I watch as she looks at herself in the mirror. She’s not happy with what she sees. It’s obvious that she only sees the scars looking back at her. She’s missing the fact that she is a survivor. That she’s been through hell and experienced more pain, suffering, and loss than most people do in a lifetime, but here she is surviving. I want her to see what I see in her.
She flicks the visor up as if she’s disgusted and gets out of the truck. I watch her with her shoulders hunched, ballcap pulled low as she walks toward the entrance to the feed store. She has on the same oversized denim overalls as the last few times I’ve seen her. Even though they dwarf her, they do nothing to hide the curvy body she has underneath. Curves any man would love to spend a lifetime getting to know.
I wait until she’s in before I open my door. It’s probably crazy, but I imagined that if I got out to talk to her while she was outside in the harsh daylight, she would have turned and fled. At least inside the store, I can maybe approach her and she will feel safe, knowing that Rosie is there as a witness.
Because today is the day. Today, I’m talking to Hadley, and one way or another, I’m going to help her. I’m not taking no for an answer.
3
Hadley
My heart feels like it's racing through mud with a heavy thump, thumpity, thump. The loud drums banging in my chest send a dull roaring through my ears, making hearing anything close to impossible. I swear, I would hate to take my blood pressure at moments like this.
I go through the doors, and my face feels hot and my brain a little fuzzy. Breathe! I quietly urge myself and do just that.
With my head down, hair swinging at the side of my face, my hands in my overall pockets, I keep up a steady pace, careful not to bump into anyone.
“Hello, Hadley!” Rosie calls out the moment I pass her by the registers, and I lift a hand up, waving my hello.
I hate myself.
I should look at her and say hi. Talk to her for a bit and ask her how she’s doing. She’s been such a sweetheart. Without her help and poking and prodding, I don't think I could have made it this long on the Homestead. Gosh, a couple of my chickens probably would have died had it not been for Rosie telling me I had to switch the straw a little more often in my chicken coop. I owe her. I used to be able to keep up a friendly conversation with people. I need to push myself to try and be friendlier.
Next time, I promise myself. Right now I have to focus. Get to the horse feed and grab what I need. If I had the storage, I'd buy double the amount to cut my trips in half. I wince at the thought. These trips are important. They’re one of the few ways I get myself out of my comfort zone, something my old therapist recommended. And I do want to get better.
The moment I reach the horse feed, I raise my head to look at what’s in stock and how much it is. Bringing out the list I have memorized from my pocket, I lick my dry lips and try to be as subtle as I can about catching my breath. I’m about ready to grab the feed when a hand touches my shoulder, and I jump back with a loud yelp.
“I’m so sorry, Hadley!” Rosie’s standing behind me, her eyes filled with remorse. “I thought you heard me chasing after you.” I shrug and nod awkwardly.
“Oh, umm—” My eyes immediately drop to the ground, and I stare at my once upon a time white shoes. “Girl you could join a speed walking team with how fast you zip back here!” she says, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
“Hmm.”
“You know that’s an actual Olympic sport?” She keeps talking to me like we are old buddies, and I am looking at her in the eyes. I genuinely appreciate Rosie more than she will ever know. “Speed walking. Isn’t that a kick?”
“I guess.'' My voice sounds a little scratchy from not talking to anyone out loud other than to myself here and there.
“Pick out the bags you need. I’ll have one of the boys grab it and put it in your truck.” My head pops again to meet her eyes head on as my brows bunch up.
“If I was a man, would you have the boys load it up for me?” I frown, my hackles up in a bunch, but by the way Rosie laughs, she doesn’t take offense to my sass.
“No.” She shakes her head, her hair swaying this way and that. “I wouldn’t.” Her eyes sparkle with joy as if she likes that I gave her lip, and I honestly have no idea what to do with that.
I open and shut my mouth. I should argue with her like I do every other time. But between being anxious about being around people or hearing them whisper about me and how exhausted I am from working, my shoulders drop, and I nod at her, giving in and accepting her kind offer.
“Thank you,” I rasp, clearing my throat as I peek up at her from my lashes. She’s quiet for a moment as if I’ve stunned her.
“Well, all right,” she says, then she squeezes my shoulder, and I realize I hadn’t noticed she hadn’t taken her hand off me.
“I’ll take the usual.” I point to the brand I need, and Rosie nods. She doesn’t hide the clear worry that fills her gaze, but I ignore it.
When Rosie realizes I’m not going to argue with her, she seems shocked and worried. I don’t stand around start walking to the registers. I can hear her footsteps behind me, but I don’t say anything.
I just keep my head down, and as soon as we’re at the registers, I take out my wallet from my pocket.
“You need to hire some help, Hadley.” She repeats the same thing she always does. I sigh and look at her. She puts a hand up and continues talking. “Before you ask, yes. I will tell a man if they were in the same situation you were in.” I huff, and my brows furrow together. It’s frustrating as heck when she guesses what I’m going to say.
“Sweetheart, you can’t keep doing it by yourself.”