Page 165 of We Redeemed the Rain

He rammed the tip of the shovel into the ground and stomped it with his boot so it stood upright out of the earth. He turned to me. My eyes devoured him, committing every detail to memory. And I cataloged a new one…his right arm. Where he’d scratched his skin had a light rash, like he’d accidentally taken the soothing action too far.

He caught my gaze, following it to his arm. He shoved his hands in his pockets, turning the red rash out of sight. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“Can—can you call me or something?” Emotions choked my tone.

“Of course. Yeah, we’ll keep in touch.”

Keep in touch.

Like two old friends who pick up where they left off.

I swallowed the tears back, nodding.

“Okay. Can I hug you goodbye?”

He smiled, fake and forced. Tag was a terrible actor. He took a step toward me and opened his arms. I led myself into them, but his chest was a tree trunk—stiff, not enfolding me as before. We hugged, quick and formal, the way slight acquaintances would. Not like two people who had held each other and bore their souls.

When I pulled away, his gray gaze found mine. “Travel safe.”

I nodded, incapable of speech.

What was going to happen to us? My future loomed before me, dark with impending storms. Two days ago, I had everything I wanted. Now, it was stripped away, hopelessness and uncertainty jammed into the gaping hole in my heart.

A flushed, sticky feeling swept over my face and neck.

“Bye.” I whispered over my shoulder.

I wove back through the pasture, my feet shuffling and catching in the high grass. At the fence, I waited. At any moment, I expected him to call me back, to hear the shovel get tossed to the ground, to feel his hand on my shoulder stopping me.

But the shovel just dug into the earth again and again.

Soil scraped. Roots ripped. My heart shattered.

I stumbled onto the gravel driveway and groped for the handle of the Prius, deep breathing against the sobs traveling up my throat, squinting to see through the onslaught of tears.

When the Prius door slammed behind me, my strength dissolved.

FORTY-FOUR

Tag

Two weeks later

The Ranger’s bright headlights cast my shadow long across the field. Had to be past ten o’clock. My stomach growled and my arms ached, but those things paled in comparison to the other things I felt now.

In the past, coming back to myself after a panic attack brought relief. Now, I wished for that state of numbness. Being halfway gone was better than hurting this bad. This morning I woke to find the fog had cleared, lifted like the incident had never even happened. There were very few things I remembered about Bea’s last two days at Meadowbrook.

In some ways, I was happy about that—less to torture myself with. But in other ways, I was torturing myself over what I didn’t know. What had I said? Done? And most importantly, what did she think of me now?

With the force of two men, I drove the shovel into the earth. Digging was the most cathartic activity I could get my hands on. Thepain was distracting. The burn in my hands somehow cut the scorching burn in my chest.

Bea’s presence lingered like a cloud over this ranch. I heard her laugh and voice and saw her smile in every corner. We’d spent every day together for the three entire weeks. Now that my body was fully in the moment, the pain was ravaging. The loss of companionship felt like a bleeding wound, making me weaker, sicker by the hour.

Flashes of those last two days haunted me on repeat.

Namely, the way I hugged her before she left—stiff, distant, closed off. The way I’d said goodbye—“travel safe.”The way she chewed her lip to keep from bursting into tears. And the way she hesitated before climbing the pasture fence, like she wanted me to call her back.

And I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t offer what she needed. Emotionally, I was bone dry—still floating above myself, watching the scene play out like a movie. Everything in me wanted to pull her in andbegher to stay. Prostrate myself like a worshiping fool and beg her not to leave my soul behind.

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