Not that I’d spoken to her again.
Whenever she’d returned from rides with Aunt Cassie, I’d feel her eyes on me like twin ice picks, chipping away at my reserves, reminding me I wasn’t as impenetrable as I hoped.
Three times, she’d almost caught me coming out of the barn, and three times, I’d thrown a wave in her direction and jogged off on some very urgent chore that kept me away from her impossible stares.
But that was over now. At least for a while.
She’d left a couple of hours ago—picked up by her dad, kissed like a loved daughter, and hugged like a favourite belonging.
I didn’t say goodbye.
She’d come looking for me, but I’d spotted her before she’d spotted me and I’d left my position at the creek where I was damming an area so the lower paddock didn’t flood come the predicted rain next week, and then hid in the trees where I was more at home than in a house with four walls.
She’d traipsed through long grass ready to be baled, her face falling from eager to sad. Something in my belly clenched, my mouth parted to speak, my body shifted to go to her.
But then, she’d coughed.
A delicate cough most likely from pollen but enough to send my heart crashing through my ribcage.
She coughed again, reminding me how explicitly fragile and weak humans were. How breakable. How killable. How temporary.
While memories and unresolved panic ricocheted through me, she’d turned around and returned to where the other kids stood with their backpacks and dirty clothes ready for parent collection.
I’d stayed in the trees for a long time after, doing my best to calm down. To stop the memories. To ignore the fact that coughing meant someone’s lungs were irritated. And lungs were so damn useless. And if breath couldn’t be caught, then death was imminent.
I wanted to chase after her and demand she see a doctor to ensure her coughing was just a symptom of mild hay fever and nothing like my dad had.
To make sure she wasn’t dying.
But in the end, I got a hold of myself and convinced myself I didn’t care.
Even if she died and I never saw her again, I’d kept my distance enough not to hurt.
Grandpa John nudged me sideways, his hairy hand reaching for the soap and sink. Turning liquid into bubbles, he gave me a grin, then rinsed the mess away before diving into his pocket for a trusty handkerchief.
Pulling it out, he dried his hands, rolling his eyes as I darted out of his way so he wouldn’t touch me again—making it seem like I had to scoop the bread rolls from the oven that very second.
His heavy boots passed me by, depositing him on the seat next to Mom where he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.
Mom visibly relaxed, resting her head on his shoulder and soaking in the comfort normal creatures found from being loved.
Meanwhile, I focused on dividing out dinner for the family, my bare feet touching something soft on the lino as I reached for the cutlery drawer.
Looking down, I frowned.
Something black and lacy stared back.
What the—?
Ducking, I snatched it from the floor and froze as if Hope had just magically walked into the kitchen. It was the same worn piece of lace she’d forced me to hold four nights ago.
“Grandpa?” I asked, my voice gruff with confusion. “Did you drop this?”
Grandpa John raised his white head, frowning at the lace in my hand. Slowly, his old eyes lit with recognition. “Ah yes, found it on the driveway. Figured it belonged to one of the kids.” Looking at Aunt Cassie, he added, “Perhaps you can get it back to the student who lost it?”
Cassie held out her hand for me to relinquish it. “Odd, I never saw anyone with something like that. I guess I can call around and see if anyone’s missing it.”
“Wait.” Mom’s head popped off Grandpa John’s shoulder. Biting her lip, she pushed away from the table and came toward me, palm outstretched.
For some reason, I found it hard to let go.
With gritted teeth, I dropped it into Mom’s hold. My eyes remained possessively on it as she cupped it tight.
She gave me an odd look, her head tilting as if noticing something new about me for the first time. I glared as if she’d trespassed on something she shouldn’t have, even though she’d done nothing wrong.
“I think I know who it belongs to.” She opened her hand again, offering it back to me.
I didn’t take it, backing away a step.
“You know too, don’t you, Wild One?”
I narrowed my gaze. I didn’t know what her game was, but I didn’t like her tone. I crossed my arms. “Should I?”
“If you have a good memory, you should. Then again, I’m thinking you’ve seen this before, judging by the way you jolted.”