Page 71 of Touch the Sky
Today is not any other day.
Today, I watch the sky turn brighter and brighter. I see the minutes tick by on the microwave clock.
I don’t turn the coffeepot on. I don’t return to my bedroom and get dressed. I just stand there, half naked in my tiny kitchen, and I run through every possible way this morning could go.
I could just stay here. I could skip out on barn chores and hide in the house until Jacinthe leaves for the inn.
I could text her. I could scour the internet for some stupid joke or meme that might have a shot at cutting the tension before I have to see her face to face.
I scoff at myself. Nothing is going to make this okay. Nothing is going to make this morning normal.
This is exactly why last night should never have happened at all.
We didn’t do anything more than kiss, and already, doubts, questions, and guilt are crushing our routine into dust.
If I don’t go out there, I’ll be letting her down. She might have told me I don’thaveto help her with the horses, but I can’t forgethow exhausted she was when she was left handling them alone. Iwantto help her. I want to be something she can count on.
Then again, maybe she doesn’t want me out there. Maybe she’s disgusted with me. Maybe she thinks I’m a reckless, selfish mother who can’t control her own horny impulses even if it puts her family’s housing at risk.
Maybe she just wants space. Maybe we should go a few days without seeing each other and let last night burn down into ash, until we can write it off as a stupid midnight slip-up we never have to speak of.
A flash of movement in the yard catches my eye.
Jacinthe.
She’s wearing a navy polar fleece, with some mud-streaked blue jeans stuffed into the tops of her rubber boots. I watch the back of her head as she struts down to the barn, her arms swinging in her usual marching gait. She’s halfway down the slight slope into the barnyard when she pauses and begins to turn.
I shriek and drop to a squat. The last thing I need is for her to catch me spying with my tits out.
I stay hovering with my knees at an angle no thirty-two year-old should have to endure until exhaustion gets the better of me and I haul myself up with the help of the counter, groaning the whole time.
By then, Jacinthe has disappeared into the barn.
My heart pounds, and for a few seconds, I stand frozen like a deer that’s about to become road kill. Then I spring into action, my body making my decision for me before my mind has a chance to catch up.
I can’t hide in the house all morning like some misbehaving teenager.
I’m an adult. I’m a parent.
I’m also a fuck-up, and the only way I’m going to un-fuck myself is by going out there and addressing my fuck-up head-on.
I’ve got to apologize, and I’ve got to assure Jacinthe last night is never going to happen again.
I rush to my bedroom and pull on a thick hoodie and jeans. My hair is a mess, but a quick swipe with my fingers will have to suffice for styling today. By the time I jog down to the barn, Jacinthe is finished with the feeding and is getting the horses ready for turn-out. I find her clipping a lead-rope to Sam’s halter where he stands with his head hanging over his stall door.
She’s far enough down the aisle that she doesn’t hear me appear in the doorway. I pause on the threshold and watch her.
She strokes Sam’s face after clipping the rope on, running a finger down the white stripe on his nose. I can’t hear the words from here, but I see her lips move as she murmurs something to him. There’s a softness to her body language I haven’t seen come out anywhere except with the horses. It’s like all her sharp edges blur and something rigid inside her finally unclenches.
It’s like she lets herself breathe.
My own breath stalls at the sight. I forget all about announcing myself. I forget what I came out here to say. I forget everything except the way Jacinthe’s lips felt pressed against mine.
So soft.
Even when she was shoving me against the wall and kissing me like she wanted to set our bodies on fire with just the friction of our mouths, her lips were so damn soft.
She gave me that. She gave me her softness, and maybe when it comes to Jacinthe, softness is the rarest gift of all.
