Page 48 of Higher Ground
What exactly was one to do with a wheelbarrow of swampy dirt?
Emory tipped her head up to the sky and huffed out a deep sigh. She wouldn’t be able to steer the heavy barrow very far, even if she did know what to do with its contents. Resigned, she tipped it out into a small pile between the coops. That would do, for now at least.
Back inside the coop, she had to crouch to enter the henhouse. Mud lined the wooden floor, and Emory got to work scraping it away and reloading the wheelbarrow. It was harder work than outside, but she welcomed the way her arms burned with each scrape of the shovel.
The physical labour helped to clear her head, and even though she was in a dim, smelly henhouse, she found the clarity that she had been hoping for. She could do this kind of work for a moment. Clear out the henhouse as a small token of her thanks to Byron for letting them stay. But it was not at all how she imagined herself spending the rest of her life.
She’d come to this town on Jaxon’s arm, hoping she would finally find her place in the world here in Gardner Creek. But she didn’t. Because, she knew now, it wasn’t where she belonged. All her life, she’d followed people around. Her parents as theyhopped from major city to major city, then Jaxon here to this rural community. She couldn’t follow Byron to the farm any more than she could expect Byron to follow her to the city. Sometimes people’s lives just took different trajectories. They belonged in different places.
It was a hard fucking pill to swallow and left her gasping for breath. But it was the truth. She had to pursue her dreams in the city. It wasn’t fair to herself if she didn’t.
Something a little like hope still flickered in the back of her mind, though, no matter how hard she tried to snuff it out. It still pondered on the what-ifs.
Like, what if she didn’t get a job? Was she reallymeantto be in the city if she spent her time there struggling to make ends meet or back working in some little café just to pay the bills?
She didn’t know the answers, but she knew there was only one way to find out. She had to try, at least.
Pulling out her phone, she paused her music and logged in to her university email. With a few taps, she opened the first of many draft emails she’d written the day after she submitted her final assignment. One by one, she sent each one off. Emails to all of Sydney’s biggest marketing firms, complete with her CV and whatever graduate application form she could find on the website.
With each littlewhooshfrom her phone, she grew more confident in her decision. Putting herself out there, and the thought of moving to the city, still scared the hell out of her, but it felt right to be taking another step towards her dream. Once they were all sent, she stared down at her phone as though waiting for a response. That was silly, she knew. Most firms would take a few weeks to get back to her, at least.
She shook her head, laughing a little at herself. The ringing of her phone shocked her, so much so that she nearly droppedit onto the grubby floor. She fumbled for it, swiping to answer without looking at who was calling.
“Hello, Emory speaking,” she chirped,justin case it was one of the marketing firms.
Mya’s laugh boomed through the phone. “What the fuck,” she cackled. “I’ve never heard you sound so … prissy.”
Groaning at her friend, Emory connected the call to her wireless earbuds and shoved her phone into her pocket. There was only a small section of floor left to clear, then she supposed she should look for some hay.
“I thought maybe you were a marketing firm.”
Mya snorted, but Emory’s silence must have told her it wasn’t a joke, because she corrected herself. “Oh, you’re serious? I didn’t realise you’d started applying.”
“Yep, today though, so the chances were slim it actually was one of them.” Her breath heaved as she shovelled another heap of mud into the wheelbarrow. “What’s up?”
“Wait, what are you doing? Why are you all breathy? Are you … Oh, fuck, don’t tell me.”
“Mya, chill, I’m cleaning out the chicken coop. There’s mud everywhere.”
She could almost hear the way Mya froze. “You? Doing hard labour?”
With the old wooden floor now clear, Emory dropped the shovel and hoisted up the back of the wheelbarrow. Mya was right, Emory and hard labour didn’t normally mesh well. This had been therapeutic, though, and Emory wondered if that’s why so many people enjoyed physical work as much as they did. Endorphins or something, maybe. She waited until she had steered her load out of the coop and tipped it out onto her little pile of dirt before answering Mya.
“I felt like I needed to help, that’s all. But it’s shit. I’m not doing it again.” The women shared a little giggle before Emory added, “I was made to sit at a desk, clearly.”
“You’ll be great at it,” Mya mused, her voice trailing off at the thought. They both knew what Emory’s career ambitions meant for her living situation, and neither was ready to voice how much they would miss each other. Emory supposed she could come visit. It would be good for Clayton to still have a relationship with Byron and Tucker—they were his family, after all—and Emory could stock up on her best friend’s book recommendations and comforting hugs.
“Anyways,” she remembered, “what did you call for?”
“Oh, ha. You spoke to Tucker.”
Emory gulped. Was she not meant to? She stammered, trying to find a response.
“It’s okay. It’s good, actually. The roads opened today, so I’ll go back to my place, and we agreed to start from scratch. Being so isolated was … not great, but I think we both realised it doesn’t mean we won’t work long term. Tucker just needs to learn not to leave the toilet seat up or use all the hot water.”
“So, the two of you are …?” Emory felt herself smiling. Tucker was like family to her. Mya, too. Knowing the two of them were becoming something filled Emory with a special kind of proud joy.
“I think we are, Emory.” A moment of silence passed as Emory made her way to the shed in search of hay for the coop.
