Page 33 of Unstable

A DAY OF HARD work is good for the soul.

I’m exhausted, I stink and I smashed my thumb twice, but I feel invigorated. As productive and worth a damn as I have in years.

So much so, that I give “old Henley” a voice and let her speak freely.

“Gatlin, how about after we both get cleaned up, you come to the house for dinner? I can make a pretty decent plate of spaghetti.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” He pulls his shirt over his head and puts his hat back on. “So, I’ll see ya in a bit?”

“Yep, see ya then.” I take off as he climbs in the farm truck wondering to myself, about myself, the whole ride home.

There’s still no way I’m ready to ride a horse, and the thought of having to make trips into town literally turns my stomach completely upside down, but I’m making small, enormously important strides.

I may be hiding out, so to speak, within the confines of my own fences, but I’m conversing with people, not every word defensive and snide…and now I’m inviting someone to a real meal I’ll prepare. Not just a quick sandwich.

I’m just sorry it took a tragedy, another one, to force me to finally start to face the inevitable—life.

I’ve showered, changed, and have the noodles boiling and the sauce on simmer when he knocks on the door.

“Come on in,” I holler.

“Smells great.” He grins, hanging his hat on the chicken hook.

“Thanks. Just a few more minutes. I made tea,” I point, “if you want to ice us both up a glass.”

He opens the cabinet to get the glasses, but stops, turning to look at me. “There’s something different about you, Henley. Whatever it is, looks good on ya.”

I search the depths of his brown eyes, finding only sincere admiration. “Thank you. I feel a little different.”

“You’re standing taller, not ducking. Looks like you’re ready to try the high jump instead of the limbo.”

What? Seriously, does this guy just scroll Google for obscure, inspirational quotes?

“What I mean,” he laughs softly at what I’m sure is pure confusion on my face, “is that you’re ready to reach for something higher, instead of slinking under the easiest route.”

Yeah, never would’ve gotten it without the explanation.

“Maybe you’re right,” I mumble, focusing on the stove. “Maybe not though. Today was a good day, surprisingly, because it started out like shit. But I could wake up tomorrow and be right back where I started. Wouldn’t shock me in the least, pretty much how I’ve spent the last eight years. Back and forth,” I sigh. “Mostly back. Anyway, food’s ready!" I over-exuberantly change the subject.

When we’re stuffed, both leaning back in our chairs and rubbing our bellies, there’s another knock at the door.

“Ignore it,” I drone, knowing exactly who it is. I’m amazed it took this long. He’d driven through his field today, so I know he saw Gatlin and I working on the fence together. Now he’s come for a close-up, nosy-ass investigation.

“Ignore it?” Gatlin repeats, brow bent in curious confusion. “What if it’s something important? Awful late for Jehovah’s Witnesses, of which I’m not aware of any in town.”

“It’s nothing important, trust me.” I roll my eyes as he knocks again, much louder this time.

“Henley—”

“Fine,” I frump, pushing back my chair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“Warn me about what?” He stands too, ready to follow me.

“No, don’t get up, that’ll just encourage him to stay.” I motion my hand for him to plant his butt back in the chair.

“Who?” He slowly lowers himself, looking worried.

My response is proceeded by a surly groan. “Keaton Fucking Cash.”

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