After a sandwich and a glass of oat milk, which I’ve found I actually quite enjoy, I get changed and shore my nerve up for the poop shoveling. I’m walking to the barn when my phone suddenly goes off. I normally leave it in the house and let the work calls go to voicemail, but since I forgot to do that and it’s ringing, I take it out on instinct. The second day I got to the farm, Becki gave me her number and saved mine. Just for emergencies, she said, so I’m pretty shocked she’s calling me. It’s probably a butt dial, but I’m not taking that chance.
“Hello?” I shield my eyes against the hot sun overhead. I’m not sure when August breaks in Kansas and gives everyone a rest from the scorching heat. No wonder the animals head directly for the trees lining their pens or stick around the shadows cast by the barn to cool down. They can only take so much in with all that fur, hair, wool, and feathers—whatever heavy insulation they happen to be sporting.
“Finn?”
“Becki?”
“Umm, I—I, well…I need your help.”
My blood pressure spikes like someone emptying a hidden flask into the punch bowl of what’s supposed to be a family picnic. “What happened? Where are you?”
Becki snorts, more at herself than at me. I can tell by her snort that she’s alright. She’s just working herself up to tell me what’s going on. I relax a little, and at least I’m not shaking in my boots anymore.
“Um, well. Fuzzy bananas, this is embarrassing. I…the truck stopped, and I don’t know. The lights started coming on even though I didn’t have them on, and everything on the dash went wild, flickering all over the place. It kept working for a mile or so, going haywire like that, then it just died. I managed to get it pulled off to the side of the road, and it’s not a busy road. It’s just gravel, and well, I’m stuck. I was wondering if you could come to get me.”
“Where are you?”
I wonder at the odds of finding Becki along some gravel route. Hopefully, she can give me good directions since I’m sure the GPS in my rental car, which is costing a fortune—I really should return it and just buy something—can’t tell me where to find my stranded damsel in distress. No, not mine. Just a stranded damsel in distress. Becki made it pretty clear this morning that she’s not mine. As in, isn’t and won’t be.
Another snort comes through the phone, then a big, defeated sigh. “I’m five minutes from home.”
“What?” It’s been over an hour since she left.
“Yeah, I know. I broke down seven miles from the farm, but I just sat here for the past hour considering what I was supposed to do about it.”
“It’s hot out. You should have called.”
“Yeah, but…uh…it’s embarrassing. I guess I needed the time to think.”
“So, you thought about it for an hour, then called me?”
“I guess I did.”
Okay. If Becki needed to think on the side of the road, then she needed to think on the side of the road. “I’m coming. Can you tell me which direction to head?”
“Yeah. Just take the road that goes out to the freeway to Topeka. You’ll find me. I’m just here, sitting and boiling to death.”
“Jesus.”
“Well, no, I guess not boiling to death. Just hot. I’m fine. Take your time.”
“I’ll be there right away.”
“Make sure everyone’s okay before you leave.”
“Alright.” That’s Becki. No matter how bad things get, she worries about herself last.
I get in the rental in semi-dirty clothes, slightly filthy from the day before, and pull in my mud and dung caked boots. At least it’s all dry, but whatever. If I wreck the rental, I’ll pay for it to be cleaned. I’ve already decided I’m going to return it in a couple of days and look for something else. I hadn’t considered it when I got here, but maybe I hadn’t considered much of anything at all.
I start down the driveway and turn left onto the gravel road. I know the route well enough, to the highway at least. I’ve taken it a few times now, going to the gym or for groceries. I think more about Becki. I mean, of course I think about her, but I think more about my theory when I hung up.
Becki will do anything for someone else because she’s built that way. So kind that it hurts me to even think about it. She’s so compassionate, and she’s smart. She’s smart in every way. She has this sixth sense for knowing when someone else is hurting, even if they can’t tell her where. She just cares so much. I think it’s a lot for one person to take on, but that’s just my opinion. Becki is built differently from me, and maybe she can handle it. She’s been doing alright so far for quite a few years. But what about when it comes to me? She’s worried about the sanctuary suffering, and her animals come first. They were there first, so I’m not going to argue that point. I know she’s worried about me, too, in a way. That because I come from somewhere else, was raised in the city, in a different style of life because our family had money, and I still have money, I’ll figure out this isn’t what I want. Maybe she’s worried about hurting me more than she’s worried about hurting herself.