look at the large white house, the tall green grass, and the horses in the pasture. Soaking it all in always leaves me in awe. I still can’t believe this is my life. As beautiful as it is, I am alone. For the most part anyway. Sure, I have my animals, and I have met some people in Cherry Falls. Not that I let them get close. The only person I have given half a chance to is Rosie from Rosie’s Tractor and Feed Supply. I would give it all up for just one more day with my mom.
God I miss her. Her smile. Her voice. Her advice. Her hugs. Everything.
But life is short. If I have learned anything this last year, it’s that things change in the blink of an eye. One moment you can be on the way to buy groceries and the next you get hit head on, your car flipped and crumpled like a tin can. All because someone was answering a text. I shake away the anger that starts to build up as I pull out my to-do list from the pocket of my faded denim overalls. I know what’s on it, but maybe I am hoping the next thing to check off will have magically disappeared.
Once upon a time, an errand here and there wouldn't have caused me to worry. Heck, I drove cross-country once! And it was one of those things I had totally taken for granted. But I am no longer the same girl I once was. Not that I was some runway model before or anything. Hardly.
I swallow hard, my hand moving to my face. I hate the looks. The questions and the pity. If they only knew I would wear triple the scars, would willingly disfigure my face to look like a real-life Picasso painting if it would bring my mom back.
I miss her today. I miss her every day, but today feels a little lonelier.
She was, had been, my only family. I never met my dad. He’d left as soon as the positive sign popped up on the pregnancy test. But it was okay. Mom had been everything to me. Parent. Best friend. Genuine pain in the butt when we didn’t agree on things, not that it happened often.
Now she’s gone. And the reminder always makes the knot in my throat tighten.
“Keep moving forward,” I whisper, even though I’m the only person in the barn. I sigh, looking at my supplies. I really need to go to Rosie’s Tractor and Feed Supply for the horses. Some things can only be put off for so long.
With that thought, I wash my hands before switching out from the rubber boots I work in to a pair of sneakers. I glance down at myself and shrug.
“This is as good as it’s gonna get,” I mutter to myself, grabbing the keys to my truck from the desk I have in the barn and walking toward it.
Trepidation rises with every step. I hate getting in cars. Thankfully, Rosie’s Feed is only a short drive away. I look at the older model Ford truck and take a deep breath before hopping in. I start it up and open the windows. The fresh air always helps me feel a little less claustrophobic. I shake my head, wondering what I will do when winter hits and it's too chilly to drive around with the windows open.
“Worst case scenario, you put on a jacket, Hadley,” I say to myself as I look out at my property. Knowing I'm about to leave my safe haven, a twinge of worry grows in the pit of my belly like weeds in an empty field. It always does.
“Breathe,” I remind myself like my old therapist taught me.
Sitting in my truck, my hands on the steering wheel, I take a couple of cleansing breaths, trying to clear my head, and remind myself it is going to be okay. Rosie’s is usually a quick in and out errand. As long as they have what I need and I can keep my head down and focus on lugging the feed out, it shouldn't be too long. Plus, if I’m honest, it's one of the few places I dare go to.
I grab my old navy-blue baseball hat and put it on, making sure my hair is in the way, covering my face. It's a short drive from the Homestead to Rosie’s Feed, but that doesn't mean I should scare drivers that pass me by. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I train my eyes not to go lower than my nose. You got this, Hadley, I try to tell myself in the most encouraging tone possible. I don’t miss the dark circles under my eyes. Running a place this size takes a lot of work. More when it's only one person who hardly knows what they're doing.
“Enough with the negative Nancy crap!” I scold myself. “Gotta get the horses taken care of!” I remind myself and watch my eyes smile back at me.
I can do this.