Page 162 of We Redeemed the Rain

My silly, bubbly handwriting in permanent marker.

“Happy birthday, Scribbs.”

Overcome with emotions I didn’t have time to process, I swiped a hand over my trembling lips. How did he still have this? Did he listen to it?

Tears stormed down my cheeks as I pressed it back into the player and adjusted the speaker volume. My young voice, canned and underdeveloped, filled the cab. The rain was on its way out, the claps of thunder delayed.

I draped myself over the console to get closer to him. Tag was blinking, nodding, still in another place far, far away. Slipping my hand into his, I squeezed. “I promise, I’m not leaving you. Try to focus on me, okay?”

Jesse whispered, “You’re going to be alright, man. Just hang on tight.”

A few minutes felt like years. Damming up my emotions, I found my voice and weakly sang along with the younger, braver version of myself. I’d included American Pie on his birthday CD. In unison, the past and present sang for him.

I leaned forward to kiss Tag’s forehead. “Come back to me, Tag.” I looked straight into his eyes again, the stormy gray hazy and exhausted. “Can you hear me?”

He swallowed once. Then nodded.

I sucked in a breath of relief. “I’m right here.”

His hand tightened around mine.

“I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, a little more presence in his gaze.

“Can you still see me?”

He nodded again, the motion more assured. His voice was quiet, still small. “Bea.”

I sniffled, loud and wet. “Yes. It’s Bea.”

I felt as though he would slip through my fingers into a realm of oblivion at any given moment if I didn’t clutch him with all my might. I held his hand, gripped his face, and spoke words over his lips. Like the waxing moon, he returned. One sliver at a time.

Except he never fully did.

A while later, I drove the Ranger back to the house, Jesse following me in the gator. Tag sat in the passenger’s seat, quietly staring out the window. He gently scratched up and down his forearm, the motion on repeat. His fingers traveled up, then scraped down loud enough for me to wonder if it was painful. Clearly an attempt at soothing.

The rain was gone now, a heavy humidity taking its place. Gray clouds oppressed the ranch, the long distance views hampered in the aftermath of the storm. The usual cheer and bright sunshine found at Meadowbrook felt like another life.

I parked. “Do you need help walking?”

A few seconds went by before he even acknowledged me. He turned his head, finally responding. “No, I got it.”

“You want to come in the house for a while?”

Another delay. “I got work to do.”

“I think you should?—”

“I’m alright. I, um, I need the horses.”Scratch, scratch.“They help me.”

I nodded. “Okay. What can I do?”

“Nothin’.”

As Tag made his way to the barn, I found Jesse parking the gator. “Jesse, we can’t let him go work like this.”

“We can and we should.”

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