Page 35 of Finding Silence
I sit back down on the edge of the mattress and brush a few untamed curls from her forehead.
“That’s an ungodly hour to get out of bed,” she declares, scrunching up her face.
I grin down at her. “Best part of the day, when everything is just waking up. Besides, the animals need feeding. Especially the chickens or they won’t leave me eggs.”
She pulls the covers over her head making her, “Eggs are overrated,” comment sound muffled.
“You’ll have to get used to getting up early if you want to be a dog owner. Diesel will need to go out to do his business first thing in the morning.”
“You don’t play fair.”
I tug down the covers and lean in to kiss her stubborn lips.
“Stay in bed, enjoy it while you can.”
When I get up and move to the bathroom for a quick shower, she calls me back.
“Brant? We didn’t use protection.”
Another absolute first for me, at least since my wife died. I’ve been careful, but not last night.
“I know. If you’re worried, I haven’t been active for a while. Definitely not since my heart issues last year, and I was given a clean bill of health after.”
“I wasn’t worried about you,” she reveals. “I thought you might be worried about me, but I’m clean as well, and I had a hysterectomy a few years ago, so pregnancy is not a possibility.”
Pregnancy? Christ, that hadn’t even occurred to me.
I’m someone who is normally conscientious and cautious, so I’m shocked I totally blanked out on that. It’s not like I was impaired, unless I was drunk on Phil, because I barely had a sip of that whiskey. I guess that proves my point, it must be this woman who muddles my brain, because who in their right mind would walk away from a glass of very expensive Bruichladdich.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to clear my head, before aiming a smile at the woman in my bed.
“Good to know. Get some more rest. I’ll be in the stable if you can’t find me downstairs when you get up.”
She gives me her thumbs-up before disappearing under the covers, and I head for the shower.
Every morning I make a pot with enough coffee for my two allotted cups. Today I double it up. Then I take two instead of my usual one bagel from the freezer, pop one in the toaster and leave the other on a plate on the counter. After grabbing the cream cheese and the last jar of huckleberry jam Savvy and I made two years ago from the fridge, I take a pen and notepad from the kitchen drawer and start making today’s list.
It’s something I started doing last year. The first months after the surgery, and my subsequent retirement, there had been times when I felt like I was being sucked into a dark void. I felt useless and was unsure of what I could and couldn’t do. When the body you’ve known and relied on for fifty plus years suddenly betrays you, it takes a while to build up that trust again.
At the suggestion of my cardiologist, I started writing down small tasks every day, both to build confidence in my body, and to give me a purpose. It’s become a habit I stick to. Normally, I note down mundane things, like groceries to pick up or laundry to do. Sometimes people to call or visits to make.
But for the first time I’m having trouble plotting out my day. Suddenly, I’m no longer planning just for me, but find myself taking someone else into account.
The ping of the toaster has me drop my pen on the empty sheet of paper, as I turn to grab my bagel. I lather it royally with cream cheese and jam and take a big bite before pouring myself a mug of coffee. Then, tucking my phone in my pocket and carrying my bagel and coffee, I head out the back door.
I immediately notice the bottle of whiskey and one of the tumblers toppled over on the table, a puddle underneath them. The other glass, and the cork I distinctly remember putting back on the bottle are missing. It’s not until I set down my plate and cup on top of the smoker and walk up to the table to right the now half-empty bottle, I catch sight of the culprit lying on the deck, wedged between the outdoor love seat and the table, and probably drunk out of his mind.
“Goddammit, Angus!”
I pull back the love seat and nudge the goat, who isn’t moving.
In fact, he barely seems to be breathing. There is foam on his mouth and his tongue is hanging out.
I immediately pull my phone from my pocket and dial Buck.
Phil
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