Page 93 of One More Made Up Love Song
“Consider me warned. I still want to go.”
“Go where?” Mom says as she returns from the barn.
“Just to the swimming hole,” I say.
“Good idea,” Mom says. “But you should meet this sweet baby first.”
“Wait, how is it so small?” Freddie asks as we take in the baby donkey in Mom’s arms. It’s less than half the size of Pirate, and Pirate already looks pretty small.
“She’s miniature,” Mom says. She motions for Freddie to sit on the hay bale beside us, then she lowers the donkey into his arms. “She’ll always be small. No more than three feet at the withers, even when she’s full grown.”
I have seen a lot of cute things in my life. But Freddie Ridgefield snuggling a newborn donkey might be the cutest of all.
“This is the happiest day of my life,” he says, voice serious, and Mom laughs.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she says. “Why don’t you give her a name? I’ve been trying, but I haven’t come up with anything that fits.”
Freddie’s eyes widen. “For real?”
“Sure. Give it your best shot.”
Freddie runs a hand down the donkey’s neck. “I think we should call her…Louise,” he finally says.
Mom looks up to meet my gaze, a question in her eyes.
“Louise?” I ask, because he has to be kidding. Who names a donkey Louise?
But Freddie nods. “Sure. Look in her eyes and try to tell me it doesn’t fit.”
I crouch down beside him and let the donkey nuzzle my palm as I stare into her enormous brown eyes. “Louise,” I say again, and she lets out a tiny bray.
“See?” Freddie says. “She likes it.”
“Louise,” Mom repeats. “I guess that’s it, then.”
An hour later,I’m wearing one of Carina’s bikinis under a pair of cutoffs and my high school swim team t-shirt, leading Freddie down the wooded trail that leads to the swimming hole.
I haven’t walked this trail in years, and it’s a little more overgrown than it was when I was a teenager, but it’s still easy to follow, familiar in all the ways that matter most.
“I really like your family,” Freddie says, and I turn and meet his gaze over my shoulder. The trail is too narrow for us to walk side by side, so I appreciate a reason to turn and take him in. He’s changed into a pair of black shorts and a plain white t-shirt, and he has our towels draped around his neck, his hands hanging onto them on either side. He looks relaxed and happy and not at all like a rockstar, despite the plethora of tattoos visible on his body.
“Yeah, they’re pretty great,” I say. We reach a spot on the trail that descends steeply, and I make quick work of using a nearby tree to steady myself as I hop down. When I reach the bottom, I turn and offer Freddie a hand.
“Show off,” he says as he takes my hand, bracing himself against it as he makes the same jump I did.
“Not showing off,” I say as I turn back around. “I’m just in my natural habitat.”
He chuckles. “I like you in your natural habitat. I like everything about this place.”
As soon as we round the next bend, the sound of rushing water reaches us, infusing me with a sense of place and permanence that I haven’t felt in a long time. Touring with Freddie means sleeping in a different city every night, places that blend together into a constantly shifting blur. But this place is rooted deep in my heart. No matter how far I go or how far I travel, nothing will ever stop it from feeling like home.
I smile back at Freddie and point to my ears. “That’s how we know we’re close!”
Minutes later, we’re standing on the edge of a rock looking out over the river. It flows toward us, cascading over a waterfall into the deep green water below. At the base of the falls, the swimming hole is wide and deep, perfect for swimming. “We jump from here,” I say, looking over the edge of the rock to the water below. It’s only a five-foot drop—an easy jump—but Freddie’s eyeing it like he’s second-guessing his decision to come.
“You sure about this?” I say. I tug my t-shirt over my head and drop it onto the rock behind me.
His eyes move over my body, and he grins, unabashed appreciation in his gaze. “If you’re getting in, I’m getting in with you.”
