Page 33 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to be rude or–”
“Nonsense.” She shakes her head. “You take all the time you need. I just wanted to check on how you were doing, that’s all.”
“I’m doing okay,” I tell her. “It’s just hard sometimes.”
“Of course it is,” she says. “But you know, lying around on your own in the dark probably makes it seem a whole lot worse.”
I nod. I know she’s right.
“I don’t know if Annie ever told you, but we lost a child. Before we had Clay.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her.
“So I know what it’s like, Hollie. I know how overwhelming the grief can be. It swallows you up until you feel like you’re drowning in it. And no matter how hard you fight, no matter how hard you struggle, there are times when you find yourself sinking – sinking to the bottom. But the thing is,” she continues, “you’ve got to keep fighting it. You’ve got to keep struggling. You’ve got to keep swimming against it. Find the thing that brings you joy and cling to it like a life raft. So what is that, Hollie?”
“The things that bring me joy?”
“Yes. Home-baked cookies? Dancing on bars?”
“You heard about that, huh?”
“Clay’s a good boy. He always tells his mom,” she says with a grin. “So, is that what it is?”
I shake my head. “Animals – animals always cheer me up.” Looking after the animals in the veterinary clinic has been the thing that’s kept me surviving over the last few months. Cuddles with kittens or playtime with doggies stops all the sadness, like a plug in a leaky dam. “I’d really like to go see the horses again.”
“Horses are one thing we can definitely do. Come on then.”
She takes me downstairs, and we find my best friend sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree, piles of presents, wrapping paper, and Sellotape scattered all around her. The tree’s all decorated and lit up now, and in the dark room it looks so pretty, for a moment, I just stand and stare.
“Don’t worry,” I say, leaning into Mrs. J’s arm. “The horses can wait. Annie’s clearly in the middle of something.”
“Clearly,” Mrs. J says, but she doesn’t let go of my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen instead. “Don’t worry, we’ll find someone else to take you out to the horses.”
Mr. J has an apron tied around his middle and is supervising several simmering pots on the stove.
“Where’s one of those boys when you need them?” Mrs. J says, her hand still clasped to mine as she pulls me outside of the house now and down the porch steps.
We find them out the front, loading round hay bales onto their truck. If I thought the wood chopping was hot, I realize throwing giant bales of hay is just as hot. I need to come back in the summer when all these men will almost definitely be topless while they undertake these tasks.
“Clay!” Mrs. J calls. “Can I steal Nash for a moment?”
Her son lowers the hay bale he has clasped in his hands and peers over toward us. His eyes flick from his mom to me, then back again, and he gives a short, sharp nod. Nash throws another hay bale into the truck, wipes his sleeve over his brow, and comes striding over to us.
“How can I help?” he asks us both.
“I think the horses need grooming,” Mrs. J says. “Hollie’s willing to help. But maybe you could show her how we do it round here?”
She gives me a little push toward Nash, making it clear that I’m not going to get a chance to back out from this.
“Let’s go then,” Nash says.
He’s striding to the barn in the next moment, and I have no choice but to trot along beside him.
“She likes you,” Nash tells me as I drag the brush down Cloud’s long, soft neck.
“I like her too,” I say. “She has such a lovely nature.”
“Not always,” Nash says. “This one can be a bit feisty, but I think you’re a calming influence on her. Or …” he trails off, adjusting his glasses as he does.
